June 2002
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If you came to my site around 5:30 p.m. MDT on 5/31 I was just showing off the power of cascading style sheets to someone. The scheme that was briefly used was white text on a blue background.
The other night was about walking down the street noticing my fingertips hurt like hell. Upon further investigation the tips of my index, middle and ring fingers were blackening like they were frostbitten. I tried biting the parts which were frostbitten but I felt nothing but the gnawing ache of the frostbite. Eventually I just shoved my hands in my pockets and kept going down the street. I don't remember the end of the dream but it had nothing to do with my fingertips. That part was certainly one of the more real portions of a dream I've had in quite a while.
spankerchief: a cloth used to clean the penis after masturbation, sometimes it is a crusty towel or gym sock.
Right now the only thing that's preoccupying my online time, other than keeping AIM open in the hopes that Devo will come online, is rating every picture on Rate My Kitten a ten.
My current malady is not being able to hear out of my left ear. This probably comes from the fact that I put my thumb in there to hear better through my right ear at work. Christ almighty people are loud especially when menaced by vicious and determined moths.
P.S.
I have to troll the Birds. Nothing beats coming home and noticing the marked change in temperature as I go from the upstairs platform walking down into the dark coolness of my basement apartment. Fucking beautiful, especially when I just need a fan to keep my bulk cool.
Now to troll the folks back in New Jersey. There's no humidity out here. No annoying bugs either.
I do have to get myself together before I start writing a whole lot more in here. I like money but I don't like working for a living. I certainly enjoy the money and it enables me to do various things that engender joy. The whole tedium of work, handling strangers and the like wears on me.
Regarding the previous entry I realized something while chatting with Kylie a few minutes ago. I removed Makonan but I never removed Kinja from the dramatis personae list. Despite everything I've written bitching about Kinja, venting to put it gently, I can't make myself remove her from my page because I'm fairly certain that if I saw her again we would be friends. Even if it was "just for now".
Inside joke.
My job is drudgery. I just need to turn it into a game, acquire patience in the same fashion as patience when building up something in a game for a big, successful finish.
Why is it that the word "job" has so many negative connotations?
In wrestling, jobbing means that you're going to lose because it's part of your job. Jobbers are usually at the lowest rung of the wrestling ladder working house shows, dark matches and Jakked or Velocity or whatever it's called nowadays.
There are blowjobs and rimjobs. Yes, I'm sure there are people who enjoy doing them but they're outnumbered by the people who just want it done to them especially in the blowjob category. It's like gamemastering, most people want to play rather than run a game and those who want to run a game are so awful you can't wait for it to be over. Tis a rare bird who enjoys it and does it well. Still a blowjob is working some cheesy tool for a slimy, salty surprise and a rimjob is doing the work of toilet paper.
Don't forget the biblical Job who underwent various indignities because a mythical being decided to be an asshole despite the fact he was a Good Boy (tm).
Shut up, I know that Job is pronounced slightly differently than job.
I don't think that it has something to do with the difference between a job and a career. A job is simply something you do until you have enough money to acquire a career or training for that career. Careers being work that people actually want to do and look forward to involving themselves with on a daily basis for the rest of their life. Still most people are stuck in jobs rather than pursuing careers.
It's an ugly little word.
So here's what's been going on with me. I started my new job on May 13th. Fun thing about that day is I got pulled over coming back to work from lunch.
It gets better.
I didn't have insurance nor did I have any docs on my person or ID which worked against me much to my chagrin. The car got impounded and I had to work on getting insurance coverage so I could get the car back out of the yard. By the 15th I had insurance and ninety dollars later I got the car back in my possession.
Last Saturday I cashed my first paycheck along with my tax refund which left me feeling a bit more secure because I'm able to sock away cash for the court date.
Yeah, because I had no insurance and everything I have to go to court on June 24th. Speeding, no registration and no insurance means my license may be in jeopardy and I have to get my car legal in Colorado by the court date. I figured that since my docs were good until 2003 or so I could continue to use them until they ran out.
My job is alright, it's a job. Mostly I keep to myself and ignore everyone else unless I have a question or someone's telling me how I did something wrong and my blood pressure goes up thinking I'm a step towards being fired. Four of the women there are ready to drop or they have to wait a few months before they drop. Once a week they drag their kids into the office for whatever reason which
Shit thunder and lightning. Logging out.
Hurr was hemming and hawing for a few minutes about going upstairs to make sure that the Birds didn't leave their computers on.
Which only serves to make the work environment more annoying short of the one or two personalities who are squealing and yelping when a dangerous, highly poisonous Colorado moth approaches them. I can't complain about my job and I'm hoping this pans out for at least a year.
SHIT! I forgot to drop off my rent today. Hurr, I'll do that on Tuesday. I'm already late with my phone bill and now I'm going to owe twenty five bucks for not getting the rent into the office by 5 p.m. on Monday.
Screw this, I'm going to bed.
I never knew that OSX was pronounced "Oh Ehs Ten" not "Oh Ehs Ecks". I do believe this means for years I have been mispronouncing vi as "vie" rather than the correct "six".
Later (8:49 p.m. on Tuesday night)
However things go in June with my court date I will be getting myself a PS2 followed by acquiring a new computer that I'll put BSD 5.0 on when it comes out in November. I've come to realize that computers are for work or communicating but definitely not for games. In my experience I've had more trouble with games on computers than I've had with consoles. The troubles are usually slowdowns, memory leaks, having to defrag or whatnot and being a stick in the mud using a keyboard layout to navigate games rather than exclusively using a mouse. Overheating isn't an issue with consoles. I like that because most times my laptop becomes really hot in one corner and the fan gets louder trying to keep things cool inside the case. I have to thank Jaybird for his generosity that has engendered my admiration of consoles for games rather than using computers because he's lent me his PS2, his PSX and his SNES but I've lent him one of my Gameboys, a few cartridges including Final Fantasy II for the Gameboy. He's introduced me to RPGs like Final Fantasy and Chrono Cross along with works of Art like Grand Theft Auto III.
Other things that are going through my head are getting a kitty and joining the YMCA up the street because according to Jaybird it's affordable and since I've dropped a decent amount of weight I'm going to see about getting myself stronger for vanity's sake. I'll go at least once a week because going alone won't be incentive enough to be daily.
My current job has me seeing what most people make, at least what most people make in a month who do take out short term loans and it seems that I am average. What makes me crazy is seeing people who make five thousand a month taking out a loan. What do you need a loan for if you're making five thousand dollars a month? My conclusion is these folks do not know how to live within their means. It's pathetic.
My new job has also given me new insight to my internal clock. A spivak hour is only forty minutes long compared to a normal hour of sixty minutes. This realization came to me with my hour-long lunches where I sit in a corner reading quietly after wolfing down my meal until I'm overcome with this paranoia of "Shit, it's almost time" where I get up, check the clock and see there's twenty minutes left for my break.
Those minutes are antsy. I can't concentrate since my brain's not wanting to relax and take it easy for the remainder because then I'd lose track of time and be late returning to work. This feeling's akin to my inner alarm clock waking me up about an hour before my trusty alarm clock is due to whine loudly over the mumbling of NPR's morning edition. Eventually I'll get to sleep once I convince myself I have plenty of time to fuck off in that precious treasure of sleep but then I'll wake up at regular intervals where my first conscious thought is "Is it time yet?"
Ooh, I actually thought of a good and selfish reason why Pakistan and India shouldn't nuke the everliving shit out of each other. While driving to work on Tuesday morning I thought to myself "Shit, I remember how fucking dull NPR was when they just had the daily news from Afghanistan. Christ their coverage never ended." followed by "Good God, think of how boring NPR's morning edition will become if they're reporting about the hibakusha Indians and Pakis."
"I stand here on the glassy plain that used to be Kashmir. (sound effects of crying, wailing and fires) Already people are trying to put their lives back together after the fires, Hindus and Muslims working together for peace in this shattered land in the atomic shadow of war. Pranyavishnesha Nahasapeemapetilan explains his story. (five minutes of untranslated talking followed by an interpreter finally getting the clue he should be translating the guy's words into English)"
"NPR's mumblings are supported by Fruity McNutcake's Vegan Cookery with Meatless and Wheatless Breakfasts guaranteed to leave you hungrier than when you arrived and the Maribou Foundation for the Advancement of Lower Case which can be found at maribou dot org. This is NPR."
ZzzzzzZZzz *snikt* Wha.. you still here?
I'm not going to be here for long because it's bedtime.
Been wondering if Jupiter in its original Latin meant something like "Big Father" since I keep hearing "pater" when I say that name. On top of that I wonder if Zeus has any meaning or if it's just some goofy space name from thousands of years ago.
