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November 2002 It's been a cold, snowy and foggy Colorado Springs lately. Reckon the snow is bearable since there aren't any puddles and accumulation is laughable but the dusting effect is gorgeous. I wish it would really snow. One of those Colorado Springs legendary Albuquerque storms dumping a couple of feet and shutting the entire city down for a day or two. Of course I reckon the fall would have to be pretty bad for that to happen since this is Colorado, reknowned for its frozen precipitation. The upstairs clothes dryer's coin slider is still stuck and I need to do laundry this weekend lest I arrive at work appearing slovenly. Plus I'm too lazy to head over to the laundromat about a quarter mile away. Laundromats freak me out because I think there's a greater chance of clothes becoming missing or getting stolen at one of those establishments even if I was vigilant. My weekend is still fucked but not for much longer and I do have Veteran's Day off which is a good thing. Um, I got into work six minutes late the first time I was late all month. Fuck. At least I always come back from lunch and breaks early even though they won't take that into consideration because that's my choice and not a requirement nor do I begrudge them. Anyway I was late because I was waiting to hear NPR say "It is now twenty one minutes before the hour" so I could hustle out of bed, gargle and shoot out the door. I don't think that Spot's proximity didn't help things much since she was snuggled right up against me for warmth, not out of love. I know this since when its warm she rarely comes around except to wake me up since I'm not keeping my schedule. Plus I do remember this morning she did try to wake me up, licking me or stuffing her tickly whiskers in my face but I was stupid and sleepy thinking she was much too early for those kinds of shenanigans. So what differentiates Spot trying to wake me from her being near me for warmth? Absolutely nothing. Spot understands that if I don't leave, I won't feed her. Whether she understands abstract concepts like time, work and money which occupy the minds of (relatively) hairless monkeys or she's using a cargo cult type thought process of "If he doesn't leave and that means he won't come home and if he doesn't come home he won't be feeding me". The important part being leaving and coming back not what I do in the meantime during my absence. Cats are capable of this level of cognition because it is part of their nature. A kind of selfishness. Sure, Spot is a lot like a dog in how she can be affectionate, which is different from love, but she's still a cat who won't recognize her name, come when called unless there's something in it for her. I don't want these things from her but it would be cool if she could or would do little things like that. What's the difference between affection and love? Affection is greeting all your friends with a kiss and whoops if their hand goes on your ass that's okay while love is a form of adoration and an expression of need for a particular individual's companionship or company at a level which does not diminish with time, distance or attitude. Please understand there's probably more to that definition but I'm writing quickly and I'm talking on Yahoo Messenger in the other window. Please keep in mind that Spot is the best cat in the whole wide world. I just accept Spot's nature because her actions do not lead me to believe she would behave otherwise. Of course I don't let her out of my apartment, rationalizing that she has no claws to defend herself, no real killer instinct 1, she could get pulped by a passing car but that doesn't change the fact that she's a pampered prisoner whose affection may stem from feline Stockholm syndrome. I am assuming the derisive coughs disguising laughter at the application of spivak's razor from a few of you gentle readers. My other fear about Spot going out into the great big wide world is the simple fact that she may do a Sheila Burnford Incredible Journey and I'll never see her again because she'd find her owners and never come back. Her owners would be just as warm as me on chilly late October mornings, they'd pat her little applehead as much as I would and spoil her rotten. There's no real difference in her mind between one owner and another. I realize that most likely in her mind I am disposable, easily replaced and do not want that to happen to me so I endeavor to keep her inside and as safe as possible. I'm sure one or two of you will turn up your noses and snort with derision at this kind of pathology because you would never want to be treated in such a fashion or held in such a regard by an individual. Not because if you were part of my life, whether distant or simply a lurker or voyeur of this page, I'd treat you like a pet, a cat but that you'd feel I'd treat you like an object, chattel, a possession or trophy simply because my heart works in its own way. I honestly feel I do not ascribe myself to a particular belief or identify with a particular lifestyle or social group. Mostly when it boils down to those kinds of cliques where people only hang out because they have something superficial in common there are always the vicious and self-righteous folk who police others to make sure they meet their imaginary requirements to acquire certain titles like "goth" or "dyke" or "hacker". I shouldn't have used hacker because that's based on skill rather than posing and how one dresses. Mac faggot would've been a better choice OSX AND ELLEN FEISS AND MULTICOLORED BLOWJOBS VIEWED WITH AQUA HURF DUH WHAT'S A KERNEL ??? Folks who will dismiss others entirely, regardless of their nature, morality or disposition simply because they're not goth enough or poly enough or gay enough since an individual isn't marching in lock step with their unwritten doctrine or being self-appointed defenders of the faith. Some time ago I was at a Ren Faire with Brian and came across some folks and got to talking with them. If Brian's reading this it wasn't the one where I was a tightass and spoke to no one. These folks were talking about their lifestyle and started bearing into me simply because I questioned it and felt differently about their lifestyle. No, I wasn't condescending or dismissive of them I simply viewed it in a different light and live it in my own way. Also I'm not queer at all nor will I ever be no matter how drunk I get so don't think I'm dancing around that subject. NOW I'M GOING TO GO BEAT UP SOME FAGS TO PROVE I'M STRAIGHT AND BEAT OFF TO SOME PORN !!! OH MY GOD HOW DID THAT GET THERE ??? When I did talk with someone about this incident they just said there's good and bad in all groups. Yet there was something about this encounter which colored my feelings to a point that it colors (or tints to be less dramatic) my interactions with friends and acquaintances. maribou gets tweaked when Jaybird and I start going off about Doctor Phlox, poking fun at him and making Earthly analogies to his culture and I just get tightened up into a knot feeling inadequate or pathological when I talk with Devo about these kinds of things. This has been something I've been meaning to write since the third week that Spot's been here with the thoughts bouncing around in my head and the analogies slowly growing so I had one thing to say, one great big cartoon snowball to push down the mountain rather than using scattershot snowballs from behind my poorly constructed snowfort. That's my peace. one more thing It seems that there might be some fault in my divination from last night's entry. Still the omens and portents seem to convey an ill future but today I was surprised at not receiving a negative response of being tired or having something better to do. Perhaps it will be on the other end rather than the end I was prejudiced against in the first place. Have I mentioned that I like EditPlus? Inertia keeps me from using it all the time but it's definitely a fine tool. For one it helped me find the fuckup that kept my stylesheet from validating for so very long. That was from some glitch in notepad not liking files being very long or something with the formatting. The stylesheet looked fine in notepad but it was fucking stupid. I'm tired. I hate winter for one reason and that reason is that utilities cost more in the winter. Jesus fucking Christ, I live in the dark, only run my computer and don't necessarily need that much in the way of heat but it's necessary for Spot's sake since I don't want her to be uncomfortable. Hopefully there will be overtime or there will be goals met at work which will mean bonuses. I seriously doubt there will be holiday bonuses. I'm still waiting to hear back from Brian so I can share my modest proposal for his cross-country trek. It snowed the other night and there was respectable accumulation for a November, that is if it was a November in New Jersey. I know what I'm getting Devo for her birthday but I don't know what I'm getting her for Christmas. I have an idea what to get maribou for Christmas but I don't know if I will be able to afford it and if I do I'll be all stressed she'll think it's not as good or something. SEE I STRESS ABOUT THE THINGS YOU THINK AS MUCH AS WHAT JAYBIRD THINKS. Okay after doing some checking online I think I'll be able to get her that for Christmas. I know what I'm getting Jaybird for Christmas but it'll end up being a gift for both since I know they'll both appreciate it. I'd still feel like a Shylock if I didn't get something for each of them. I have no idea what I'm getting Brian for Christmas. I seriously don't know what I am going to get my family this year and I'm not really going to expect anything from them either. It's only fair. I'm already formulating my Christmas list. Right now I have the Psychedelic Furs stuck in my head, muttering loooooooove my way under my breath. I blame GTA:Vice City even though I only got a chance to watch it being played for about forty minutes. There's some old news which is somewhat melancholy which I haven't really mentioned here. The little bird that I took home in hopes of nursing back to health was dug up by an animal and dragged from the little bird grave I dug back in September. For the past few weeks the bird has been lying on the ground all mangled and I feel bad and feel ashamed that I can't bring myself to let the bird find rest in the bird's grave. Shut up, it's hard to gender birds and I don't want to insult the bird by using the generic "it" or some faggy gender like spivak. Plus when I sit outside to have my lunch and watch the mountains I can hear the blackbirds screeching and cawing to each other and it makes me sad, makes me wonder if they know one of their own are gone or if they know some human tried to help one of their own or if I'm just hearing the little bird's ghost. Yes, I lost this fucking entry. How the hell does one lose an entry? Being drunk while updating one's site that's how you fuckbag now eat shit and run along I think I hear your mother calling you. I hate the fact that lately the signal from the surrounding stations have been bleeding in on NPR's signal. This is going to be the last weekend, pretty much, and then I can get back to just having lazy days once again. The dream was about Nethack. No, I wasn't a @ attacking letters. The dream was just about playing it with other people. Now I'm drunk and it's late at night and I'm cooking with gas and I'm typing as quickly as possible to see exactly how drunk I am now after typing more meaningless drivel and emotional abuse at Devo because I'm fat and desperate to get any reaction but you see I have to tell you that I'm hungry and tired and dreading tomorrow because I just want to sleep and do nothing and maybe play Nethack and play Nethack with my monk named Kuresu which is the Japaneseified version of my name which is strange considering it starts with an H but that's what the Japanese chick I dated back in college told me when I first started talking to her instead of just waving and wondering "Who the hell is she and why is she waving hello to me" and her name was Junko Toriumi and I wrote to her over the summer after college let out which should've been a big bad warning since the last time I wrote to someone who was abroad for summer for whatever reason that person ended up being a complete and total fuck like Marie Jamar who screwed my friend Chuck and my friend Chuck screwed her in the good way and the bad way though if I'm going to be literal I don't know if he fucked her up the ass not that I'm going to ask now that I just laid bare a chapter of his life for all twelve of you gentle readers so Junko was cute and stuff but it was hard since she didn't understand English that well but she was better than I would've been had I gone to Japan and we went to see Natural Born Killers but after that I rarely saw her but she was the reason I ate ketchup once and only once because Brian and I and her and her three Japanese friends who all had cockeyed teeth went to Paul's Palace in New York Fucking City you lame assed flyovers who wouldn't know a metropolis if it fell flat on your head with Superman's dick pulsing hot Kryptonian jizzum into your fat fucking yap and she put a french fry in ketchup and put it in my mouth when I wasn't looking or expecting and I went calm blue ocean and sucked down the rest of my soda trying to be suave like I wasn't totally freaked out by that but I forget why I didn't see her much after that but it made me feel very sad just the way I feel sad that I don't know where Sarah Dean is after college and I'm sure she probably married some guy named Kevin over in Bloomington and forgot entirely about the fat arts and graphics editor that went to LAIRE the day Kurt Cobain died and she called that day to see if I wanted to do anything and she was the first non-family girl ever to say she loved me and I ignored it because I was way too scared thinking that she was going to pull something on me and completely break my heart yet I still have the Mutts t-shirt she made and gave me even though it's like five sizes too small on me unless I want a bippytop with my belly ring showing and nipples peeking out from underneath for the whole world to masturbate to in