So I process loans all day and it's a job. What bugs me about the job is when someone tells me what I did wrong and I suddenly think "Holy shit I'm inching towards unemployment!" I get tense, I get involved in a big screwup from tension and trying to do something right and then it's the end of the day. Whew. There are lots of people who call in about how it costs them money to fax stuff, since faxing is the only way we do business, and I wonder "Gee, why don't you take out a loan to buy a fax machine? They're not that expensive." That's the only spiteful thing I can think of about the clients.
When I get up in the morning for work the first thing I think to myself is "Christ, I'm going to go to bed really early." Most times I end up staying up until ten and then settling down for the night. Sometimes I even dare to think "I better back out of the Birds tonight" but once I come home and let off a little steam by reading or playing a game I'm human enough for human contact. Human contact is definitely something that I need lately considering how quiet everything gets and how isolated I feel at times late at night or during the daytime on weekends. What's good is the fact I can speak the language so my situation doesn't feel entirely like I went to a foreign land and don't speak the language.
I know that if I went to live in some European country without knowing the language that the citizens, as a whole, would view me with disdain for not knowing the language because knowing the language would allow me to give something to their society and actually forge relationships. How come foreigners, or illegals, in the USA are given so much leeway for being ignorant of English? If they wanted to come here so badly then they should've learned the language or made an attempt to learn it instead of being mute servants with burning resentment in their eyes.
Lately I've been talking to myself a lot, either having sprightly conversations with /The_Cat/ admonishing her for making me look insane when she's insistent on talking at inopportune times. No, not while I'm working but when I'm walking down the street I can envision her waddling behind me talking up a storm about raisins and chasing bears at the Garden of the Gods. Such a tough little kitty-kitty. The other times when I find myself talking to myself is when I compose verbal letters to people saying them out loud rather than actually sitting down to write them. Mostly they're "Dear Malyss, How are you? I'm in Colorado. I hope one day you forgive me" or "Dear Devo, I hope you love me or I hope I get the cataracts taken out so I can see that you do love me" or "Dear Dad, I'm tired. Please bury me under a tree because I like the shade and want to be outside."
I saw a bumblebee a few days ago and today I saw a ladybug which gave me so much joy. I leaned in and squinted up my face whispering "Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home" because she was in a place where bugs don't thrive in the wild. Maybe the ladybug will get caught in a stiff breeze and blown out east or west towards some lovely gardens which don't need constant sprinkling to survive in the blind stare of the sun. Speaking of a garden I'd like to have a garden but mostly for flowers rather than vegetables since I'd think it'd be pretty worthless raising vegetables I wouldn't eat in the first place.
Wasteful, you know?
He's an amiable fellow, affable and charismatic in a "I'm taller than Chris Jericho" way. He's also damned hilarious when he's drunk.
It's Friday and I have absolutely nothing planned for the weekend because the Colorado DMV is NOT open on weekends and there's nobody to hang around with here.
Time to read and go to sleep. Maybe I'll get almost eight hours. I know that I can function on six hours of sleep a night for a limited time but then I break down and get cranky. Seven hours is decent but that leads to sleeping late on weekends and feeling like I pissed away less time than I would have if I woke up earlier. Eight hours is positively luxuriant.
I do know that no black people were killed in Auschwitz. When the SS marched them into the furnaces the other SS would say, "They're done already". If you feed dog food to cats you'll kill them. It's like poison!
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.
As someone who teeters on the brink of atheism because religion has only served to be a tool of war and manipulation I'm fascinated by aspects of spirituality. The closest I believe I come to spirituality is animism where I believe everything has a soul. The first time I had this feeling was back in New Jersey when I went into a petstore and I was overwhelmed with the sight of each and every soul as a tiny sparkle in cages, tanks and hutches. The sheer brillaince brought me to tears so I inhaled big and went into the back of the store for a moment pretending to look at aquarium filters rather than look like the big dork I am in the front of the store. My second experience with something spiritual was also in a pet store but it was at some PetSmart in south Jersey where I was overwhelmed by the lack of care for the animals, how they were no better than TV dinners to be disposed of after being delivered and their expiration date was long due. I still remember the little salamander floating dead in this one tank with little yellow tiger stripes and beautifully formed but he was in there forgotten and I was heartbroken that he ended up in a crappy store where they don't care about animals beyond their money making potential.
Beyond those experiences, except dreams, I've never experienced anything as being soulful or spiritual and that depresses me because most times I believe there are some folks who have experienced something deep and meaningful that touches them like a drunken uncle. The others are liars, the ones who witness or ramble on and on about religion are fakers looking to manipulate more folks to their side with a promise that only ends up being a lie. The lie is validated by the teacher, orator or whomever saying "You didn't experience it because you're not chosen" or "you're not faithful enough" or "you're a sinner". My opinion is the louder they talk the bigger their lie.
I'm troubled by leaning heavily towards atheism because sometimes I think I have lied to myself in order to feel like I'm fitting in with the rest of the population who seems to have found something great and wonderful in the realm of the divine. What comforts me in my leanings is the fact that being an atheist doesn't mean I have to rebuke ghosts, UFOs, cryptozoology and the rest of that stuff. Being uneducated (hi, maribou!) I can't think of any major pogroms or wars that have been fought which didn't involve religion on some level. Turning one's back on religion or keeping religion a quiet matter that is kept within churches or nowhere else would definitely be a good thing because folks would no longer divide themselves into groups through an ideological lie based on an illusory foundation of providence. With philosophies they're based on the opinions or beliefs of humans. Humans are fallible, everyone fucks up and no one is perfect in an objective sense. My view of philosophies is that one can debate them to no end but neither person involved will come to blows. Religion on the other hand panders to the lowest common denominator who requires a parent figure, tangible or intangible, to make them feel safe, loved and as if their lives will have meaning to someone or something but they don't want to put the effort into making something of themselves so they say "I'm important to God" since in their mind there is no one higher. By that virtue alone they make themselves into little crusaders who will punch someone's lights out in the name of Jesus because one said Jesus sucks cock. If God or Allah or their prophets are so big and powerful then why should the ravings of a non-believer trouble them? They turn the other cheek, if they aren't hypocrites and practice what they preach.
All around me I see the world and nothing in it marvels me to the point that I would think "Gee, someone must've made this!!!!!! Is this proof of God????" There is no God and if there is he's a pretty piss poor god compared to the forces which dominate the universe which has always existed and is without beginning or end since the universe is limitless. The universe is just a backdrop to billions and billions of random events which have no meaning, aim or goal that just happened to create intelligent life on a mote of dust on a grain of sand and aghlaugh aghlau aghu huahugh. If there is a God and he manifested himself like in Towing Jehovah then I'd be sorely disappointed in his creation. Why did you bother if you're not going to care about your creation. You're not going to notice even the smallest sparrow falling from the sky. Your creation is less beautiful now that it is known to be a creation and its meaning is lessened with your signature which is analogous to "Made in Taiwan".
I've lost my steam.
Muslim guys can marry non-muslim chicks but muslim chicks can't marry non-muslim guys. Or date them. Kinja made a big boo-boo then involved herself in a big boo-boo when she married her current guy. I'm sure that she's still muslim because she doesn't eat delicious and satisfying pork.
So what is it with wealthy guys going to brothels? Can't they get laid? Doctors, politicians and football players go to a brothel but can't fucking get laid in real life?
The major thing I hate about the internet is the fact that people are so fucking sensitive. I post something to the effect of "You stupid fucking trannies, slice off Mr. Ed and get the cunt you always wanted instead of being half assed with your bad hormone tits" and I get banned for having an (repugnant) opinion. I go onto EFnet for a week and use the nick of hitler and I get kicked for absolutely no reason even though I'm just in #jerkcity. So many sensitive souls who desire to be knights in shining armor, polygonal dice not included, to prove friendship or be cool for being part of groupthink or they're living out their grade school fantasies of lashing back at bullies. Want to know why I troll? The god damned internet community is made up of happy fluffy let's all get along and respect other people and ineffective angry people who complain about things which only exist if you give them any honest consideration. Oh boy, racism. RACISM IS BAD. Thanks Sherlock, what else do you have to offer to your blogasutra? What are you going to do sitting in your white suburban neighborhood wielding your "THIS IS A HATE FREE ZONE" sign in the window with your "I have a few black friends" and how you stumble when someone demands "Name them". There needs to be hatred and bile in order to maintain a balance, to keep people sane. Anger, like joy, is a healthy emotion. Violence is merely cathartic but in the end nothing is solved unless you want to eat your victim.
Where did the fucking weekend go?
It's a long dream just to irritate the fuck out of you.
While driving maribou home from her ice skating practice we ended up in a small neighborhood around dusk. I drove across lawns and driveways because this neighborhood was so suburban that there weren't any more steets. To one side of my driving path was a dowdy woman wearing a flower-print housecoat and green stuff on her face and curlers in her hair. Opposite her, walking towards her direction, was this tall guy with dark hair wearing a robe. maribou told me she wanted to get out and walk and she'd follow my carWhen she got out I started forward and saw that the guy in the bathrobe went to flash the housefrau much to her horror.
My first instinct was to protect maribou because I figured Jaybird would be pissed if someone flashed her and she'd be highly annoyed if confronted by this pervert. I gunned the engine and started towards the fellow beginning to chase him down until he reached an ivy covered chain link fence on the right side of the "road" and ran through to the small park on the other side. I got out and went through stepping on his bathrobe.
Great, he was butt naked.
He was waggling his dong around like a god damned puppet, other times he was rubbing his dick until it became a huge erection and a cool whip like substance began arcing from the business end. Like a retarded Puck he pranced and penised about babbling idiocites which only served to piss me off even more because he was running away from me. My intent was to sic the cops on his sorry bare ass. The park was filled with big square bushes which appeared to be hollow inside, the far end of the park, opposite the entrance, had a wall that looked like a Victorian home or hospital looming gray against the sky. The guy was tall, white with short black hair. The park was surrounded by walls, ivy covered chain link fences and the Victorian facade walls.
Eventually I grabbed him by the shorthairs on the back of his neck and frogmarched him into the neighborhood wondering if there was anyone still awake at this late hour who would let me use their phone. The houses were modest, kinda like the homes of a bunch of college friends would buy and share before tearing each other apart by sheer annoyance from constant contact while next door would be the elderly who had owned the homes since the late thirties who bought them while they were still WPA projects that made America proud. Each house was like a ranch, only one level with a big bay window that faced the street and a door to its left. Unlike most neighborhoods the homes weren't painted white but various colors from the red spectrum of the color wheel. The homes reminded me of trailers but without the metal exterior.
One house was filled with raucous college kids who woofed and hollered when I marched the criminal past their window but refused to answer the door when I started banging at it. A few houses down I found a small lavender home with an old black couple inside. The old black guy was really old because his face showed his age with flabby cheeks, deep wrinkles and gin blossomed nose. I dreaded having to talk with him because he'd probably be mumble mouthed. His wife was a real life version of the maid from Tom and Jerry cartooons who ended up retiring from whatever home she worked to get her place away from the city. Thankfully they opened the door and let me in, the guy didn't talk but the lady spoke without an ebonics accent saying I could use the phone once she was done with her onlinin'.
Great.
I sat down in the old man's chair and forced the nature boy to sit to my right and wait but he started struggling against me. I gave him the most savage beating possible in the head, beating his skull viciously with my fists until his hair fell out and his skull became deformed into a baby's bruised head soon followed by his body being formed into a baby's body but not a nude body one covered in blue terrycloth. "Well shit," I thought, "I might as well finish the job" so I obliterated the guy's head and tore the now-cloth body in half and shoved the rest into a combination closet and bathroom.
Before I could close the door the remains reformed and flew out, the guy-baby seized the old woman telekinetically and began squeezing her like a blood balloon and laughing maniacally at her pain. I went for the phone and saw the old woman had five connections to the internet over her home line which meant there'd be no way in hell for me to call the cops. After some struggling I was able to grab the kid and shove him back into the closet after crushing his head revealing it was made out of vinyl. Running outside I could hear the closet door thumping like mad.
Luck was on my side when I saw a black painted house down the street on the same side of the old black couple's home were a long line of police with huge German shepherds marchinging from a house towards the park. Eventually I caught their attention, my voice softened into an ineffective hoarse whisper that felt like trying to run away in a dream but not moving any faster than a turtle because the air suddenly turned into a viscous fluid. After much frantic waving and gesticulating ten of these followed me and went into the house, the closet door was thumping something fierce. One cop said that he'd take over from her, opened the door and sent in wave after wave of German shepherd after the mutant quarry. Around this time I figured that beating in the skull of the naked punk crossed his wires giving him telekinetic powers. Bah. Soon there were dogs being flung by unseen forces against the wall, cops firing like mad into the closet's dark recesses with little or no effect.
I left and started walking back home.
Man did I have to pee so I stopped off at this abandoned gas station's toilet and pissed, I got a hamburger from a vending machine which was really good (it was named after the duke of doubt) and I went outside to see that Herb from the old McDonald's commercials was outside acting like he was ready to kick some serious ass. I was a one hit wonder making him crumple at my feet. I squeezed out of the thin brick-lined alleyway but my attention was drawn to the little alcove at the end by a dark figure leaping from rooftops in that direction. Squeezing back I saw Batman looming over Herb's body wielding a severed cable (romex?) that was sparking blue like it was airbrushed in a Frank Miller comic.
"What the fuck are you doing? He's dead you stupid prick" I shouted at him. Batman grunted and waved the wire around as if he forgot what he was going to do in the first place.
Sigh.
Once again I squeezed out of the tight brick alleyway into the new daylight.
Never before had I seen such a gorgeous autumn day, the skies were Colorado Springs with the omnipresent cartoon sunshine but the neighborhood was reminiscent of the area around the firehouse back in New Jersey. The trees were vivid magentas, scarlets, oranges and yellows. Soon I found myself cornered in a courtyard by two guys. One was wearing a FBI issue suit and the other was a little Mexican wearing red clothes with red shoes. Looking around at my situation I was in a courtyard with a tree to my right bearing bright red leaves that were preparing to fall, to my left was a big red brick wall and the only means of escape I could take was blocked by the Mexican.
"I'm sorry sir but you do have the right to remain silent" droned the agent. He was bald, wearing glasses and looked like a nebbish. The Mexican was wondering why they were going to take me into the station.
The answer was simple, "He defied the will of Batman and two counts of assault."
Well shit.
I couldn't fly away because my superpowers were suppressed or completely turned off in the presence of red. Desperately I searched above me for a single patch of blue where I could concentrate and zoom up, up and away from these ridiculous authorities. I just stuffed my keys into my shirt pocket and they ushered me to their SUV. Standing outside their vehicle was a lanky black guy who watched me silently and shook his head. He shouldn't have done that because that let me see the disgusting trepan wound on the back of his skull.
Shit, the naked guy could change shape and he was getting his revenge by having me put in jail since I couldn't get him arrested. I hung my head down and went inside the truck.
Meanwhile back at the residence of Hank and Peggy Hill there was a yard party being held with Bill and Boomhauer and Dale in attendance. Sadly it was about to be broken up by a seething gray-black blob made up of ropy smears of some substance. It lunged after Bill who curled up in a fetal position and began weeping because of his imminent demise. Hank ran fowrard to save his friend before it was too late only to draw the ire of the shoggoth thing. When the being went to enfold Hank into its folds it began giving off yellow smoke and acting as if it was in pain but in its idiot mind it figured it had enough mass to win in the end. Peggy was soon caught up in the seething mass and she also made it give off yellow smoke until the shoggoth perished leaving deep ruts in the formerly well manicured lawn and turning the grass a blasphemous shade of gray giving it a dustlike texture.
"Well I never knew that detergent was so good. The box said magic formula." Peggy mused. She went inside to see if she had enough left over for laundry day.
Back in my half of the dream the officials had me brought to a room in a hospital where they described how there were shoggoths everywhere and they were spawned by my violent attack on naked guy who had reformed himself into the old black man's body. Naked guy had the power to reverse aging making his host young again. The officials felt sheepish and went upstairs.
I recounted the vision I had of King of the Hill vs. The Shoggoths and they went to see if they had any of the generic supermarket brand laundry detergent in the hospital's basement. I was figuring that the hospital I was in was also the hospital which formed the opposite wall of the former playground. When the other officals returned they had big red boxes that kindasorta looked like Tide but were different enough to make people think of Tide but it was just a cheaper knockoff or probably the same detergent made by Tide but in a different box. Those crafty ad folk.
Anyway.
I poured out a mugful of the blue liquid and showed the others how to dispense the detergent since they were used to dealing with powdered detergent. Armed with our weapons we tramped down a maze of stairs which was the most fun thing in the whole dream making me wish I had a big rambling house of five levels and lots of stairs that seemed to lead nowhere but dutifully took people down as long as the travellers knew they had to take some corridors to the next stairwell otherwise it'd be a road to nowhere.
That's about where the dream ended, we never got out to the street or faced our shoggoth nemesises nor did I ever finish off naked guy once and for all. That naked guy still irritated the fuck out of me. Also there was a tiny part of my dream where Devo appeared where I told her I was thinking of shaving my head but there are only two people in the world who could do that for me. My father and her.
I'm reminded of the last time I had such a huge dream and that was back in June of 2000. Well not so much a huge dream but an involved and detailed dream. Maybe it's just selective memory.