a fit of pique oh dear sweet mother of god I feel so lonely right now and need to be held for heaven knows how long and just held nothing naughty or fuckering going on because that would just be cheap for the moment not that I would mind but that's not what I'm driving at nor should I be driving after having three Guinnesses and maribou's probably going to laugh at me for my slurred speech after two since I'm an alcoholic lightweight plus she didn't even tell me about graduating and I had to learn about it on her web page like a schlameel yeah she found out that she graduated from college on a web page but gee whiz man that tweaked me something good now I await the "OH YEAH MAKE ME THE VILLAIN YOU FAT FUCK YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO BE THE VICTIM" or something. I know someone's going to say it and it's high time that they did since it's already been a god damned month that's thirty days to you and me. Twenty eight and some change if you want to be lunar about it like a god damned hippie born witch into wicca with a wand and queer for a year and shrill liberal sensibilities when it comes to decriminalizing marijuana for medical reasons like frisbee elbow and post-coital bummer and being a Mac user who doesn't like it when computers go beep beep beep and damn that was the best fucking diary entry I ever wrote but then I got an overpriced piece of hardware filled with off the shelf hardware running on a proprietary platform that you can't build from scratch unless you make a frankenstein's monster out of dead Macs and run a dippy operating system that still fucking reeks of being straight out of Compton and the seventies Jesus if Brian reads this he's going to be tweaked at me bashing Mac people but I'm not bashing him or his girlfriend I'm doing it to all the others for their zealots who get into Slashdot and on the news and in those god damned commercials with quirky music and fat black dicks being rammed into mouths for all to see with a white background after they go I'm Queerbait Fuckpants and I'm a storywriter for Spongebob and I use a Mac because MACS DON'T CRASH PEOPLE even though Brian told me that his crashed while he was talking to me on Yahoo Messenger last night. Would you look at this I am writing a long fucking entry of run on sentences and I have yet to get BEEP BEEP BEEP AND IT CRASHES AND I LOST THE BEST ENTRY BUT THE NEXT ENTRY WASN'T AS GOOD WHICH IS... A BUMMER I'm going to stop now because I'm a one hit wonder. P.S. Hi Mordred Brian and his girlfriend are coming to Colorado Springs soon. In two weeks at the very most. The other night there was a dream about this big crater being next door, how I fell down the inside of the crater and fell under a tent made out of an Armani suit and hid because I knew that Jaybird and maribou were having sex on the opposite end of the crater. When I peeked out to see if they were finished he was walking around picking up bones and charred wood like they were flowers and waved at me completely oblivious that he was naked or at least he didn't care that he was undressed or he was aware he had no external genitalia to flap in the proverbial breeze. Yes they can be sex dreams as long as they involve sex, it doesn't have to involve me doing some humpty hump. Right now I'm thinking my New Year's resolution to see Devo twice this year is not going to come to fruition. Earlier this evening I realized that the best gift would be a cordless phone. Unfortunately I'm not on the phone enough to make any use of such a contrivance and it would end up being a white elephant. It is not time for posting my Christmas wish list although by the information provided in the leftmost column on the main page you can figure out what I am looking for this Christmas like I always ask for on Christmas. I can't get my thoughts together at this moment. The only things I can say to convey the prominent theses which occupy my thoughts are I want recognition, I don't like being human, I really don't want to be judged every time I say "I love you" as being simply looking for an echo rather than being an expression of my heart's desire because that makes me afraid to say it at all, I want to help, I want to be alone for a few days except I have no one to take care of Spot, I wish the dryer was fixed and I want to sit at the table of life and feel welcome rather than getting nasty assed looks from everyone else or eyerolls of "I've already done that and I don't have to do it anymore" from the other feasters so I'll stick with the opened can of Chef Boyardee at the desk a few doors down from that banquet hall. The first thought to cross my mind was being in the hospital right after an accident and feeling kinda good, but it isn't the drugs, and asking the doctor to tell them it'll be touch and go with my status to milk the situation while I can and get away with it except I end up dying while taking a nap and I'm dead. My last thoughts are if Islam is right then I don't want to go to heaven and be with all those scumbags like the ones who flew the planes on September 11th. A six-armed, male figure in sheer eggshell robes stood at the right hand corner of the bed watching me die and vanished once my death was complete. At the funeral, the second one being held in New Jersey, with the usual relatives in attendance that I only know by face not by name. The old boss from the NYC web job is there acting all sympathetic but when he goes up to do the little three second kneel which I think is obligatory for Italian funerals he spits on my corpse but someone catches him. Sadly he has some troubles later on which are tragic. While watching everything from a third person perspective the only thing I can think of is my parents getting whatever money from insurance, wagering on my death without my knowledge with life insurance or collecting from whomever hit my car and expedited my brief decline, I'm thinking "Shit, I don't want to end up being a 72 inch TV" or some other appliance. Oddly enough Brian's not around anywhere nor can I find him or think of looking for him. The one person I do seek out is Devo but I catch her while she's banging some guy. Somehow she acquired the pentacle my father gave me eight years ago but it's hanging up on the lampswitch. Jaybird and maribou's place is dark and I can't find anyone in there but I know they were at the hospital while everything was going on and maribou brought Spot to the funeral in Colorado Springs before my father took Spot back to New Jersey to live with Ben, Kate and Rocco. The thought of Spot going to live with Ben, Kate and Rocco was sad for me because there's a shitload more yelling at the house in New Jersey than there ever is in this wee basement apartment. Spot's a sweetheart and she doesn't need to put up with that kind of yelling. She didn't notice me nor did Ben or Kate when I was around them. Back at my apartment it was very dark and cold, like the end part of House of Leaves except I wasn't about to fall out of the sky onto the front lawn and live happily ever after as a gimp. Ha ha, spoilers. If you want to put a soundtrack to this, take tracks from all the old Warner Brothers cartoons with classical music especially the one about the swans, baby Daffy and the vulture who turns Tojo while divebombing them. In the real world, life just is. The six-armed figure from my dream is from a much older dream from the early nineties where I was looking down on a cemetery which was rife with such folk dashing about with their arms frozen in place assuming various positions. Spot may annoy me but I never get mad at her because her intentions are simple and innocent. Sure I've had a few stupid deaths playing Nethack or been thwarted from a conversation because a big moocow of a kitty is walking back and forth forcing her apple head on my hands to be stroked and rubbed and petted and loved for a couple of minutes until she decides sitting by the window or in her SUPER SECRET HIDEY HOLE is much more important to her pursuit of pleasure. Yes, Spot likes to sleep under my bed next to the outside wall in addition to sleeping on the bottom cubbyhole where one would store towels. That part of my apartment is dedicated to my beard trimmer and the towel I use to catch the snipped hairs. I caught Spot sleeping all the way down there but by the time I had the digital camera ready to take her picture Spot decided it was time to get up and wander around the apartment to ensure everything was in its place. I want to lose myself in a story and have that be my escape for a couple of days. The week is half over and there's a three day weekend coming up on the horizon which pleases me greatly. Sadly work has made me want to just shout for no real reason just to get rid of the minor turmoil going on deep down inside of me because of work. I don't hate my job but I don't like my job but it's still one of the better jobs I've had even though it doesn't pay the big money like desktop publishing paid back in New Jersey. I really want to read Dune lately and I can't find the copy that I had and I know that it is around here somewhere but it's not where I am expecting it to be in the apartment. Bah. Oh yeah, I'm mean because I told Kylie she must have a head the size of a raisin. Olympics Guy is playing Elvis really loud and I can hear it but I don't mind it at all right now. The song is "It's Now or Never". So at lunch I was staring at the concrete wondering if any little ants would show up and about fifteen minutes later one did show up looking around for something to eat. Out of curiousity I dropped a few pieces of calcium chloride to see if the ant would take it back to the nest but the ant just ambled right over the crystals in search of whatever the ant sought on a partly overcast November afternoon. I reached into my bag and dropped a broken french fry for the ant to take back to the nest for the rest of the ants who have survived this long into late autumn. This ant was a wee, black fellow not one of the red soldierish ants with the vicious bites that feel like mosquito bites. The ant grabbed a piece of starch and ambled away towards the south to what I would hope was the ant nest. I watched the ant trundle along hoping the ant would hurry up and get to the nest already so I could get up and drop the pieces of food right next to the nest to save them the trouble of marching a whole six feet or more towards some food left by a benevolent, relatively hairless ape. Ten minutes later the ant was four feet away, walking sideways on the wrong part of the stairs, and still struggling with the piece of food no bigger than the business end of a pin. I thought, "Why doesn't the ant eat and go back to the nest to tell the others how to get to the food?" since I didn't want the tiny beast to die of starvation, exhaustion or exposure halfway towards home. Would the ants call this worker a traitor for eating the food which could've been used for better purposes and ants rather than a worker's struggle to return home with good news? Would the ants label him a thief? Was the ant afraid of these kinds of consequences? Was it just not in an ant's nature to think of themselves but to always do for the nest, and lesser extent the queen, because in the great Stalinist Soviet tradition of "life is cheap" and the ant behavior of someone else will get the job done if others fall by the wayside? That kind of singlemindedness is admirable but how efficient is it for ants to behave in such a fashion? Should humans behave in such a fashion considering the breeding practices of the uneducated or foreigners or those who just have an urge to pop one out in hopes of having someone fulfill the dreams they weren't able to realize when they were young? Of course there are a few people out there who are thoughtful and intelligent who are having kids but still on some level they become shrieking primitives, without all the piercings and bad black faux-tribal tattoos, when it comes to the baby and the childrunnnn. Humanity will never be civilized until this behavior is depreciated. I digressed. It'd be noble if more humans would give themselves for a cause, elevating the human spirit to a new level, as the ants believing in a simple maxim of "It must be done." As for the argument of "It must be done, well or just finished?" is best left for the philosophers. I'm not talking about volunteering for the army, which I consider to be loaning your life and spirit to the government for x amount of years, but simply doing something to change society or help one's fellow man (or ant). The belief behind a maxim of "It must be done" is simply doing something for the enrichment of others without expectation of reward beyond simple gratitude whether it's lukewarm or life changing in a positive fashion or no reward at all. What makes us better than the ants, and I do apologize to my tiny Stalinist subjects, is the fact that humans can realize that the job can be done by someone else and brought to fruition but it is your work, your duty enforced upon yourself by no outside influences via money, law enforcement or patriotism. This will become yours and no one will ever be able to take that away from you. Like the depreciation of the primitive, animal-like child cult that people ascribe to at the altar of the uterus beneath the shadow of the grand penis lifegiver depreciating the idea of someone else will do it which is more apathy than being pragmatic which seems to be a mindset among humanity will only serve to elevate what it means to be human and make humanity that much more civilized. That was a hard sentence to write and I fucking despise it. Hopefully my point was conveyed albeit awkwardly. Olympics Guy stopped playing Elvis halfway through writing the entry but now I have the songs stuck in my head.  Gentle Reader, You have my humblest and most sincere apologies. Love, p.s. 16k hits today Anyway I feel like I'm on eggshells when I talk to some people and it's only fair because they feel the same way when they talk to me. I have a three day weekend which will be full of Nethack, finishing a necessity, cleaning the apartment, food shopping and lots of Spot. To quote the late Jonathan Harris: Oh the pain, the pain. Saturday afternoon my broken tooth acted up something fierce and I called 1-800-DENTIST and found one or two places which do extractions and I'm going to see about having this done sometime this week, preferably on Monday when I have a day off. Have I mentioned that I have a three day weekend? Let me catch you up on my life those of you who rarely read this site.
What annoys me most about my tooth is when I do try to contact dentists the pain goes away and I think "Well shit, I can put this off for another few months" and play grasshopper (grasshopper as in the Aesop's fable rather than the Kung Fu context) until the pain returns. Sometimes when the tooth acts up I do everything possible to increase the pain in hopes of overloading the nerve, killing it and feeling absolutely nothing after an hour. Other times I just put a drop of Anbesol on the tooth. I prefer Oragel because it seems to work faster and it's minty. Perhaps there's some placebo effect from the mint making me think it's more sterile and more medical because it's minty rather than a dull, brown flavor like Anbesol. I am generally annoyed at the dental clique in Colorado Springs since most do not accept new patients, patients without a history or insurance. Last September I went through the yellow pages looking for someone who could extract the tooth and no one was willing to take a patient nor would they return my calls with something like "Hey, let me point you in the right direction." What really rubbed my rhubarb was the Colorado Springs Dental Society. I contacted them and left a message asking for help and they never returned the call even though the message clearly states they will return all calls within a day or two. |
 Now that's a kick ass picture. I must find a decent celebrity photo like this one and the one of Jonathan Harris to put in the third column of the November 2002 archive. As you've noticed I've broken format of the pictures not being 250 pixels wide but going up to the enormous 300 pixels wide. Sorry 800 x 600 people. Plus I'm going to keep the moveable type shit on this site just in case there's a time where I lack internet access and I need to post stuff in order to keep you, gentle reader, up to date. Funny thing about this picture is that it was originally labelled as a .gif but it's a .jpg file and all three of my browsers read it correctly. When I woke up early Sunday morning from the pain I reached for the Anbesol like an addict sticking up a police station thinking it's a 7-11 because they're too damned stoned to realize it's a police station. Kinda like that "How do you know I'm Polish? My taste in food? Nah, this is a hardware store" joke. Anyway. The Anbesol did not work nor was there any sign of it working which made me yank the tiny bulb from my paper moon lamp on the side of my bed, lumber over to the mirror, plug the bulb in and shove it in my mouth. Good lord, there were a few times where I applied some anasthetic ointment to the broken tooth and saw something white, gave a passing thought that it might be pus, but when I looked in the mirror stretching my right cheek out as much as I could humanly stretch considering how far back the broken tooth is I could see a white film coming out of the tooth. Earlier on Saturday I thought I saw red figuring whatever was in my tooth decided to start eating at the meat inside the tooth but now this is seriously freaking me out and reinforcing the fact that the tooth needs to be extracted A.S.A.P. and if it can not be done Monday I do not know what to do. All this focus on my tooth and reading Dune has made me wish that there was a tooth device like in the movie Dune. I've been wishing for something like that except it wouldn't replace the tooth with a poison tooth but just get it the fuck out of my mouth for good. One, two, HOLY FUCKING OUCH, three and it's gone. Endorphins, endorphins, endorphins, unconsciousness. The pain is so excruciating that it borders on being magnificent. While finishing my Sisyphean task on Sunday there was a single, pure, brilliant flash of pain that felt like this: A tooth fell out but there's a tendon of meat making it remain in the socket. The tooth is too heavy for that string of meat and it gets pulled down slowly and steadily causing pain. That pain is akin to having someone drive a nail into the side of one's face slowly and steadily. This isn't several spurts of pain but one, long-lasting jolt of pure torture. Thankfully it passed after sixty seven seconds, during that time I stood stock still and pretended to be looking at something because crying out in physical pain is a sign of weakness, and really didn't come back to haunt me until I had been home for a few hours then acted up again for a shorter duration. You, gentle reader, can not appreciate the excruciating pain that I've been under the past four days and the few moments where I don't have a dull ache are treasured and are my secret desire to continue unabated. Back in September the tooth was hurting something fierce along the side of my head but now it's just a nickel sized nugget of pain over that wisdom tooth which has kept me from doing anything except try the ointment and assault it with very warm salty water. The headaches have been mostly unbearable, mostly making me quick-tempered and unable to stand most noises. I want this pain to be done, finished and never darken my door again. Funny thing is that I asked the general manager about getting dental insurance two weeks ago and never heard back. After this I'm certain I will not need dental insurance because I would have taken care of this ailment at full price already. Please spivak don't be sarcastic or sneer even though it may be seriously deserved when dealing with the professionals who will extract the troublesome tooth. S*P*O*I*L*E*R*S That's right folks. I've got your spoilers right here for your entertainment purposes! Close your eyes and pretend that spivak is posting another dream before you read the text coming up !!! ***BEGIN SPOILER SPACE*** I read the Butlerian Jihad and man oh man I got to tell you that book is something else! First it starts off as a mystery where a Fedaykin ghost is haunting the Old Sietch of the Black Bene Gesserit and our heroes are riding along on their Mystery Worm when it breaks down and they have to find a place for the night. Leto Jr. ends up befriending a little maker who was hurt during a spice operation and nurses the beast back to health while the sexy Irulan and Chani discover the explicit joys of lesbianism then stumble into Old Man Harkonnen taking off his ghost costume! Zoiks and jinkies! After a crazy chase involving a hallway full of doors accompanied by the hottest baliset instrumental hit of the year they finally capture Old Man Harkonnen and he's taken away by the authorities for trying to corner the spice market. Leto Jr. becomes a man when he realizes he can't keep Squirmy as a pet and sets him free into the deep desert. Why is it called the Butlerian Jihad anyway? Because the butler did it. Duh. ***END SPOILER SPACE*** new year's eve Is there an apostrophe or not? I can't remember right now but it's bugging me since I see so many instances of misused apostrophes and quote marks I get paranoid and don't want to come across like those dolts who couldn't spell their way out of kindergarten but somehow make seven thousand dollars a month. What's worse is when wives apply for their husbands because their husbands are illiterate or not the brightest knife in the toolbox but the husbands are still making serious cash. Back on topic. I'm annoyed that I'm not going to be doing anything on that day (and night) nor do I know anyone out here to hang out with or who won't flake out at the last minute claiming to be tired or busy with homework or bussing someone in from the other side of the state or out of state or whatever it was. Fuck you all and I hope you choke on your New Year's Eve cake. That felt good. Considering the last item in yesterday's entry it only serves that I should get a response of "Like I'll do anything with you now" but that's alright in my head I've already filed you away as one who can not be counted upon. Alexandro Jodorowsky was going to do a Dune movie way back in the seventies but it fell through as you will read in the following text which is shamelessly stolen from this site. I first read about this project when I was going through the defunct horror anthology called Taboo put out by Spider Baby Graphics then Tundra in the early nineties. It featured an interview and a comic by Moebius called The Eyes of a Cat. Unfortunately the only storyboards or graphics they published was a horizontal movie poster and nothing else. "To show the process of illumination of a hero, then a people, then an entire planet (which in turn is the Messiah of the Universe since in abandonning its orbit, the holy planet leaves to spread its light through all the galaxies)... I didn't want to respect the novel, I wanted to recreate it. For me, Dune didn't belong to Herbert just as Don Quixote didn't belong to Cervantes. There is an artist, one alone among millions of others artists, who one time in his life, by a piece of divine grace, receives an immortal theme, a MYTH...I say "receive" and not "create" because works of art are received in a state of mediumness directly from the collective unconcious. The work overtakes the artist and in some way it kills him, because humanity, in receiving the impact of Myth, has a profound need to erase the individual who receives it and transmits it: his individual personality hampers, stains the purity of the message which, at the root, asks to be anonymous... We don't know who created the Notre-Dame cathedral, nor the Aztec solar calendar, nor the tarot of Marseille, nor the myth of Don Juan, etc. One feels that Cervantes gave HIS version of Quixote--of course incomplete--and that we carry in our soul our total character... Christ didn't belong to Mark, Luke, Matthew or John... There are many more gospels called apocryphal and there are as much lives of Christ as there are believers. Everyone of us has their story of Dune, their Jessica, their Paul... I feel fervent admiration towards Herbert and at the same time conflict (I think the same thing happened to him)... He hampered me... I didn't want him as an advisor of technique... I did everything to keep him away from the project... I had received a version of Dune and I wanted to transit it: the myth had to abandon the literary form and become image... In the film, Duke Leto (father of Paul) would be a man castrated in a ritual combat in the arenas during a bullfight. (The emblem of the Atreide house being a sacred bull...) Jessica--Bene Gesserit nun--, sent like a concubine to the duke to create a daughter who would be the mother of a Messiah, falls so much in love with Leto that she decides to blow a link in the chain and create a son, the Kwizatz Haderach, the saviour. In using her powers of Bene Gesserit--as soon as the duke, madly in love with her, confides his sad secret--Jessica lets herself be inseminated by a drop of blood of this sterile man... The camera followed (in the script) the red drop through the ovaries of the woman and accompanied its meeting with the ovule where, by an miraculous explosion, it inseminates the egg. Paul was born of a virgin, and not by the sperm of his father but by his blood... In my version of Dune, the Emperor of the Galaxy is mad. He lives on an artificial planet of gold, in a palace of gold constructed according to the non-laws of anti-logic. He lives in symbiosis with a robot identical to him. The resemblance is so perfect that the citizens never know if they are facing the man or the machine... In my version, the spice is a blue drug of a spongy consistency filled with a vegtable-animal life endowed with consciousness, the highest level of consciousness. It doesn't stop taking all sorts of forms, shifting without cease. The spice continually reproduces the creation of innumerable universes. Baron Harkonnen is an immense man of 300 kilograms. He is so fat and heavy that, in order to move, he needs to continually use antigravitational bubbles attached to his extremities... His delusions of grandeur have no limit: he lives in a palace constructed as a portrait of himself... This immense sculpture stands on a sordid swampy planet...In order to enter the palace, one has to wait for the colussus to open its mouth and stick out a tongue of steel (landing strip...) At the end of the movie, the wife of Count Fenring bounds towards Paul, who has already become Fremen, and she slices his throat. Paul while dying says: "Too late, you can't kill me... because..." "Because, (continues Jessica with the voice of Paul) in order to kill the Kwizatz Haderach, you would have to kill me too..." And every Fremen, every Atreide talks now with the voice of Paul: "I am the man collective. He who shows the way." Reality transforms rapidly. Three columns of light shoot out from the planet. They mix. Sink into the sand of the planet: "I am the Land that awaits the seed!" The spice dries up. The sun trembles. Drops of water form a piller surrounded by fire. Filaments of silver surge from the spice. Creating a rainbow. They merge into a cloud of water, producing a red "lava". Then vapor. Some clouds. Some rain. Some rivers. Some grass. Some forests. Dune becomes green. A blue ring now surrounds the planet. It separates. It produces more and more rings. Dune is at present an illuminated world which traverses the galaxy, that leaves it, that gives its light--which is consciousness--to all the universe. In order to conceive this final sequence of transmutation of matter, I had the chance to come in contact with some real alchemists... Some mysterious beings (one of them seemed to have more than a hundred years, an advanced age which yet permitted him to move about with the energy of a young adolescent) approached me because Dune could be a philosophical stone, the stone which changes all the other metals into gold... In this sequence, they described what really happens when they transform, in their alchemical ovens, matter... For the "guerilla" war that Paul and the Fremen lead against the imperial army, I had the chance to contact a guerilla expert