Something bugs me. I think that these dreams are probably the most interesting reads on my site, everything else being long winded diatribes that end up rambling only to run out of steam. I've heard more about and from folks who just skip the dreams than anyone else. My life's relatively boring. The most interesting things that have happened and have been immortalized here have been my affair with Kinja (at least the aftermath) and moving out to Colorado. Most times I write this journal or diary or log for my own entertainment and to keep a record of my life but there's still that part of me which wishes to express myself in an entertaining fashion to an alleged audience.
Yesterday I went to the A&E Biography website to see if they had anything on Lovecraft because I'd think it'd be awful cool if they did a Biography on him and Robert E. Howard. Their entry was terrible and they didn't even have an entry for Robert E. Howard! Come on, he'd have more reknown than Lovecraft considering he created Conan the Barbarian. Back to Lovecraft's small biography. First they said that Lovecraft never left Providence and secondly they mentioned that Lovecraft had acquired great popularity in France. This is certainly new to me and the way it was conveyed only serves to diminish Lovecraft's work, much more so than having some anthology bearing the name Lovecraft across its cover only to have (with august derleth) written in five point Times New Roman on the back near the UPC symbol because each story is just Derleth writing from Lovecraft's story seeds rather than being true collaborations. France. Fucking France. It's like comparing Lovecraft to Jerry Lewis. They're a country full of Stevages who cry out cultural imperialism when their insular society is breeched by something that isn't French and their citizens may actually like. Plus they harbor murderers within their borders like that Earth Day hippie who stuffed his girlfriend into a trunk back in Philadelphia.
Dear Charles Ng,
Next time, don't go to Canada. Go to France. I'm sure they'd be happy to harbor you at one of their quaint villas, give you a medal for your fight against the barbaric death penalty and pay you to explore the possibilities of running underground murder chambers.
Love,
spivak
P.S. If you didn't notice, I was being sarcastic.
P.P.S. Well duh.
The only reason why Charles Ng was returned to the USA to face the death penalty was because Ng's sentence was finished in Canada we told Canada you can keep him. Of course all of our worst elements will move up there because they know it's a safe harbor. Sure the Canadian supreme court barely decided to send Ng back to America but they had common sense. Thank goodness Ng isn't black otherwise I'm sure there'd be plenty of negroes wearing shirts bearing his image with "Original Murdera" in some gothic font written underneath the picture and stupid liberals saying they're going after him because he's black not because of his brutal and disgusting crimes.
Where was I?
Lovecraft good. Serial killers bad. France bad. Read my fucking dreams because if you don't you make baby spivak cry. If or when I shave my head I'm not going to have a goatee and do the Stone Cold Steve Austin look because that's really stupid but I'm still gonna keep my beard.
And in closing I edited a dream so that it was no longer altered for someone's sake. Not that it would've mattered before or after but it always bothered me that I was not true to you, gentle reader, even in the telling of a dream because it meant I was not being true to myself. This will never happen again.
More Stuff
I got up around ten this morning and started writing down this dream with my eyes closed for most of the typing. I went to a couple of Robert E. Howard sites and read his biography along with a few essays regarding his work and spent the rest of the time writing two very long involved emails. Plus I added a new comic to my comics page using that magnificent MS Chat.
Chrono Cross pisses me the fuck off in a huge way.
I'm fighting this guy in the Dead Sea right now and each time before the battle I have to sit through fucking text going on and on about the story that I've read five fucking times before and even with the buttons being mashed repeatedly to speed things up like five minutes later I'm still waiting with my dick in my hands to get to the battle which I usually lose because the cocksucker is cheap and uses a white power called the holy dragon sword that's a one hit KO.
Great, you have a fucking story Squaresoft. At least out of consideration put a save point somewhere after the talking is done so a person can get right to the combat each time rather than reading the same shit all over again. I like the game and want to progress in the game to see where it is going but at this point I'm thinking fuck it since I'm stuck in this spot of molasses.
Final Fantasy IX is okay. What got me excited is the card game. My overall impression of Final Fantasy IX is that it's just interactive TV. You watch the game play for you most of the time and sometimes you get involved in combat.
Yesterday's entry's dream was probably the longest dream I've had in quite some time. Perhaps the longest dream ever. The thing that surprised me was the SuperFuzz reference that just sprung up out of nowhere. It's a fun movie that I haven't seen in two decades but how the hell did that reference find its way into my subconscious. The shoggoths were there because on Friday I read Fat Face which is a story about shoggoths. Other references are just spurious or were lurking in the back of my head. I do know there are a shitload of typos which will need fixing and I will have that done by the time this is uploaded tonight.
This weekend went much too fast.
I'm tired. Not much else to say.
Site news. I thought of a simple and cleaner solution to the few entries which are dreams and submissions from the few who have submitted to this site along with other parts of the site which are intermingled and used to be handled in a fashion much like this.
Let's say I have an entry that's submitted by someone about the subject of gaming. Dull gaming stuff that most readers (females) skip over anyway. The only other thing I have to work on with this site is get the stylesheet to validate once again because for some reason it doesn't validate even though I can't see any troubles with it. Here it is if you want to take a look. If you email spivaks@hotmail.com I'm probably not going to get it since I've gotten a shitload of spam and turned on the exclusive filter until I can think of a decent alternative email.
Lately I've been thinking that I'm the grasshopper from Aesop's Fables. There aren't any ants around here doing work while I laugh and play but the ant is one part of my mind and the grasshopper is the dominant part of my brain. I should be going to the DMV but I'm making excuses not to which are above and beyond the whole "hour long waits to get told to wait an hour are sucking the life out of me" but like once I get out of work at best I'll have a half hour to get what I need and by the time the queue is ten people away from me the DMV will close and I'll be shit out of luck. The Colorado DMV doesn't have evening hours. No weekend hours either. They close at five o'clock which means if one needs to do car business in this state then one has to cut out of work early or make a day of the procedures. I sincerely doubt it'd be so hard if the DMV had one night a week where they were open until seven or at least a half day on Saturday.
I digress, as usual.
The ant part of me is saying "Get this over with already" regarding getting my registration done. Hell it's even saying it'll be relatively painless to appeal to the grasshopper side. Once that's done I'll just have to wait on the license thing because I don't know what the status of my license is right now. The grasshopper would rather look at the calendar and say "I have time" then sit around avoiding reality because that's always worked in the past.
Typical spivak.
Classic spivak if I was on LambdaMOO.
I spoke with Brian at length tonight and then spoke briefly with Tim who suggested that I plead not guilty and speak with the district attorney in order to have everything reduced to a fine to keep my license. My response was that's scary since I figure most people who plead not guilty get raped superhard by the system for being so arrogant to proclaim something like that to the court since the government doesn't like being questioned and will crush all who dare say anything whether right or wrong.
Of course all my feelings, which I avoid being a grasshopper, are probably blowing everything out of proportion so after the twenty fourth rolls around I will say "That wasn't so bad" and come home whistling a jolly tune.
The other day I got a letter from Devo which I read once and have been reading in tiny pieces during breaks at work because there's a bit to digest in her replies to the multitudes of emails I've sent her over the past couple of months. Last weekend I wrote her about thirty kilobytes of text in email. Also last weekend was the one where I had the long dream so I was on a roll writing things. I tried writing Devo back but after looking at what I wrote it seemed like I had the same stock letter I send her when I'm being down (for lack of a better term).
Looks like I'll procrastinate until Friday, cash my check on Saturday and revel in having money then I will hem and haw throughout the next week, have a heart attack during King of the Ring because Monday will be the big day.
minor update
A touch of my anxiety regarding my court thing for insurance stems from a small tale I heard from one of the managers at work. He told me how he had to do community service for something relatively minor but he told the court how he was moving back to New York and asked for leniency. He left Colorado under the impression that he was in the clear. When he returned and went to get his car legal they took his fingerprint and immediately arrested him for running from the law. He did the community service and all was done.
The story just hit me strange.
oh yeah
Twelve thousand hits today.
Did you know that reading before going to sleep affects dreaming? Those who avoid reading fiction and its subgenres tend to forget their dreams entirely in addition to being pill popping addicts. The hallucinations have to come from someplace but apparently going after the "green fairy" and abusing other chemicals to rape their body into having such visions and hallucinations are necessary since the dream process is stunted or has become vestigial.
It was night time. Not a natural night where there'd be some light from the stars or light pollution. This night was more like the black and featureless darkness that enveloped Silent Hill. I was coming home through the backyard cutting between the houses. When I got into the laundry room the door to my apartment was open. The bottom of the stairs was flooded with a blue-green glow much like my nightlight in that one couldn't read by the light but it was enough to see by. In real life my night light is decidedly green, far from having any tint of blue.
Curiousity only got me halfway downstairs when I heard a noise outside. On the side of the house were two cops waving flashlights at a drunk girl on the ground and basically acting like cops. Her hair was short and she was wearing a dark blue sweater that was stained in front from vomit. When the cops saw me they ran off across the street. Once I got the chick upright again I saw she had nestled her hair on a piece of black pumice I used to have which was a pen and pencil holder.