in South America... He had fought in Bolivia, Chili, Peru and Central America... His precious information brought to the story a soldierly reality... When Jessica becomes the supreme mother of the Fremen and has to go through the ceremonies of initiation, learn sorcerors' medecine and contact other dimensions of reality, I knew of gypsy magical medecine through Paul Derlon, already deceased... And the ceremony of magic mushrooms and the miraculous operations by the witch Pachita, a being who had way more powers than the so-called Phillipino surgeons. My son Brontis, who had to play Paul, was initiated at age nine by a legendary bodyguard--Jean-Pierre Vigneau--at knife combat(real combat), at karate, at archery... He received lessons from an almost real mentat-- Michel de Roisin--who possessed an encyclopedic brain... I remember seeing him give Brontis a lesson on the fable La Cigale et la Fourmi which lasted more than fifteen days... Through the verses, he described a whole age and its civilisations. With the production, we traversed the Sahara. I wanted to film Dune in the Tassili, braving with the actors, the thousands of extras and the technical teams, the torrid heat and the dryness to get a real lunar landscape... The Algerian government was very interested by the project... One time, divinity really wanted to tell me in a lucid dream: "Your next film must be Dune". I had not read the novel. I got up at six in the morning and like an alcoholic who awaits the opening of the bar, I waited for the bookstore to open to buy the book. I read it in one stroke without stopping to drink or eat. Right at midnight, the same day, I finished reading it. At a minute after midnight, from New York, I called Michel Seydoux in Paris... He would be the first of the seven samurai that I needed for the immense project. Michel was for me a young man (26 years old) without experience in the cinema but his society Camera One had bought the rights to The Holy Mountain, my last film and had distributed it very well... He told me: "I would like to make a movie with you." I didn't know much about him but, by intuition which surprises me today, seeing him, despite his youth, I recognized in him the greatest producer of this age... Why? Mystery... And I wasn't wrong. When I told him I wanted to purchase the rights to Dune and that the film had to be international because it would be more than ten million dollars (a fabulous sum for that time: even Hollywood didn't believe in science-fiction films, 2001 would be unique and unsurpassable) he didn't move a muscle: "Alright. We'll meet in two days in Los Angeles to buy the rights". He hadn't read the book... I think that he still hasn't read it because the prose of Herbert is bored him... And the rights could be bought-- easily because Hollywood found the book unfilmable and non commercial... Michel Seydoux gave me a carte blanche and an enormous financial support: I could create my team without economic problems. I needed a precise script... I wanted to direct the film on paper before filming... Now all films with special effects are made like that, but at that time this technique wasn't used. I wanted a comic artist who had the genius and the speed, who could serve as camera and at the same time give give a visual style...I found myself by accident with a warrior: Jean Giraud alias Moebius(at the time he hadn't yet done The Airtight Garage). I tell him: "If you accept this job, you have to abandon everything and leave tomorrow with me for Los Angeles to talk with Douglas Trumbull(2001 A Space Odyssey)". Moebius asked me for some hours to think it over. The next day, we left for the United States. It would be a long story...Our collaboration, our meetings in America with strange illuminaries and our conversations at seven in the morning in the little cafe that was the base of our work and was by "chance" called "cafe Univers". Gir made more than 3000 all marvelous drawings...The script of Dune thanks to his talent is a masterpiece. You can see the characters living, you follow the movements of the camera. You visualize the editing, the decors, the costumes...All that with, each time, some strokes of a pencil...I was behind his shoulders asking him for different points of view...In directing the actors, etc. We had filmed the movie... For the third warrior I needed and ingenious dreamer who could paint the space ships in a different way than the American films. That's why I wrote to Christopher Foss, an English painter who illustrated science-fiction book covers... Like Giraud, he had never thought about cinema... With great enthousiasm, he left London and came to settle in Paris... This artist, with the ships that he produced for Dune put a mark on cinema. He could create semi-living machines that could metamorphose the rocks of space with colour... He could create "battleships made thirsty dying century after century in a desert of stars waiting for the living body who would fill empty reservoirs with subtle secretions of its soul..." After I found Giger, the Swiss painter whose catalogue Dali had shown me...His decadent art, sick, suicidal, genial, was perfect to create the Harkonnen planet... He made a project of the castle and the planet which really touched metaphysical horror. (Later he created the sets and monster for Alien.) For the special effect, thanks to the power that Michel Seydoux gave me, I could refuse Douglas Trumbull... I couldn't swallow his vanity, his big boss airs and his exorbitant prices. Like a good American, he played at looking down upon the project and tried to mix us up by making us wait while talking with us the same time as ten other people on the telephone and finally by showing us the superb machines that he was trying to perfect. Tired of all this comedy, I told him to fuck off and went looking for some young talent. I was told that in L.A., it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. I saw in a modest amateur science fiction film festival a movie made sans moyens that I found to be marvelous: Dark Star. I contacted the young man who had done the special effects: Dan O'Bannon. I almost found myself with a wolf-child. Completely outside of conventional reality, O'Bannon for me had a real genius. He couldn't believe that I could confide in him a project as important as Dune. He was forced to believe it when he received his airplane ticket for Paris. I wasn't wrong: Dan O'Bannon later wrote the screenplay for Alien and many other successful films. With Jean-Paul Gibon, who was the executive producer of Camera One and loved the project as much as we, we left for England to find the musician. A vital aspect for me: each planet had its style of music, for example a group like Magma could realize the Harkonnen warrior rhythms which would be capable of cristallizing the beauty of the sand planet with its mystery and its implacable force, the strange symphony of rings of giant worms. Virgin Records met with us and offered us Gong, Mike Oldfield, Tangerine Dream. At this moment I say: "And why not Pink Floyd?" The group at that time was having such success that almost everyone considered that an unfeasible idea. I had the chance, thanks to my film El Topo, to be known by these musicians. They happily agreed to meet us in London at Abbey Road Studios where the Beatles had recorded their success. Jean-Paul Gibon was very pleasantly surprised that the group would see us. At that time, I had already almost lost my individual consciousness. I was the instrument of my sacred, miraculous work where everything could happen. Dune wasn't at my service, I was like the samurai that I had found, at the service of the work. They were in the middle of recording Dark Side of the Moon. Upon arriving, I didn't see a group of musicians in the middle of making their masterpiece, but four young guys eating fried steaks. Jean-Paul and I, standing in front of them, had to wait for their voraciousness be to satisfied. In the name of Dune I was taken by an anger and I left slamming the door. I wanted some artists who knew how to respect a work of such importance for human consciousness. I think that they didn't expect that. Surprised, David Gilmour ran behind us giving excuses and made us attend the final mixing of their record. What ecstasy... After, we attended their last public concert where thousands of fanatics cheered. They wanted to see The Holy Mountain. They watched it in Canada. They decided to participate in the film by producing a double album which was going to be called Dune. They came to Paris to discuss the financial part and after an intense discussion, we came to an agreement. Pink Floyd would do almost all the music of the film. With the best music on our side, I started to look for actors. I had seen Charlotte Rampling in Zardoz. I wanted her for Jessica. She refused the role. She wanted at the time to do two or three commercial films, the life of love interested her more than art. David Carradine came to Paris, interested by the role of Leto. The actor that I wanted the most was Dali: for the small role of the mad Emperor... What an adventure!... Dali accepted with much enthusiasm the idea of playing the Emperor of the galaxy. He wanted to film at Cadaqu's and use as his throne a toilet made up of two intertwined dolphins. The tails would form the feet and the two open mouths would serve one to hold the "pipi", the other to hold the "caca". Dali thinks that it is in very bad taste to mix the "pipi" and the "caca". He was told that he would be needed for seven days... Dali replied that God made the universe in seven days and that Dali, not being less than God, must cost a fortune: 100000 dollars an hour. Probably upon arriving on the set, he would decide to film each day no more than an hour for the same price. The Daliesque happening would cost us 700000 dollars. We asked him for time, a night, to make a decision and we left each other. That night, I tore a page from a book on the tarot; it had a card reproduced on it: the Hanged Man. I wrote him a letter saying that the film couldn't pay him 700000 dollars. For 150000 dollars, I wanted three days and no more than an hour and a half of filming. I also wanted to have a polyethylene puppet, his replica, to use as his double in the film. Dali got angry. He cried: "I'll have you like rats! I will film in Paris, but the set will cost you more than the landscape of Cadaqu's and the cadre of my museum. Dali costs 100000 an hour!" Bitter, he calmed down and accepted the idea of reproducing him in plastic if after the film the sculpture was given to his museum. We decided to definitively finish with the contract the next day. I had a discussion with Jean-Paul Gibon and we arrived at the conclusion that it was impossible to haggle with Dali. I meditated for a long time and I took this final decision: I reduced the role of Dali to a page and a half of script. I accepted his price, 100000 dollars an hour, but I would only use him for a single hour. The rest, I would film with his double. Dali couldn't allow himself to go back on his price. We went to see him. I gave him the little page and a half and Dali accepted the proposition because his honor was safe. He would be the highest paid actor in the history of cinema. He would earn more than Greta Garbo. Dali, with enthusiasm, showed me his wooden bed as the sculpture of a dolphin. A worker was there, already making the blueprint of the dolphin to make the toilet. As much for Dali as for me, the card of the Hanged Man on which some words were written served as a contract. Dali liked the aristocracy and like all men of noble spirit, he respected his word. I liked fighting for Dune. We won almost all the battles, but we lost the war. The project was sabotaged in Hollywood. It was French and not American. Their message was not "Hollywood enough". There was intrigue, plunder. The storyboard was circulated amongst all the big studios. Later, the visual aspect of Star Wars strangely resembled our style. To make Alien, they called Moebius, Foss, Giger, O'Bannon, etc. The project signalled to Americans the possibility of making a big show of science-fiction films, outside of the scientific rigour of 2001: A Space Odyssey. The project of Dune changed our lives. All those who participated in the rise and fall of the project of Dune have learned to fall one and a thousand times with a fierce stubbornness, until learning to stand up. I remember my old father who, while dying happy, told me: "My son, in my life, I have triumphed because I have learned to fail." The best part was Dali saying "caca" and "pipi". I'M TEN FUCKING YEARS OLD HERE, PEOPLE. I sincerely apologize for all the ellipses. my sister My sister wrote me wondering why I haven't been responding to the forwarded shit she sends me in lieu of actually writing something until she realizes "Maybe he's irritated I just forward things to him and don't write so I'll just write now and make him feel guilty for being a pissant who doesn't want to read an angel story or dick joke or read about a cookie recipe." She was just asking what was up with me and what I wanted for my birthday which was a huge mistake because I rambled off to her that I want to feel loved rather than being told that I am loved. Okay, I may be blind but don't fucking shout at me saying "CAN'T YOU SEE THE FUCKING RED IN THIS PAINTING" when there is no real way to understand the concept of red. Analogies, people. Anyway I started writing about faith, miracles, versus hard evidence which most likely made her eyes glaze over even though I did try to make it readable for her. Here's what I wrote (pretty much): The genesis of faith is a miracle. Miracles happen but most of the time they are not reproduceable and rarely measured. I've never experienced a miracle and I'm sure that if I did I wouldn't ascribe some divinity to the phenomena but I would still experience awe. The miracles I'm going to talk about are the ones which are alleged to be divine in origin and a manifestation of his favor or communication with his creation. The miracle happens and many people are awed but lacking the ability to reason in any capacity that awe sublimates into faith. Faith is the waiting between miracles whether experienced firsthand or simply handed down from generation to generation in hopes the next set of faithful will share that experience. Faith is empty, waiting for someone else to do the work rather than actually putting one's shoulder to the grindstone and making it happen or simply experiencing failure and having an epiphany about one's character, spirit or being. Faith is about empty promises, being condescended by a god in order to keep the rabble in order, waiiting for the other shoe to drop when there isn't another shoe. The wait between miracles is a major portion of faith which leads to self-delusion where one creates their own miracle to sustain the faith during the wait whether this is stigmata or bleeding statues or five year old south american girls getting knocked up. During that time faith will sustain the spirit but the body will suffer in hopes that its physical conduct will make it pure. Eventually the spirit suffers, causing delusions and hallucinations, at a subconscious realization that there will not be any more miracles in that soul's timeline nor in one's lifetime. All of these lead to acceptance that one can not change the world by any measure followed by a sad kind of happiness which comes from that realization. The horror is most of the faithful look upon the younger generations waiting for them to acquire that meaningless insight to fill their void once they waddle off to the final reward. Faith is different from hope because the genesis of hope lies in the acts and will of all individuals. Hope is an artifice of man whether it lies in one's dreams or following a course of action which leads to knowledge. I then told my sister that I was writing god in lowercase because if there is a god then referring to god as god (or marklar as this sentence is beginning to sound like) then one is simply referring to its race, species or phylum. I asked her if she would dare refer to herself as White rather than white. Of course there are some who would but they're KKK or rednecks. Somewhere in the letter, which I've butchered here, I mentioned my favorite story by Lao Tzu about a farmer tending the field when he was surprised by a rabbit bashing its brains out on a nearby stump. The farmer had a great dinner that night but he died of starvation a few months later waiting for another rabbit to come along. Finally I admonished her to live within her means and not turn out like the losers I deal with all day at work who will connive, cajole and curse in order to get five hundred dollars. Listen to your big brother, damn it. the tooth... the tooth... Yes, the tooth was removed today. No more pain for me, gentle reader. Good lord there was a lot of blood and when the tooth was pulled there was a spurt of something which was infinitely gross and lacked the wholesome flavor of blood. Thankfully it got sucked out and that was the end of it. The broken tooth was abcessed but in the right direction. I have the broken tooth upstairs next to my mail for safekeeping. Unfortunately it was given to me with lots of the meat from around the tooth and some inside the tooth still clinging to it. It's pretty fucking cool and I should take a picture of it before the meat begins to rot and the blood turns brown. colorado springs sucks Yes, it's true. Colorado Springs sucks if you want a bagel. Oh I don't care if they're some chain brand since if anyone's going to expect more or something original you might as well move to one of the coasts. What's egregious about the bagel situation in Colorado Springs is the simple fact that the only nearby outlet takes fucking forever to make something as simple as a bagel with butter. The folks behind the counter have the nerve to ask if I want it toasted. I waited long enough for you to figure out how to wield a knife then apply it correctly to the bagel in order to separate it into two pieces before wielding yet another knife (two knives!?!?!?! how does one handle the confusion?) and stuffing it into one of the myriad tubs of spreads (too many! oh my god my liberal arts degree didn't prepare me for this) then putting it on the bagel? What? I already used a knife on the bagel and this one's dirty! SNAP IT UP, PEOPLE I HAVE A FUCKING LIFE TO LIVE OVER HERE. Of course maribou told me how she went there for a simple order and it took ten to fifteen minutes for them to realize there was an order pending. Saint Maribou of the Hair Clipper is generous and says they were between shifts and gives them some leeway yet she did concur the staff at this place are quite slow. Hell, when I go there on the off hours it takes SIX FUCKING MINUTES to get two bagels with butter. I know this because I timed it with the parking meter. Only time I ever had to wait six minutes for two bagels with butter was back in Jersey and the shop was packed or there's a little old lady who wants to count out the ninety eight cents in pennies and nickels to save the cashier the trouble of counting out two pennies. interlude "caca" and "pipi" raw So I have Raw on in the background simply because I know there's going to be a match between Triple H and Booker T and I want to see if it's going to end in a disqualification or Booker T doing the job. In the background they're playing some fat opera guy trying to evoke some pseudo-wagnerian schtick how wrestling is a battle between gods and titans where the fate of the world hangs in the balance. It'd be cute if they didn't take themselves so seriously. Did I mention "caca" and "pipi"? temper temper So when Jaybird was talking to me after he got home from another twelve hour shift he mentioned how he was sure the tooth troubles were giving me a short temper and everything should be hunkydory from now on. Jesus Christ, I didn't even realize that I was on edge or crankier than usual. I know that most times I do have an edge to my voice or attitude even among friends but I make concerted efforts to keep those to a minimum. Shit and shit. Maybe I will be feeling better and my mood will change but I know I'm going to be like Tweek on South Park for a day or two. I know that I dreamt last night and the dream was like TV in its lucidity but when I woke up nothing stayed with me. I reckon I was too wiped out from losing a pint of blood from having my tooth yanked on Monday. Maybe it's too cold in here to rise up to that half-asleep state where I can take down hurried notes for my conscious mind when I transcribe it all for immortality on this site. Spot is the best and worst thing to happen to sleep in quite some time. First Spot will nestle against me and let out a heavy sigh before falling asleep which will get me going from her warmth. As time passes she will begin climbing over me or getting up because I'm tossing around too much and she can't get a wink of shuteye. Lastly Spot will find the best place for her to sleep which is usually on my chest, butt or between my legs while I sleep on my stomach. Ten minutes of this will always rouse me and lead to her being pushed off or aside so I can be comfortable again. It was the best of days, it was the worst of days. Sadly the worst outweighed the best. I'm abusing absolutes here, people and I'm more unique than any of you out there in interweb land. I'm the only guy in the processing department, there are two guys over in collections but only one has taken flak like I have but it seems to have been a one time thing. I work with a bunch of catty cunts playing their little whispering and glancing games then acting all shocked when called on it. Half the women at work say I reek and act like I shit my pants and haven't realized it or I just don't care about the warm brown smushed paste rubbing against my tender thighs with each... The other half don't notice a damn thing. The woman who sits next to me had a god damned shit fit calling attention to something about me that smelled which I didn't notice nor did the other people until the meme was implanted that I may smell. During the summer I was taken aside because it was damned hot and I just couldn't handle the heat and then it was brought up again. Twice in one hundred and eighty days. After the first time I went the extra mile but after the second time I became nearly obsessive compulsive about myself contrary to what some dope fiend has said about me in her journal and in private. All the jobs before this one have never garnered such a reaction where someone would take me aside to talk about this. Plus I'm sensitive about this too but I've taken it much better lately than I would have in the past or under different circumstances. They're going to shuffle people, desks and all that in hopes of getting the right social feng shui. I'm fed up with this fucking shit. I have a decent job with okay money and I really don't want to lose it. Heck, I was glad when the temp agency never called me back in September after I resubmitted my application in hopes they'd find a job for me considering the stellar interview and good resume because I knew I had a source of income which I could rely upon despite the fact the nepotism undercurrent was rubbing my rhubarb the wrong way. Anyway after what happened today I had an insight but I'm not going to talk about it right now. You have my humblest and most sincere apologies, gentle reader. I only ask for your patience or you can call 1-900-WHINING for 2.95/min to hear everything which doesn't make it onto this site or you can subscribe with your Visa, MasterCard or through PayPal for heptapod-31337 which will give you unlimited access to hidden entries, archived emails, my porn collection and dreams that make Dunsany and Lovecraft look like mouth breathing, pedestrian amateurs in the realm of fantasy. What was good about today? Talking with the cute Mexico Way delivery woman about Spot and Schroedinger's cat. It is by beer alone that I set my site in motion. It is by the amber ale of Pete's Wicked that my speech acquires slurring, my underpants acquire stains, those stains become a warning. It is by beer alone that I set my site in motion. Smackdown only had four matches in two hours but I really didn't give two shits. I feel unloved. I'm afraid of Jaybird and maribou moving away and being stuck down here all alone with Spot. I think Brian will be here tomorrow but I'm not counting on it. Lately life has taught me not to rely on people because people are not reliable. You think that someone like Makonan would be a friend and understanding rather than some standoffish bitch judging everything in silence or going online when she came out here to see me yeah it's not that fucking interesting in Colorado Springs and I've only been here nine months and the only thing of interest I can show is bars but god damn it you're going online. I remember hhsb bitching at me about someone's trip to the Fatherland and how she thought it was rude to be online at Lambda all the time there. Or Devo who just acts all damned awkward around me like I'm going to ether her and drag her off to an Elvis impersonator in Cape May to have my way with her but trying not to make me get all psychotic for fear she might end up somewhere in the Pine Barrens. Take Siggy who said she was interested in me but then because her ex-con friend got out after doing a movie hand-on-the-visitation-cubicle-glass thing to her she fell in love with him all over again even though he had a girlfriend waiting on the outside and tells me one thing but says another thing in her god damned fagjournal. Please consider my actions of being timid, of thinking any show of affection is going to be judged as me fishing for some validation to the point that I make myself autistic and cold to the core to the point of being a righteous asshole in hopes someone will change and that someone can be any fucking one. Yeah open relationships well my fucking door's rusted shut like my zipper. Jesus Christ almighty I really don't want to see anyone this weekend right now and I'd rather spend all of Saturday drunk just for fuck's sake and fall asleep in a pool of vomit that Spot sniffs because she doesn't know what Big Poppa Belly did while he was snoring up a god damned storm. Take for example the Mexico Way chick. I am certain if I did try anything it'd be completely freaky and I'd never be able to order from there again or even worse Jaybird or maribou would have to go pay the delivery people rather than me. I live in fear still that any outward sign of physical affection is instantly going to be construed as a desire to rape someone. Lately I just act like Stacy yelling at Devo because I don't think I can trust her but hey them's the breaks fat boy who has low self esteem issues. Spot doesn't lick me anymore, not even to the point of giving me abrasion scabs. I'll pick her up and she'll start biting me. No, not vicious biting but it's cat annoyed biting maybe she thinks I'm going to rape her. I still can't beat off when she's in the room with me. Oh wait I can't say that I beat off because I don't deserve love or physical affection because before women just didn't want a virgin and now they just don't want to deal with my fucking issues or being clingy or just wanting some god damned love. There's lipsy who talks to me now and again online on Yahoo but she always cops out even when I say "I'm not going to stalk you. You can leave the fucking bar before me and I'll count to nine hundred so you have a decent head start so you don't think I'm going to follow you home." I don't deserve any kinds of friends out here. I don't deserve them because I measure myself by the people I know or knew or I am acquainted with even if it's less than a shop teacher's handful. What kills me about Brian's visit is the fact there aren't any parks to hang out in late at night in walking distance around here where one can just sit on swings or lay out on jungle gym bars or those goddamned hippy lincoln log / plumber pipe playsets I didn't have when I was eight fucking years old. Why the hell are you still here? Just go the fuck away and stay the fuck away. I'm a bad evil person who needs to be punished outright and not because it makes me want to jerk off for some kink assed BDSM scene but I get all this passive aggressive shit where no one wants to deal with me and then they say that I don't want to