Coming around the front of the house I saw that lights were on across the street but my side was undergoing a blackout. A few minutes later I was shoplifting at the 7-11 and slowly nursing a paranoia that I was going to be caught. I made my way into a back room and followed the stairs down into the basement. The basement was a bit too small for me, I had to stoop so my head didn't scrape the ceiling. It was basically a corridor, concrete walls which are rounded on the corners and faced with beige tile. Near the ceiling were lines of blue and orange tile (blue being closest to the ceiling) going the length of the corridor. "They" were still after me. Being clever I ducked into the ladies room since no one would ever think of looking for a guy in there. I couldn't fit into the stalls because my ass was too big which meant if any women happened to come inside they'd see me and the jig would be up but that didn't stop me from trying. Eventually some women came in so I acted surprised saying I thought this was the men's room and what the hell were they doing in here despite the obvious lack of urinals. They weren't easily fooled but they didn't freak when I eventually admitted I was in the wrong place.
I escaped out the opposite end of the hallway and climbed the stairs to my aboveground apartment. This apartment had lots of tall windows which reached to the floor, had an airier feel than my current place along with a cool view of the horizon which I didn't recognize. I laid on the hardwood floors and Devo came in to lie next to me. She was wearing a red sundress. She rolled over to me and I whispered "Let's make love." She sighed heavily, rolled on top and lifted her dress off revealing she had nothing on underneath. Without her dress I saw that her skin was quilted because of sunburn. It was pink and shiny between the seams and had a strange undercolor of yellow which wasn't the healthiest thing but I really didn't care what she looked like. She leaned forward and we fooled around but it was mostly one-sided. One of the doors to the other room creaked open which made her prick up her ears. It was her skinhead boyfriend. She got up and went to be with him because he was drunk.
As she left the room sunlight started streaming in from a sunrise which was without the hallmark reds, oranges and golds one would expect and this freaked me out. One thing was the fact I was glad I was alone since I felt too selfish and was irritated at Devo leaving me to try and comfort anyone at this bizarre occurance of a midnight sunrise. I wouldn't have had the patience to soothe or calm anyone else.
I hate it when that happens in dreams.
A few years ago, maybe more, I had my first sun at midnight dream. Despite the disturbing aspect this was hardly a nightmare. I was on a campus somewhere sitting under a tree while the sun burned brightly overhead without giving off any heat. A year or so later I was wandering around the campus of the University of Florida, lost, and having the a sense of deja vu which was tied to that dream. Another motif that I hate in my dreams is the ocean. Since I was a little kid it'd haunt my nightmares with hungry waves crashing after me, chasing me up the beach or keeping me in the clutches of the waves to be battered again and again by the tides.
The worst nightmares were the ones with the tsunamis.
I definitely need to time my lunches better since returning early grates on me. I'd always hear inane chatter in the break room which seems like noise for the sake of noise to fill uncomfortable silence between acquainted strangers. Maybe they can't think of anything deeper than "Cottage cheese is the best!!! Do you think so???" The optimist in me says that they keep the other conversations out of earshot of other folks but the optimist voice inside of me is extraordinarily weak.
My experience with phones on the job has made me an expert in figuring out if someone is black or not on the other end of the line. There's a certain something that just gives them away as being black which can't be suppressed by the best and most cultivated "white voice". I'd say that I'm accurate eighty five percent of the time only because there are some southerners who sound very black. Funny thing about them is most of these are the really racist folk. I base that assertation on the Discovery Channel doing exposes on the KKK or HBO's liberal, kneejerk documentaries about racism in America. The one great big giveaway in regards to someone being black is when they go "HANH" instead of "Excuse me?" or "I beg your pardon?"
If Stone Cold Steve Austin, Crybaby Primadonna Who Won't Job, was black I'm sure that the wrestling audience would shout "HANH" instead of his trademark "WHAT".
Speaking of wrestling, I wish Austin wasn't such a fan favorite because I'd like to see him fired after he walked out of Raw last Monday. Austin's dull, "WHAT" is annoying and he won't job. His wrestling styles sucks ass too. Sure he has a bum neck but jeez get some variety and learn some cool moves and if learning other moves than punching, the stunner and "WHAT" will endanger your physical well being then retire before you're forced by the WWF or the fans to retire. Austin's not a good heel because he comes across as a bad ass and you'd expect that so there aren't any surprises there. He's not a good face since his whole face schtick relies upon Vince McMahon being evil and taking a "Take this job (heh) and shove it" attitude which is so eighties.
Also fuck The Rock. His movie career will have a brief flare but once the media is bored with the whole wrestler turned actor schtick he'll realize that he won't have any more good roles, relegated to B-movies meaning he'll have to go back to wrestling full time. I don't think that the fans would have much patience with him after he deserted them and the ring.
Who's left? Triple H? Mister I slept my way to a championship and all I got was this crappy Iron Cross logo? I heard a lot about him while he was recovering from his leg injury but since his return I've been far from excited by his wrestling or his personality. I'd expect an overmuscled neanderthal like him to explode in the ring and prove to be a real menace in the vein of Brock Lesnar. Triple H is more like a steroid abusing cuckold who is not a mid-card talent because of his off-ring relationships.
cranky
I'm a touch cranky at maribou because Jaybird went to pick her up and she wasn't responding to him. He called back to his apartment about a quarter to eight to see if she walked home. No dice. I went outside and looked up the road and didn't see her walking back home. I kept going in and out of their place looking up the road and seeing if he had called back to see if she was around or if he had any news.
I was like, "Well fuck, now I have to take care of Jaybird. I gotta give him the number to my job so he can tell me if he hears anything. I'm going to be up all night driving roads that I don't recognize despite living here a year seeing if we find anything probably followed by 'Shit, there's her straw hat. Aw man no.' Damn, should I write about it in my diary?" The best case scenario in the worst case scenario would be discovering a former upstate NY resident nearby under shady circumstances who is later found on the side of Pikes Peak with his bones picked by birds and plague-ridden golden squirrels with no more evidence than they found on Chandra Levy's skeleton.
I heard something and dashed downstairs to see them ambling from the car safe and sound. Like a mom I kept going "What happened? What happened?" until I learned she was just being talked to by her boss.
BUSTED
Kidding. She was being told how the boss told one of her co-workers to straighten up and fly right or he'll be sucking for dollars in Acacia Park.
I have a strange feeling he wasn't as colorful about it as I am in this entry.
So I'm only a touch cranky because she's home okay, safe and sound.
So Tim has surprised me a bit considering how he comes across as not giving a shit about folks beyond himself. Brian told me how Tim expressed concern regarding my drinking twice, once back in January and the other time was more recent. Also Tim brought up how he thought he and Brian could come out to Colorado and help me move back.
Gee, I didn't know that I was going to move back!!!
Still I was touched and thought it was particularly cool coming from Tim.
I did tell Brian to tell Tim that the last time I went out drinking was back in late March when I went out to get drunk for the sake of getting drunk. It was not a fun thing like New Year's Eve or one of the other times where I celebrated gaining employment or somethingrather.
Wrestling was blah.
The start showed promise but its spontaneity soon dissolved into something that was staged when Triple H's rampage became remarkably cautious. The matches were dull and lead up to the main event which was a tag team match which eventually became a handicap match.
maribou didn't like my joke that Lita and Kane were coming back to do a handicap match.
They're both on the injured list.
I found one of my Del Ray HPL books, The Doom that Came to Sarnath, but I still haven't found Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath. It's been ages since I've read this tale and it's perfectly paced for the rhythm of my life at this time.
Lastly I caught Devo online and flipped between AIM, her webcam and just staring into space because I was under a tremendous ennui. I still pronounce it "en-newie" instead of "on-whee". Such a faggoty word but it best describes what I felt at that time lying on my side flipping around the windows, feeling selfish in the fact I couldn't be entertaining or really hold a conversation.
There were many viewpoints in my dream. The first began on the edge of a frozen pond that was actually slushier than frozen solid which makes it remarkably frigid. I'm seeing everything through my father's eyes and I know he is looking for me because I was last seen around this pond. My awareness shifts from his body to hover above the surface of the slush until it reaches denser slush which is heavy enough to support snowdrifts piled against a corner of the pond. In the midst of the snow is my body, gray and frozen, looking much younger than I am in real life. When the consciousness enters my body everything becomes bitterly cold. I can see and feel, rocking my body back and forth in an attempt to shake myself loose from the arctic cement. During this futile struggle the point of view shifts from being deep in the core of my soon-to-be corpse to floating just a foot away from my face. Suddenly I can see my body laid out on a piece of true ice surrounded by people with my father looking over their shoulders. Despite being gray, cold and near death the people were remarking I still had some vestigial warmth with a good chance of pulling through my experience. Maybe it's the proximity of my disconnected consciousness. I zoomed in close to watch someone give me a shot just beneath my right earlobe that stung like the dickens.