deal with myself so until I can I'm fucked up shit's creek and a paddle's stuck in my ass lodged against my prostate. I'm a bad evil person because no one can love me and no one can love me to the bar that I set in whatever life I god damned live. Brian isn't going to be in Colorado Springs until Saturday night. I'm glad that I didn't clean up and I'm probably going to do a nigger job of cleaning up around here. The absence of a thing, this can be as deadly as the presence. I had a stupid death today. I was in a hallway with a cave spider in front of me and one behind me and I wasn't getting anywhere fast so I decided to pray to Mars. The monsters were afraid and drew back, my sword was blessed and I was healed up to my maximum hitpoints. I still couldn't hit the spiders so out of irritation I decided to zap the iridium wand I just found and it ended up being a wand of polymorph turning the cave spider into a silver dragon that killed me. The only irritation I had while playing the game was my little dog eating every single floating eye corpse keeping me from gaining the telepathy intrinsic. Hooters is no longer showing wrestling PPVs which is sad because I always looked forward to having their buffalo whatever meats but the thing I disliked most about going to Hooters was the same thing that Jaybird hated about going to Hooters. It takes up the whole fucking day. He gets home around three and there's a rush to head over to Hooters to get a good seat where we sit for three hours talking or reading or doing nothing until the show starts. Jaybird says he's getting a box and ordering the show for Sunday. Hooray. I have problems when my pornography is enormous. Five 1.1 megabyte pictures that have a seventy percent chance of disappointing me??? Waiting five minutes for a 3000 px wide picture to finish downloading in order to see the true majesty of a distant nebula. Brian arrived in Colorado Springs around 11:30 p.m. on Saturday and I will be seeing him sometime on Sunday. He brought his girlfriend along with him too. Everything that I read online, including my site, comes across as being so dogmatic, final and oppressive. Is this the natural voice of individuals who are not talented writers or an expression of one's self in a world where similarity is a virtue? It doesn't really matter in the end because we're all dead, forgotten, ashes with memories fading faster than wallpaper under the perennial Colorado sun. For what it's worth I dreamt that I looked at the clock in the waking world and saw the time was thirty four minutes past ten in the morning and when I turned around to check the VCR clock it argued the time was forty three minutes past ten in the morning. I knew it was a dream because the TV and VCR are in the other room. Another aspect of the dream was telling someone how I was going to write a story, a story about someone claiming a false identity that eventually becomes the truth. A short dream is better than no dreams. I'm just going to say what I told Spot when I came in from watching the pay per view a couple of minutes ago. Poppa's tired. Good night. Brian came late. He called and says he left a message on Sunday morning but I never got it and was unable to contact him. Deanna and Brian meet Spot and see my apartment which I am going to refer to as the spivhole. We went to the used book store where maribou works and hung out there while Deanna picked out art books. maribou put all the reading material on her tab. We went to a bead store with Deanna and sat around talking about how we were hungry. Much later we went to Perkins, the same one from previous entries, and ate while talking about gaming. Brian bumped a guy with his car because he was paying attention to the cars beside him rather than the one in front of him thinking the one in front of him would move forward with traffic. Brian didn't notice since he was also showing me his Bigger, Longer, Uncut CD. We dropped Deanna off because she was tired. We watched Survivor Series upstairs and it was such a luxury not having to go to Hooters. Jaybird and I drank, everyone laughed and a good time was had by all even though Brian had reservations about this particular breed of sports entertainment. Jaybird had to go to sleep and I remembered that I had to get up at six fucking a.m. in the morning to be ready for work plus being there ten minutes early to get my shit together and move from my old desk to my new desk in the corner. Work, work work. As I leave for the day the girl in customer service who has a chronic back problem from being run over by a UPS truck reminded me that there was a meeting tonight. I cursed and then I cursed some more. Home, I fed Spot and fretted that Brian was around wondering why I wasn't home twenty minutes past sixteen hundred hours like I said I would be and I usually am on normal days if I'm not food shopping or running dickhead errands. Ends up maribou tells me that Brian and Deanna are at the Garden of the Gods catching the sunset then getting a bite to eat since Brian's hungry and he's usually hungry. I get back from the meeting, where I read most of the third chapter of Dune instead of paying attention getting paid overtime pay for a single excruciating hour, and find that Brian hasn't been around but he called and I called him back at the motel. We went to Samurai Sam's where we talked then we went back to their room to talk and watch Law and Order. For some reason I kept having to take a serious shit every thirty minutes. Grr. I think it's a learned response because this happened on two other occasions where I had visitors or I was visiting someone. We took pictures of each other which will be posted as soon as Brian emails the pics over to me and then we parted ways. I felt all melancholy and got down on myself for being a poor host. Lately I've been so used to having minimal contact with people on a social level that I honestly was at a loss for offering anything but I knew I was with Brian and Deanna and it really didn't matter because their company was enough. You restoreth my soul. No, I'm not invigorated or happy or anything, I just feel a bit more resilient but at the cost of melancholy mixed with nostalgia like some crap ass Ben and Jerry's ice cream you fatties sit down and eat in one sitting right out of the container. One thing Brian said is that I keep pushing back the date for my Big Thing that I'm saving for and I kept reading some subtext there but eventually I told him that I saw it and he replied that he was honestly not trying to convey anything like that. I think. They go home tomorrow. My family visited this weekend, even though it was brief but not hhs-brief, and I needed it. Good night. post script You are lucky! Full moon tonight. |
The dick spurts! The dick spurts! -- More -- Weapons Would you like to see your attributes? [ynq] (n) Do you want to see your conduct? [ynq] (n) Six hundred seventy seven point eighteen miles. Same planet, different worlds. Anyway. I have a Playstation 2. I have no reason to interact with humanity for a whole month thanks to Jaybird's generosity lending me six games. I bought my Christmas gift. Know what I really want for Christmas? No, not that. I've already resigned myself that it's a fool's errand. PS2 helps too. Busy hands, dead brain. Who needs to talk to turn off the mind? I want Big Lizard In My Backyard, Eat Your Paisley, Bucky Fellini, Beelzebubba and Metaphysical Graffiti. I don't care if they're MP3s or CDs or tapes. Oh how I want to hear You'll Dance to Anything or Watching Scotty Die or Happy Is or Serrated Edge or Life is Shit or Methodist Coloring Book and you color really well but if you color outside the lines God will send you to hell because good people get sent to the attic and bad people will roast in the cellar but there's a special kind of hell for those who just won't learn to color since it's me on a hilltop with fifteen girls in a Nelson Reilly orgy that will make your hair curl I don't piss I don't shit I'm getting no relief people just shake their heads in disbelief when my dog went out to play instead of gray he came back colored yellow the chemical man said stay mellow it happens all the time now Scotty's skin is lime but you'll dance to anything by the Communards and you'll dance to anything by Book of Love since life is shit the world is shit the world is shit the world is shit and this is life how I know it and happy is the bride the sun shines down upon happy is the corpse the rain falls down upon. Is there anything out here in the midwest that is this good? Fucking Sinatra from Hoboken, The Misfits from Linden God Damned New Jersey, Dead Milkmen from Philadelphia and I saw them live at a concert late in the Spring semester when I last saw this one guy who got killed crossing the street in Florida who was making an ass of himself moshing to the Dead Milkmen while everyone else was sitting around listening or talking to each other. So one of the things I learned while Brian was here that Tim's been becoming more and more like Dave McCartney in his game style and in his personality. Son you need to straighten up and fly right there. Get out and get a job and do something worthwhile. Make hay while the sun shines. Plus Tim's brooding over this one chick who's a puppeteer or marionette player that got engaged. She's four foot tall, eighty pounds soaking wet, with shorty curly red hair and freckles. Dear lord. I only bring up Tim because I found a great nipple peek of Sarah Michelle Gellar that I'm going to send him since I figure he'd appreciate it because he only looks at celebrity porn and hardcore stuff with blood. I'm sure he'll be wary of opening it thinking it's goatse or worse. entry So where do I begin? Today at work there were two memos, one of which made me laugh because it was so fucking stupid and the other one which infuriated me. The first one was about how one side of the company was understaffed and this one woman had to come into work with her infant and said in essence, "Do your job. Do not play with the baby. Do not get distracted by the baby." The other one was about if one doesn't meet certain goals they'll have to stay after work. Stay after work? What the hell is this? Kindergarten? Of course this memo got lots of the whisper and glance game going where relatives would talk to managers who are relatives. I have a very funny idea and I'm going to get it done before December. Just have to dig up my green shirt. This is starting to read like Larry King's USA Today column. Does he still do that? Truly an American icon. exit Where do I begin? The dream is relatively brief and I'm distracted by Spot yowling in the other room. I was in an abandoned, one-floor department store where people were wandering around. Outside it seemed to be raining ashes and folks were coming inside for the reassurance of familiarity even if it was dead familiarity. There was a flight of stairs going up into the darkness of an attic that held the same foreboding as a basement to a five year old. Lurking in the darkness which I could only see with my mind's eye was a squat, almost spherical creature with tusks, vomit green eyes and sports car red skin. Anyone who dared venture upstairs was consumed only enraging the beast. The beast's anger would only bring it closer to going downstairs and rampaging tasmanian devil-like except not as gay, AIDSy or commercial as the Warner Brothers cartoon namesake. In the blue-gray light I made my way towards the exit past a maze of tables bearing shoes, second hand clothes and junk. Already the monster was rampaging through the store eating whomever was in its way. Strange thing was the fact that the monster gained the ability to turn the people into concrete statues which were more readily consumed than flesh. Outside the sun was breaking through the clouds. Behind me the building began collapsing on itself before briefly setting itself alight then dying. Not simply collapsing into ruin, the building died. Do white people have an accent or style of speech which is hard for black people to understand or follow? I know black people have their "ebonics" which is just mumble-babble which is nigh impossible to decipher. If the U.S. Army wasn't so racist back in World War II I'm sure that the war department would've enlisted the coloreds to do their secret code instead of the Navajos. I've spoken with many black people and most times they just don't understand me and when I do enunciate my words they get all defensive thinking I'm getting irritated with them. Maybe it's some game they're playing with us crackers. Do gay people call stupid stuff "gay" like the rest of the world? How the hell do other sites get chicks to send them their tits with writing on them or signs held over them? You know what's funny? Sherlock Holmes never said, "Elementary, my dear Watson" but everyone ascribes that phrase to the detective. Someone I know always thinks that I have certain intentions upon their being but I've never stated anything to that effect except when stating their error or misunderstanding. This individual always brings it up even if in a defensive tone because it is antithetical to their existence and lack that capacity. The dryer's finally fixed. I have nothing else to say that is constructive or entertaining. This entry is over. One of the revelations that most people should experience is the fact that they are essentially replaceable whether by someone better or individual(s) who bear the same attributes. The fact that one person is special is an artifice, lacking a rational or logical foundation. I understand what people see in me but that's easily obtained elsewhere or from other people who better sum up the desired attributes than I would be able of expressing them. My only hope is that certain people don't become lurkers at this site. I already know of one who still looks at this site for whatever reason that I'll probably translate into "It's like watching the aftermath of a car accident" like Malyss put it back when she found out about Kinja in her poisonous email to me. I believe she was more morbid about it saying something about watching to see the moment of ruin or death rather than being unable to look away but I'm probably putting words into her mouth or fingers since she wrote it. The other person I suspect who still reads this site never wrote me back after I told her, "You should tell your husband that you're allowed to have male friends and he shouldn't talk since he sucked off his (male) best friend in front of you (while drunk, if that's any defense) and he was fucking around online with a woman he had designs on meeting." She's up in Denver or thereabouts and she never wrote me back after that email. The site I'm watching is something of denver.co.qwest or somethingrather. The only thing that stands out from that correspondence is opening up my perceived pain to a complete stranger which brought commisseration and understanding and the fact that most times I was playing Half Life. I never figured out who that Colorado Springs person was viewing my site through uunet and I always throught it was someone from MCI using the computers and simply going through the history. They don't come around my site anymore. Today I had a few sad moments because one person lived on Bridge Walk way, I had yet another new customer who is from a certain state six hundred and seventy eight miles away and I always do my best to hustle those customers to approval. It's little shit that sparks things and those things are usually soaked in gasoline or a reasonable facsimile thereof. These are all based on (fairly) recent memories. I had Somewhere Over the Rainbow stuck in my head and I had a revelation. When Dorothy was singing that song she wasn't singing about some fantasyland with midgets and fags but she was singing about Colorado. She knew that Colorado was right over the rainbow at sunset that day and she yearned to leave the drudgery and monotony of Kansas. In the same world of the previous dream except it was darker and an ash storm was upon me I stood stock still amidst the maelstrom feeling the moth-soft whisper of ashes against my skin and the biting sting of dying cinders. There was a shaft of light that shone down upon me but when it was a mere six feet from my head it dimmed to nothingness leaving me in relative darkness while there was an indirect light source from on high. I could reach up and put my hand in the light watching it become clean and wholesome again once it was touched by the brightness. The best description I could give it is kether. Also when I reached for the light I was given the truth. Devo had died of copper poisoning compounded by tin poisoning. As much as I wanted to cry, to feel, to experience anguish I was incapable of such an emotion and made myself distant from her memory, my memory and let myself sink into the gathering darkness whipped around me. I honestly don't know if I was dead here. I saw Lord of the Rings on Friday night and it was good. Guess I was a bit tired watching or it was the fact the film wasn't viewed on the big screen. Oh well. That's my failing because I wanted to be in the warm crush of my friends leaning towards them and making stupid comments at the most inopportune times or letting it wash over me. My father's having trouble staying connected to the internet on his laptop and my mother's computer which is distressing since I could tell him the easy way to check his mail through webmail but we have forgotten the password I gave his account when I created it and if I redo the password he'd be stuck using webmail instead of his happy mail program since I'd have to walk him through the process of changing the password s. l. o. w. l. y.. That's not his failing, that's mine because I lack patience and feel everyone should know what I know at the level I know a subject. If he was trying to tell me about cars I'd be just as flustered and confused as I assume he would be when the tables are turned with different subjects. The PS2 is nice, I'm playing Jak and Daxter and so far it hits a good balance of "this is so fucking frustrating" followed by throwing down the controller and stomping off to the other room to change the subject and "this is way too easy" interspersed with self congratulatory moments. Lastly Brian wasn't in Colorado long enough because there's so much I wanted to talk to him about and just have his company. Not his presence, his company. Regarding the previous dream, I can not say I felt like I was being drawn towards that light but I was not being buried deeper in the swirling darkness. My existence was static in that environment. I am glad that I have been dreaming though lately it has been a herculean effort to remember dreams in any detail. I figure when I dream less it only means I'm less creative and imaginative which means I'm less intelligent than most would consider me to be. Spot woke me up on Saturday morning by talking with something just outside my bedroom window. I wish I could've seen what she was looking at so I could see who had her attention in that time. She was so talky and I was content to lie in bed listening to her talk fading in and out of sleep. It's not very interesting around here. Just Jax and Daxter, coming online in hopes that there may be communication and ending up idling in #jerkcity or trying to find my god damned d&d third edition player's guide. I've been on a kick lately to play around or at least develop the story behind my ice age campaign world. The only cool thing I thought of was saber toothed displacer beasts, beyond that the fauna of note are mostly going to be mammoths, dire animals and mostly arctic beasts. Of course the whole impetus behind the game is the fact the ice age is coming to an end after an immeasurable amount of time. Great, I just dislodged something from between the teeth in the front of my mouth and I can taste blood and I just smeared blood on my black sweat shorts. I've taken to wearing them at home rather than my day clothes since I'd rather keep my "essence" as far away from them as possible so no one complains at work and I can still do laundry once every two weeks instead of once a week. If I had a pair of sweatpants then I'd be happy since I'd have something long and warm to wear and could double as thermal underwear. I digress. For those of you who aren't up to speed on the ice age campaign, the orcs are Mongols stampeding across the steppes of their great continent claiming territories as their own and returning with tales of the places they've conquered. Most times the conquest has been similar to orcs riding into town on their fat ponies, planting their flag and shouting "Does anyone have a problem with this?" and riding off when the answer is no. Villages have learned that having a problem with being under the orcish flag is actually more trouble than it is worth. The orcs have nothing to do with their conquered territories beyond the mandatory conscription of all able bodied residents into the orcish army and most times the tours of duty are no more than being the town guard. The pay is either ten percent of the spoils or keeping their gear after being discharged from the army. The only thing I've thought of recently is the fact that "goblin" has the same meaning as "kid" when applied to humans but in an orcish context. It's been a long, long time since anyone has resisted the orcs. The dwarves are still an insular representational theocracy who want to claim their ancestral lands now that the surface is becoming habitable in their estimation once again. Most of their technology is at the level of the renaissance with simple steam engines, gunpowder and odd devices one would expect from gnomes. There aren't any gnomes in this world. The coin of the dwarvish realm is wood, usually magically fixed to prevent wear, tear and rot. Whatever records remain regarding to whatever caused the ice age is most likely in the hands of the dwarves. Magic users are licensed by the state and the regulations are harder than the test to acquire a license. Mithril is an unstable isotope of adamantium and disdained by most since the only folks who knew how to forge it are long dead. Humans, halflings and elves have fallen into primitive societies. The elves who remain are few and far between but all elves have an unspoken law where they must bear and raise one pureblooded elf to puberty to ensure the continuation of their species. Halfbreeds of any kind are not frowned upon, orc and elf halfbreeds are sometimes common. The highest technology one would find among these primitives is of agriculture and some metalworking taught to them by the orcs. Humans and halflings have survived by virtue of their size and adaptability. There are three points of interest on the main continent and I doubt they'll play any major role in the campaign. These places are the same, a single tower of stone surrounded by a radius of the same kind of stone for ten miles. It's not unusual to find weathered, humanoid statues near broken, stone buildings. In this world there is little divine influence, magic is rare but not unheard of and did I mention there hasn't been a summer in millennia? One thing makes me sad. If I ever go back to New Jersey it'll be tough since the cost of living is much higher there than it is out here. From what my sister has told me and what I heard from Brian apartments cost twice as much as what I'm paying for right now and I'm not inclined to have a roommate or to share my living space with some intimate stranger. Something even sadder is a thread at a message board I use under a different name, I was banned under my original name for posting that transexuals should get everything switched over and stop being chicks with dicks, about holiday office parties. Office parties are hanging around with people you wouldn't know outside of a work context no matter how many things the individual could have in common with you. Folks at work make acquaintances of convenience which boil down to "cover my ass for X" and once you're gone those relationships fade faster than a fart in a locker room. I don't care how many door prizes are available or how much free food will be out on the tables I just wouldn't feel right at one of those events with an aura of false intimacy. I go to work to work, I'll talk a bit but damn it I want to get my job done and get out. Not because I like my job, it is a job after all, but if I'm caught up in the work then time passes much quicker. If someone wants to get to know me they can do it outside of the context of work on their own time, which is valuable, rather than the company's time, which can be pissed away at will and at one's risk. Part of this boils down to my being tired of chasing after people as I've stated at this site more than enough times and in private emails but also the fact that I'd like to get to know people beyond "OMFG TAHT DILBERT STRIP IS FUNEE" or coffee humor with addict overtones. Pain has come to visit me again but it has absolutely nothing to do with a tooth or a tooth socket. While at Safeway this morning I lifted two twelve packs with my left arm and something felt or sounded like a rip and right now it's getting unbearable. After I eat, shower and get my pants from the dryer I'm going to lie in bed until I fall asleep and hopefully get to work on time tomorrow. The trip up to the supermarket was fun. When I turned onto Uintah a white car backed out at forty miles an hour from the tiny parking lot of this chink church. I swerved around him, gave the slope the finger and kept on going. He came along side me making a call on a cellphone, did a u-turn and vanished in the opposite direction. Nice one, squint. Nothing happened. This spitefulness reminds me of when I got my PS2 at Best Buy a couple of days ago. After work I went in, snagged a big blue box and halfway to the register I was set upon by a sales drone going on about a 300 dollar value Best Buy had to offer me. I said no thanks and kept going and he said behind me, "You can't do much with that" to that I turned around and replied, "Yes I can, I have friends. You should get some", paid and left. No means no, dickhead. If you don't like your job, quit. Time to eat. Good night. post script Oh yeah, I added links to last night's entry which I had completely forgotten about after uploading then archiving the entry in the Nov'02 archive. Dreaming was epic but I can't remember a damned thing from last night. It ran the gamut from New Jersey to an alternate or future Colorado (if a future Colorado then I was alive and not a voyeuristic ghost) and lots of events but none of them were frightening, disturbing, sexual or emotionally affecting but I still have a feeling that I did dream. Maybe it was just a culmination of all the little dreams I've been having lately. I worked on a bit more of the ice age campaign trying to give all sides motivations that could be considered noble but the execution is not what folks would consider to be the stereotype of "good". Much easier to make people look bad and enemies aren't that believable if they don't believe in a common cause for their betterment or the betterment of others. Work was busy but at least I leave it there. Reckon that I have a few customers that I like and would rather deal with rather than having them always contact me when they've moved out of my department. Just a simple thing of someone asking how I'm doing is enough to make me soften my mood and not be my usual hardass with my "do this and do not question" attitude. At least Thanksgiving is this week which means there will be some respite. I'm annoyed that no one can take time off in December since I do like to play hooky on my birthday. One is still the loneliest number. So here's how lame I was when it came to the internet. When I first got online and found I couldn't IRC folks pointed me in the direction of MOOs, MUSHes and MUDs. The first place I went to was Sprawl which is now dead. I was telnetting to a bunch of sites, downloading shit from ftp sites and looking at the few web sites that existed which covered astronomy related issues. Each time I went to one of those sites I got all paranoid thinking that I was being charged for connecting to some place so far away and when my parents got the first phone bill after a month of internet access I thought my fears were validated. Thankfully I learned it was the fact that the number I thought was local was not local because it was just outside of the local calling area. Only some places in Newark are local, the others are long distance. Bah. Five hundred dollars in local toll charges. gross 1471-1484: Reign of Pope Sixtus IV. His reign is purchased by his lover Pietro Riario who runs the church, including the Spanish Inquisition, until his death in 1474. After that time Sixtus entertains himself by having muscular young men strip and fight to the death, the survivor becoming his bed partner. When Sixtus was ill his physicians prescribe mother's milk, the pope suggests that the juice of young men would suit him better. cool 1585: In one of the earliest recorded cases of masochism, Sister Mary Magdalene de Pazzi begs other nuns to tie her up and hurl hot wax at her. She also made a novice at the convent thrash her. so... Reckon I feel constipated, unable to write about anything, not wanting to cover old ground because I'm fucking sick of it and I should get it through my thick head it's going nowhere, feeling defeated and wishing that I could go home just once but on the other hand being happy that I'm not going to be going home.  