I was back home in New Jersey convalescing in the big orange chair feeling the warmth of the radiator. My sister had moved into my parents' bedroom with her bed in the center and a circle of lime green and rose pink lego for protection. She seemed to be awfully pissed off at me for some unknown reason in addition to being territorial as if she resented me for almost freezing to death and my continued existence was an undue burden on her life. Her companions were two dogs who feared me. The only one I saw was a stocky, black and white pup with floppy ears. I went from standing in front of her bedroom door into my father's office. His office was exactly as I remember it being ten or more years ago being cluttered, a tight fit and littered with papers. To my right was an upright fax machine that started chugging along.
The first fax was torn down the middle but I could make out it was a message from Devo. I closed my eyes and told her to fax me again because this fax ate the paper. The unmolested message looked like a typical document made in Word with gray text boxes and columns of text angled just enough to grab the reader's attention. It was a list of promises she felt she could make to me without any fear of breaking them and losing my favor. I only remember two of the promises.
She said she wouldn't shame me or herself.
She wrote that she'd make me a dream sandwich.
The second one seemed to be vaguely sexual but something says it was meant to be taken literally. I think she mentioned something about spiders but my memory is unreliable.
I put the letter gently on my father's desk and stared reproachfully at the letter before being overcome by a deep seated sorrow. The rest of the dream was watching myself, my consciousness floating in the doorway, sitting hunched over in the gray winter light filtering through the dirty, beige venetian blinds. A dream hour later I woke up and returned to reality.
Friday was a very cranky day.
Ninety percent of the people I had to deal with were exceptionally stupid or grumpy. What bothered me is when I tried to keep an even tone while communicating with everyone it came across as being on edge or seething with rage.
Sigh.
I can't win. If I'm trying to be neutral then I'm seething but if I'm angry then I'm a god damned psychopath who will dance under a full moon covered in a sheen of blood from my slain enemies.
My crankiness was fed when the manager went off on how a strange guy was seen wandering around the building. I asked if she was going to call the cops but she waffled and went back to her desk. Ten minutes later my break came around and I went outside to check on my car. Everything was alright. That afternoon my mood took another downturn when it started to hail. Tiny pieces of ice that are no bigger than a pea or kernel of corn sound like god damned golf balls thundering against everything and glass will shatter under its relentless assault. By the end of the day my car was still fine so I wasn't as irritated.
What lifted my spirits was reading that Austin's on the WWF's shitlist after walking out on last Monday's Raw. Good fucking riddance. Yeah, I've read about how he's supposedly a draw and a hard worker but what I've seen in my nearly year-long return to wrestling has shown he's gone downhill or has been highly overrated by fans. The first time I saw Austin made me think "Is that Steve Goldberg?" I had no idea that there were two companies and Goldberg was a different person from Austin. Later on I was amused to read that most folks considered Austin's Bionic Redneck schtick to be the WWF's attempt to make their own Goldberg. At least visually. From what I've read on most good wrestling sites is that some folks think Austin ripped off Goldberg or vice versa.
I'm the second prettiest girl in school.
Good thing about this diary is I see who I write about and who doesn't write about me. Of course there's always the well-meaning stuff of "Oh, you already know" which gets a grunt for a reply followed by some unspontaneous, tepid thing about me so I shut the fuck up already. Ego isn't just about self aggrandizement.
Right now I'm making plans for the rest of the year because I'm going to see about making something out of this year. I know I've said this before that I'm paranoid that each time I make huge plans everything falls through (like employment) and I'm stuck waiting with my finger pressed firmly against my prostate getting a kiss from my anus while I berate myself at thinking I deserve good things and losing income is just a way of learning I'm a worthless piece of shit and the second prettiest girl in school.
Might as well get my hopes up now rather than down the line when I'm feeling comfortable enough to make such decisions so I can fall flat on my face quickly and get up even quicker to start something new and continue without skipping a beat.
I could visit New Jersey in November using Thanksgiving weekend to my advantage leaving on Wednesday and starting the work week vacation on Friday. I could also use that time to visit Oklahoma and visit Devo on her birthday. Thankfully her birthday isn't a Thanksgiving day like my sister's can be but the only time I could visit would be during that kind of holiday and considering how I think Devo regards me I wouldn't force my presence on her on such a family holiday. If I did then I'd just eat hot pockets in the dark and read my email. I'd be too freaked to be in a situation like that, also I'm sure she'd be too freaked to have me at that kind of dinner because that's heavy shit and as far as I know I'm not a "you meet my parents" kind of person in her book like Utoshi.
Maybe I'm putting too much weight and bearing on that kind of situation or I'm selling myself short.
I certainly wouldn't want her to have the whole weird shit of trying to figure out how to say who I am to the folks she hangs out with on a regular basis much in the same way back in the summer and early autumn of 1999 Malyss didn't know how to introduce me after I started pulling away from her. Those kinds of situations would be weird for Devo in that she wouldn't know how to introduce me because if it's one thing then I'd be upset and withdraw or she'd be putting bigger shit on me than she wants out of me.
Still there's the idea of making Labor Day into a four day weekend to drive down and say hello.
Either way I plan on visiting New Jersey before February. I have to admit I'm tempted to make contact with Kinja just to say hello and see what it's like if it's bizarre or a huge mistake or just rehashing old stuff except it'd be without the fighting. I definitely want to go to a game or two. Maybe run a game. Either my little space run or the prelude for my vampire game.
Not that anyone will get a chance to see the entire WoD New Jersey I created anytime soon or ever.
Monday will be a bit busy because during lunch I'll have to go cash my check so I can take care of Tuesday. Tuesday will be busy for me. I'm going to head over to the DMV to register the car in Colorado. First thing I have to do is get my copy of the title and make sure I have everything in my backpack. I'm wishy-washy about getting the driver's license put into Colorado because I don't want to get to the DMV, hand it to them, have them check me and go "Oh, you can't drive" then I'll have to take a driving test again along with all the other bullshit of getting a license. At worst I'll just work an extra hour on one of the days after court to get my license into Colorado if I can do that without putting up with any bullshit.
I can smell smoke outside and it's really cloudy although it's probably just smoke. It's a shame the judge didn't let the woman who started the fire out on parole so she could be thanked by her neighbors. Repeatedly. Hurr burning letters in a tinderbox and wondering why half the state is on fire.
There was a meeting at work today and I got home around six but I get to leave an hour early tomorrow for the DMV. Coming home at six reminded me of how much I dislike the clinic next door because they eat up all the fucking parking spaces. There's a great big fucking parking lot behind that building, why not park there instead of in the street where folks park because they don't have driveways. Like the apartment building next door and this building.
I'm tired and bored and been irritated all day by my subconscious making correspondences between one peson and another person who I knew almost a decade ago.
So I'm going to have to take another hour off of work meaning cutting two lunches in half so I can have a full hour on Thursday to go to the DMV now that I have the VIN verification and emissions test done on my car. The upshot is my car's fluids are in order so no more worrying about that particular thing.
Just tired, want to sleep, I'm on edge and feel like striking out at anyone. I tried trolling on slashdot and other message boards but that came up empty.
If you look northwards you'll see huge clouds of smoke. Yesterday you could really smell hell and I woke up this morning to the scent of smoke. Once again they should string up that woman by the tits and let all the meskins play pinata on her ass. She really should've known better and this is unforgivable. Just wish that I could get some ash to save as a keepsake of Colorado. I don't know where maribou has been but I haven't seen any flakes of ash around here. It's probably something where if you're out during the day or have a job that allows one to go out on a regular basis then someone sees much more.
Maybe I'm just getting wound up from the anticipation of Monday but I have this huge pit in my stomach about various shit in my life. There's one thing, my big plan, that's keeping me going so I have something to look forward to in the long run. Other things and people in my life are just making me irritated, disappointed and kicking myself to think "why bother" or "give up" or "you lost".
Interesting way of thinking of shit since there wasn't anything to win in the first place.
r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r i'm still the second prettiest girl in school r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r fucking antipathy r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r give up i am dead r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r you don't disappoint me i disappoint myself r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r i'm a schmuck r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r r
some late night teeth gnashing later...
The Birds are really important to me. How much so? If it's a Wednesday or Thursday and by sheer providence Devo is online and we're talking and it's getting close to seven o'clock mountain time then I'm torn between the two but I must go upstairs to see the Birds.
Hi.
My car is now legal in Colorado but I'm still unsure about my driving privileges. I have green plates and everything too. My new title will arrive in the mail sometime late next week.
The Birds, as usual, are wonderful people. The folks who have been invited to come out to Colorado are FOOLS for not taking them up on their invitation. Jaybird puts the stereotypical Confederate royalty to shame with his hospitality. maribou is a gracious host and wonderful conversationalist who certainly puts together strong and cogent arguments that are sure to get the brain cells rubbing together. I can not emphasize enough how fine these people are. Hopefully when they adopt their little black boy they will pass along their traits to him so he grows up to be a role model for the American negro.
I suggest naming him Cedric, Calhoun or Cleveland.
I did work from seven to five on Wednesday so I could leave early on Thursday to do my car stuff but when I left today it felt kinda weird and I had a weird vibe like they're going to talk to me about this. Um, hello. The woman you hired when you hired me was out for three days and she's been employed as long as I have been employed at your establishment was out for two or three days to the point I thought she was fired. I've missed less time and done more to keep you folks from being in a lurch. Also the company recently hired another person which makes me think they're just trying to keep themselves from having a gap in workers after they fire me.
Plus my dick's a decent size and I'm not about to get pregnant nor am I interested in any of the women there because they're married or pregnant. Okay, taking after Brian, the marriage thing doesn't bother me enough but it's the whole having passed kids through that magical orifice after nine months of poor posture and upset stomachs which really bugs me.
Sometimes I wish I had something interesting to talk about like homosexuality or dating outside of my race. Something that has the ring of being really personal that's shared but in the end it's amazingly superficial and meaningless. At least it'd be a conversation starter rather than "Hey, look at my weepy diary where you can read bigoted tirades and hear me whine about women who don't treat me the way I know I should be treated." Yawn, that's everyone else on the internet. Fuck, I've even noticed that the whole black and green color scheme isn't that original. Especially so if someone is using courier.
Oooh, with an attitude like that I should be muslim.
Shut up. Ten paces behind me. My word is law.
If I have a paycheck on July the first and I am still employed then I'll have high hopes moving those rubber tree plants. My job's not bad. My job's not the forcible cocksucking which was MCI. Just sometimes I feel there are inconsistencies and unsettling attitudes towards other workers who aren't relatives or friends which I will not broach because I'd come across as being insane. I'd rather be the quiet one, keeping to himself and reading quietly during lunch or breaks.
Time to take a shit, find something to read and go to sleep.
Compassion is a luxury. Something unnecessary and afforadable by those who really don't need it in the first place because they have more than enough in their life. Having too much of something only serves to make it worthless. Compassion wielded by such an individual is meaningless and an affront to the concept of love and all its relatives.
I wallow in hatred because it is essentially meaningless.
You are a HSARK
Haunted Sensing Accepting Realistic Knowing
HSARKs are prone to slow self-conversions from our side to the other. They keep in mind which side they are on, but over time desire to employ solutions that only lead to the other side. Herbert West was a HSARK.
This is courtesy of the S-P-O-N-G-E personality test.
I have a few things going on through my head, most of them are fuelled by disappointment sublimated from anger. When I get my head straight I'll write about them here.
How appropriate. Sunday morning I dreamt of midget wrestlers. No, I didn't watch them in action but I was in the backroom all disembodied watching them talk trash to each other. Unlike average size wrestlers the midget wrestlers weren't into doing works, everything they did in and out of the ring was for real. Odd thing about the wrestlers was the fact they had Elvis DA haircuts and were covered in ire zumi tattoos which took up about seventy five percent of their bodies and did not touch their faces or necks at all. There was one average size match which took place which had Booker T doing a title shot. He declared if he won he'd shear off his trademark dreads and he won. I have no idea who he went up against but I did remember this while watching ppv over at Hooters with Jaybird.
So here are the things I am pondering at the moment.
I do want because I can not have?
Am I a masochist?
Are things worthwhile or am I simply involving myself in repetition? A well disguised repetition that lures me in only to realize once I'm stuck like a mammoth in tar that I was fucking up all over again.
Beyond that kind of shit, which is colored by the irritation of court tomorrow, I was very pleased to discover that NecronomiCon will be in 2003 and I plan on being there. I would've attended a year or so back but I got fired and there's not much else beyond that.
I spent about ten minutes writing a perl script to log spivak onto LambdaMOO once a night like Lambda but gave up when I couldn't get the fucking script to identify the port.
open TELNET, "|telnet 216.34.53.178 8888";
I know I can do this with a script because I got a shell script to do it, even though I wrestled with stdir for about thirty minutes to input "co guest" and the rest to no avail. Perl seemed easier and this speedbump is irritating me. Help me or something. My perl book hasn't been much help.
Keeping an online diary is not about god damned quizzes with clever jpgs and sidelong popular culture references. The rest of you are fucking poseurs. "Oh, we do it because it's *F*U*N* :) :) :) :) :) :) :) LEAVE US ALONE BECAUSE WE'RE COOL HOMPH TWINKIES HURR I SOILED MYSELF" Where's the god damned content?
Yes, your lives are boring and pointless and devoid of meaning so fucking revel in it.
Just because you and your CLOSE ONLINE FRIENDS already know the minutae of your life doesn't mean everyone else knows and you might as well share it because humans will watch or read or involve themselves in anything that boils down to pointless chatter. That's why LambdaMOO is the hottest cyberenvironment on the interweb. @qsend "*cur *anon" I like poo. Write back k tnx.
So court went much better than I thought it would go in the first place. The worst part was walking to court in my herman munster boots and when I came home I saw that the skin peeled off my soles. I had to pay eighty eight dollars, all other violations were dropped. Hooray!
I will be overjoyed if I have my next paycheck and I am not fired from my job.
Just think that I'm a cunthair from being fired because of the attitudes I get from one or two people when I ask questions. Hi, I thought asking questions was how one learned about stuff?
My vehicle stuff is fully legal in Colorado, I just have to pay the phone bill, my car insurance and my rent.
Plus I may have a visitor in September or October. Brian.
And a trip to Tulsa on Labor Day weekend looks like it's a real possibility. Soon I'll put something up here that would have the money I'm saving up. I plan on getting three thousand bucks together and if I hadn't have put up with the whole car shit then I'm certain I would've been at least a fifth of the way there by now.
Had I known how my situation would've turned out I would have gotten vanity license plates. I have no idea what I would've gotten and probably halfway through I would've said "Fuck it" or thought a few months down the road that my vanity plates were really fucking stupid even though they seemed like a good idea at the time.
Wednesday night held a surprise! Jaybird emailed me and asked me to come up to run an errand for him and there he was splayed out on the couch wearing nothing but a marblebag and an impish grin that would put Diamond Dallas Page to shame. Overcome and flush from the shock he approached me slowly saying he's been waiting a long, long time for this as he began plunging a butcher knife into my ribcage again and again.
Oh wait.
Jaybird made spaghetti for dinner and realized he shouldn't have because it made the kitchen so fucking hot in celebration of my success in court on Monday. While he got the little woman asking her again and again what she wanted to order for dinner I stirred the sauce and made sure the water and oil didn't boil over. The sauce was good but it definitely needed more meat but it was so fragrant and sweet and good. Hurr, I'm fat and old.
Then we watched the last half of Crank Yankers and all of the Daily Show before I had to run downstairs to get my eight hours of rest that always, always, always makes me think "Shit I don't want to do dick tonight" but by the end of the day I'm ready for anything.
I thought I would come across Devotchka but she wasn't on and she was online almost all night last night that I reckon it's only fair she wasn't online in the first place. I should only get my allotment like the chocolate rations in 1984.
It was all very strange towards the end when I was approaching an abandoned spaceship still cruising after all its millennia. The outside cameras showed a ship approaching then surpassing my own towards the abandoned ship. Inside the abandoned ship were hundreds of corpses wrapped in clean, white sheets left in various positions like they were shrouded in the spot where they died doing their everyday things. Suddenly the other ship started blasting at the morgue ship sending blue, phantom bolts through it without causing any damage.
My consciousness shifted inside the abandoned ship where I saw vast oblong solids of bubbly, clear, fluorescent green goo weaving their ways through the walls. Every so often the strange shapes would pass through the shrouded cadavers and I would know the corpses were burnt by the viscous fluid but the sheets were unharmed by its passage.
When I woke it was for good rather than the bad prostate wake up an hour before it's time, fall asleep afraid to look at the clock thinking it was much later but if I didn't look at the clock then was still a decent amount of time to sleep. Of course my inner paranoia clock will jolt me awake and force me to squeak my eyes open to see if there's light coming in through the bedroom window meaning getting my ass in gear is just fifteen minutes of NPR away.
Thursdays have to be the happiest days for me because it means that the rush of folks trying to beat deadlines are either content with their refinances, angry they were too late or upset they were late and no one contacted them about their respective due dates and responsibilities. What makes me smile are the few customers who have big loans, have been contacted at least three times on various occasions to no avail and whoops it's past eleven in the morning so they're fucked like porn. Of course they demand that they are able to take out new loans regardless of the policy of waiting three business days or seven calendar days.