What makes this a sex dream is that some huge titted chick impaled her asshole on my cock and was riding it something fierce with her snatch dripping on my belly. What was remarkable were her enormous breasts which had an amazing tendency to whap against my ears while she rode me hard. It all took place in a purple room too. Also a certain piece of furniture, a maroon (or burgundy) wingback chair, which has sexual associations with it made an appearance but it did not appear in a naughty context. So what makes me happy is being online in the non-EFnet #jerkcity and being shown cool, subscription only, physics articles by Freeman Dyson. Looks like Thanksgiving dinner will be upstairs with the Birds, we're going food shopping after Enterprise. Hopefully we'll be taping South Park. Wednesday is the best night for TV. oh yeah It's my little sister's birthday. I got a SUPER SIZE POSTCARD FROM JERKCITY of this strip and it has stickers of a Jesus fish and a rainbow that says I'm a special gift from God and a cowboy branding a cow and there's a big rubber stamped thing in the corner MMMMM THE LITTLE HEADS MMMMMMMMM ALL THE LITTLE HEADS AT ONCE MMMM Ten years from now on ebay I'm certain that it'll be worth ten cents BECAUSE THE FUCKING POSTMAN MANGLED IT. Before the Birds and I went food shopping I called home to wish my sister happy birthday and we talked for a bit. Dinner at the Birds on Thanksgiving. Steaks, not turkey which oughta be a lovely change. I'm still reading Dune Messiah in ten or fifteen minute spurts whenever I have a chance at break or during lunch after I'm done homphing my food or guzzling my seltzer water. Seltzer water is taxed because it could be used for alcoholic beverages. That annoys me. Bed time. I'm feeling melancholy but I haven't been drinking. metaphysical There was a girl who I was smitten with that I rarely saw in the dream world. Disclaimer: This is not about Devo even though it may reek of being that way. She was a girl who I loved for who she was rather than who everyone thought her to be. I was completely oblivious to her celebrity status which sprang from her oracular powers and how a religion sprung up around her against her wishes and much to her chagrin but she humored it nonetheless. An idea came to mind that I could take her to the oracle, which she was, who would tell her she is a good person and that gift would put me in the periphery of her vision and her heart. The dream world was a bright one in the middle of a desert, the city I wandered was in the shadow of a high box canyon which afforded protection from the harsher elements beyond the rocks and cliffs. In the southernmost area of the city was a cathedral which soared high into the heavens diminishing to a point like a spire which was made up of other spires tied around it. I waited in the cathedral's waiting room in hopes of gaining an audience with the oracle. The girl came in from another door and was surprised that I was there since no one was allowed to enter the structure. I was touched she recognized me in any regard. My first thought was I was too late to offer my gift because she thought of it for herself or someone gave it to her long before the idea came to my mind. "I'm going to take you to the oracle", I said and she stared at me funny. My dream avatar was completely unaware of her dual identity but my subconscious running and watching the dream was quite aware. She asked, "Why are you going to show me to myself?" then she walked into the inner darkness of the building. Outside I started feeling sorry for myself, walking through the streets and through houses where parties were being held before finally finding myself atop a live volcano. My arms hung down the inside lip of the fire, I stared at the orange, red and yellow lava that boiled deep in the heart of the mountain. A little game came to mind, push an old bicycle down into the fire and shut off my computer hoping that the computer will power down before the bicycle burns up in the boiling pool of molten rock far below me. Each time I did this the bike always won and my computer just hung there before shutting down. In the distance I heard the tolling of bells, a chorus of voices raised in adoration by pilgrims and my heart twisted. That pain was realization to my dream avatar that the oracle and the girl were the same person. So I headed down to the cathedral again. The interior of the cathedral wasn't as dark or gloomy as I remembered it from the earlier part of the dream but the building was full of a sunset from imaginary windows. I climbed the spiral stairs that hugged the inner wall of the main spire and came across the girl at one of the many landings. She was tired and was not in the mood for any kind of company. "I love you for you, not who you are or what you do or who you could be or what the others make you into with their faith." She replied, "I love what I do with such passion that I can't find any place to love you nor would I be able to be in love with you." She sighed, "That makes me sad." I followed her across the landing towards one of the adjoining spires. "But I want to hear about your mundane life. The day to day stuff. The simple fact you might want my company in any fashion when the presence of other people makes you sick." She was several steps ahead of me walking towards a door, "I don't care if you're an oracle or a celebrity or anything." She stopped briefly. "Whoops," I thought, "better clear that up." "I don't hate the fact you have prescient powers but that's not the focal point of my love for you." She didn't say anything. The girl finally turned around, made eye contact with me and sighed deeply one of resignation rather than the sadness she had sighed before, "You're a good person but you don't understand me. You're no different than the others," she pointed down the yawning stairwell towards the bottom where the pilgrims had thronged earlier, "and what you give me is no different from what they give me and I'd rather have it from all of them than just one small person like you." Her eyes grew hard, "I don't know why I don't call the guards and have you killed. That's what I do to everyone who pesters me like you're pestering me right now. It's a sweet gesture, I guess, but just leave me alone." The girl turned and went into an adjoining room shutting the door softly behind her. I was outside again and started driving in my car southwards on a rural highway in hopes of reaching the end of the road. There was a strong theme to my dream based on what I've been reading lately but I excised it in hopes the story would be there and not make you, gentle reader, think I was simply writing some pastiche. mundane All Thanksgiving morning Spot was divebombing me from the ledge by my bed. One time she barely missed my head, another time my legs and then my belly until she decided to go full force at waking me up by kneading her paws on my chest, grabbing at my beard with her teeth, poking her whiskers in my face and walking over my legs. Her shenanigans reminded me of Ben and Kate on Sunday morning. Every sunday morning they would bark and whine because my father wasn't awake to let them out to play, so I'd curse that they were ruining my precious sleep, sometimes growl at them and do dog body language to show dominance in hopes of promoting quiet. matches I've come to realize something important about running a game. Most likely it's an application of spivak's razor when that term is used disparagingly rather than in fun. Starting and running an rpg is simply about having a general idea of where the game is headed, the only things set in stone are the supporting cast of non player characters and the stage. Take for example the ice age campaign. The stage is an ice age Eurasia of another world, the non player characters are the orcs, dwarves and certain rustics (which I will use as the catch-all when referring to halflings, humans and elves). Allowing the game to be open ended but with incentives to follow certain paths because it's easier on the players that way in order to entice people to explore. Exploration will satisfy the game master since the gm's ego is rubbed that someone cares enough to seek out the tiniest nooks and crannies of a world he created and probably didn't think about until the pcs decided it should exist. Also it will satisfy the players in the fact they're creating their own playing area by uncovering new places and people making the gm cater to the player's wanderlust. The only rules that I've ever set up for either the ice age game or the vampires in asbury park game are excluding certain races/clans and starting everyone at the very start. No one can play dwarves or orcs in the ice age game since dwarves just never left their underground cities until very recently. Orcs have their own agenda which is different from what a player character would have and it's simply a thing of the orcs being their own people. As for the vampire clans, I don't want to put up with the cliched "I'm a Sabbat infiltrating the Camarilla" which I've seen beaten to death at every larp and game I've participated in and it's always been done badly. Plus if someone does want to go over to the other side let them earn it in game rather than "Whoops hey I'm Sabbat and i have this background that I made up without any motivation." Lastly, some of the clans are cracked out and unbalancing. masochism 1464: Pope Paul II elected to office. Like John XII he died while having sex, but the cause of his death was strangulation. mammaries  The other day Kylie was chiding me for giving tuna to Spot because she read something a while ago and couldn't get a cite. Being bored I found that cite. People tunafish has unsaturated fat and is low in vitamin E which makes it unhealthy for kitties. I had a half day at work. Early in the morning I set up the Christmas tree and did a partial call list while dealing with a rude deaf person applying for a loan. Thankfully I was dealing with a TDD operator which took away the edge but god damn does every deaf person need a chip on their shoulder? I attended a high school that catered to deaf people and they were very insular and belligerent towards anyone who wasn't in their clique. I've heard all about their frustation at the obstacles to communication but these folks are just assholes. Right now I have a headache but I don't know if it comes from playing Jak and Daxter for two hours or just being mean and irritable. Brian still hasn't sent me the pics from his visit earlier in November. I believe that I have discovered the reason for Spot's talking by the bedroom window. Walking down the driveway I saw the guy in the other building's cats sitting in the window. One black, one white. When I leaned down to peer at my window there was a familiar cowled face looking out at me. She mewed at me then pulled her head back so she could thunder upstairs to wait for my arrival or to see about threading between my legs towards the great outdoors. Speaking of Spot, she's a very curious kitty. When I'm playing games she will stare at the screen wondering what the hell is going on and if a new timer or meter appears she'll reach up and swat it. When I play Tony Hawk she'll swat at my onscreen avatar. Earlier today while I was playing Jak and Daxter she stood up like people and kept pawing at my hand in hopes of acquiring my attention. The following is merely written for myself and I do apologize if you feel left out, gentle reader. Certain things are funny in my life and I wonder if my perceptions of certain patterns or themes is merely the result of reductive reasoning rather than seeing the shadow of something greater which would show me the future. One of my friends has an alter-ego, he says that it's his other soul, which has a name which means "king" but he's unaware of that. There's someone else who is tangential to my life who has the same name as this alter-ego and it is a thorn in my side. My friend is known for being something of a cad. I'm not going to go any further because it's just a can of worms. |
One can gauge a cat's killer instinct by how willing or nonplussed the kitty is when laid on one's back while in your arms. If the cat's first action is to climb on your shoulders then your cat has a killer instinct especially if claws dig into your shoulder. Should the cat just bitch whine and moan about the positioning then the cat has a strong survival instinct to get away, play in traffic safely and navigate most trees.
Now if you can lay the kitty on the kitty's back then the kitty is pretty laid back and carefree. It may be confidence or it may be the lack of a killer instinct. To differentiate between the two you must perform a zerbert upon the feline tummy. If you need stitches moments before you get close to the tummy or once your lips touch the tummy then the cat has a killer instinct but should the kitty simply lounge about and wonder what the hell you are doing then that kitty should never, ever go outside because she'll go up to anyone whether it's a drunken fratboy with something to prove or the kindly old lady whose house smells like month old cat litter.