So my last thought of the night came to me while coming downstairs from another lovely evening with the Birds. It must really fucking suck to die in one's sleep on a work day. Of course this is considering that there is a persistence of consciousness after the cessation of life. Dying in one's sleep before a work day would only serve to make one's afterlife into pure hell. On the edge of waking up for something one really doesn't want to do and having to have that feeling for eternity. Like having to sneeze, staring at the light and then the feeling ends leaving you feeling all pissed off. Sure you know you're dead but death is like sleep and to wake up to have to go to work and do something you wish you could avoid by dying just ruins the whole multifaceted treasure which is slumber.
Since walking to court, getting a big piece of skin worn off my foot from wearing my steel tipped boots, my right ankle has been acting up something fierce.
I've also just realized that I forgot to do something Very Important after being told I had five days to do it and it's the fifth day and I have no way of getting this done. I'll just log out and call to see what I can do. I left a message and that should be enough to tide me over until Monday. Plus I have bills which will be taken care of but paying the rent can wait until I get my paycheck on Monday. First and the sixteenth are my paydays.
Currently I'm waiting to go insane.
Well more insane than I have considered myself. Now insanity does not mean ranting, raving, smearing feces like warpaint and keeping humans in the freezer but just acting and reacting in a different fashion. The insanity I seek is to bring to life the same lurid, vivid and other -ids into the waking world living the one true dream. I'm not talking about the American dream but dreams like the ones archived here and in the numerous notebooks saved in the other room still tucked away in boxes for posterity's sake. One day I will crack and it will only serve to banish the old stories in my head like the one about Dexter or the new stories in my head where Tyler Durden is actually Nyarlathotep but the true stories of vast Woodring-esque arabesques, technicolor kremlins that appear only upon moonrise and other horrifying oddities which haunt my shadows of sleep. Maybe I need to come to terms with reality, the few things which are anchoring me in reality like the absolute frustration and feeling that I'm in a losing game pursuing Devo and how I've hit a pattern in work where I go to work, look at the mountains from the back of the building, eat the same lunch day in and day out for sake of being a miser with the near-desert sun baking my back in a most pleasant fashion until my second break where I lie out in the sun in the grass feeling the entire world around me imagining I'm actually on a beach in Hawaii and the traffic of Academy Boulevard is the Pacific encircling and engulfing me crashing against insignificant, ground pieces of coral and volcanic rock while I lie in the long grass as the sun burns down on my face and through my eyelids turning my consciousness into a scarlet glow but all the while between those breaks I'm stressing about my job thinking "Christ this is easy and the money's good but fuck The Getting Fired of Damocles is dangling over my head." I do feel much happier out here but I don't know how much of thatis fuelled by stress where one can take Only So Much Before Cracking (pardon the A.A. Milne caps) or if the change is something profound and the fear of being terminated is my subconscious telling me that I don't deserve any good things in my life.
At the very worst I'll just go mad and at the very best I may achieve some sort of genius evinced in Philip K. Dick and the ability to faithfully convey the horror and beauty of my dreams and visions to other people.
I've always had lucid dreams. I know one set of dreams was basically given form by being sick those being the sickly smooth dreams where I would be flying over a desert landscape which would be sickly smooth against my belly until I reached a jagged and broken terrain which tore at my dream body only to switch back to the sickly smoothness once I could bear no more and I could feel the smoothness like nausea in my throat. From the earliest dreams about crabs covering the kitchen and living room floors and my mother having enormous eyes to bizarre genitorture dreams of being abducted by aliens with my father and looking over at him crying because I knew what they were doing to him was far more painful than what was in store for me by those white clad martians who were suspiciously human despite their luminescent, form fitting garments. Of course it was worse for me mentally than physically for my father in those dreams because I never knew what happened but in my child mind it was something far beyond the realm of my experience and entirely mindshattering which could only be described as being the embodiment of pain. Look up the word pain in the dictionary and you'll see that Wall Street Journal drawing next to the definition. Then there was the vampire dream which stuck with me for a full day back in college among other dreams which are faded but recorded around here somewhere but I can't get myself to dig them out for my sake or your entertainment, gentle reader.
I spent my day reading about pit bulls, went for a long walk downtown where I saw horses and a tandem bike and the sun was setting behind the mountains with cloud shadows making imperial Japanese flag sun streaks high in the sky and then I realized there is no love(craft) in Colorado Springs because maribou's bookstore didn't have Dream Quest of the Unknown Kadath nor did Poor Richard's nor Barnes and Noble so I figure I'll have to do something like go to Arkham House and order it there for delivery here. Saturday night I wanted to go upstairs, knock on the Birds door and thank them for Colorado Springs because tonight was a beautiful evening. When I was on my way back home I walked through the big soccer field through the sprinklers while crows watched me from an askew goal in the middle of the grass. The air is clean, there aren't any annoying bugs like in New Jersey and it feels less claustrophobic since there's a horizon. Gracious, I'm thinking New Jersey may end up feeling almost Tokyo-ish when I go back to visit home.
Stuff I want to do.
Ride a horse. Get a good computer. Acquire a decent telescope. Visit New Jersey for a week. Have my father visit me out in Colorado Springs to meet the Birds. Save up for my Big Thing.
One of the things that has me down is the fact that I went to this site and played around with the compatibility program. Kinja: 78%, maribou 81%, Jaybird 81%, Kylie 81%, Malyss 85%, Tim 81%, Brian 59% and Devo 30%. Sigh. I could take heart that Brian came out rated so low considering how close we are as friends. It all comes down to that I'm the sort of fellow who would believe a street-corner horoscope before he would believe his own heart. One can never believe their own heart because hearts always lie. Hearts tell people that they love someone and that other person loves them back with the same intensity. Hearts are the useless, enabling friend everyone has had at one point in their life which says everything you want to hear despite contrary evidence and facts. Hearts are the most well-meaning enemies one could have involved in one's life. Unfortunately hearts, like the penis, seem to wield considerable strength regardless of one's rational prowess. At least the penis doesn't put on airs that imply any sense of depth, desire, passion or love. Its amazing forthrightness and honesty is something to be admired but that fact alone does not make it reliable because the penis causes its own problems.
Random shit.
Supposedly my tarot card is The Emperor.
The Emperor leads the way into the world that The Empress allowed us to experience. He is the archetype of the Father who provides the organization and structure of the world. The Emperor is the government, and as such represents control.
At this stage in The Fool's Journey, there is no need to deviate from the status quo. By participating actively in society, we come to an understanding of social structure. The Emperor applies the laws and rules for us to follow.
The Emperor is the first of the zodiacal attributions in the major arcana. He shares with Aries a creative energy and, at his best, responsibility for the subjects in his charge. At his worst he can become domineering and authoritarian.
Depending on the location of this card and the surrounding influences, The Emperor will either mean that you are leading others or that someone has arrived to lead you. The focus is on participating in society and adhering to laws and the government. You may also be in a position of responsibility and need to base your decisions on the feeling of fatherly love and what you know is right.
My rune is Eihwaz (or Eoh) which stands for the yew tree.
The Yew does not go dormant and therefore represents endurance. Even the wood of the tree is strong, resilient, and pliable - the Yew bends, but does not break. The evergreen nature of the Yew is present even in the rune itself, as it cannot be changed even by reversal. This rune is historically symbolic of death, but, as in the Tarot and as suggested by the nature of the Yew tree itself, death is seen only as a transmutation of something eternal and unchanging - the spirit.
I think it's funny that some sites list this rune when right side up and upside down because this rune looks the same either way.
I'm a positive metal dog in chinese astrology with lots of metal influences.
Dog people are loyal and honest and obedient, guardians of the house at night. They can be counted on to keep secrets and for always doing the right thing. They can be emotionally distant and do not mix well in social gatherings where they are often seen as wallflowers. They do better with one-on-one relationships and find happiness in the happiness they bring to others, such as finding the most perfect gifts for their friends. While it is true that they have sharp tongues and are a bit stubborn and eccentric, in a work situation they tend to work very well with other people. What is more, they always seem to have money and make excellent leaders. Because of their high moral stance, they are inspiring beyond measure.
Sizzling rice soup and chinese cabbage are among the keys to good health!
I used to have a really good book about chinese astrology but I gave it to Kinja and by the time I was gearing up to leave New Jersey she still didn't know where it was and thinks that it is still in her unpacked boxes after her divorce.
Western astrology has me a Sagittarius with Mars, Venus and Jupiter in Scorpio, the moon in Gemini, Saturn retrograde in Taurus, Mercury in Gemini, Uranus in Libra and Pluto in Virgo. Neptune was in Sagittarius.
One thing that I must admit is I'm deliberately padding out this entry so June 2002 will be 100k once it's finally archived on my site.
