Do You Feel Lucky?

(and feel free to comment! My older posts are certainly no less relevant to the burning concerns of the day.)

Saturday, December 28, 2019

Open Dream Journal: The Security Exercise

In the dream I was Anton Chekov. Yes, from Star Wars. The dream was set at my old work, in the gigantic underground shaft room. It was - functionally - like an elevator, except there was a gigantic corridor running off from it, to a distance invisible. In the right hand wall was an angled doorway - no door, despite the elevator-like function. This was stuck halfway between floors, and you see somebody was dead in there already.

The security exercise was being conducted by someone who looked like Scotty, but who looked even more like today's James Doohan (I was Chekov in his prime). Someone we all trusted. We'd all showed up for this exercise on a Saturday because we wouldn't miss it. The guy was a world class expert on security; it was a point of pride we'd each been invited at all. Apparently in this exercise though, he was the baddie. Maybe he always was. Maybe he really was - it was part of the legendary hushed-tones fun of these exercises. He was holding forth and everyone was responding zombielike to cues.

I was ten minutes late to the exercise, and already everyone's will had been broken. In fact, I had been expressly forbidden to come, despite having been invited! Ten minutes earlier I had seen everyone else go off for the exercise while I sat in a meeting with my old boss. I was sad, and so was everyone else that I wouldn't be there. I was sure I'd be fired, but instead my boss (stern as always, no, more an affectation of gruffness, which she called "frank") opened up a padded parcel bag and withdrew a softly silvery uniform shirt - bearing Starfleet lieutenant sleeve insignia (no, I don't think that's a thing. In the dream it was)! A promotion! "Now go to the exercise," she smiled all gruff.

I interject, this was pretty much not the way promotions were handled at my old job.

It was at this point, running off doffing my old yellow shirt and making the switch to this new sleek job, I realized I was Chekov. Prior to that, I'm pretty sure I wasn't even wearing go go boots. There was zero dissonance in any of this. Ah, dream logic fluidity, if only we could bottle ya.

So I get there and everyone's will is broken. Defiant (naturally, it's kind of my character) I confronted the mastermind and he lost patience with my failure to respond to his cues. It was partly embarrassment on my part - I was late! I didn't know the cues. In fact, the quickness of everybody else's work astounded me. They didn't even seem to know me. I knew them all. Bones was like, "who the hell are you supposed to be?" as the mastermind huffed off into and down the corridor - insulted by my deft defiant repartee.

Nonplussed, unsure what my character name was supposed to be given the variety of people present, I replied brightly, "Everyone knows me!" And seeing Bones "got" that, on a level, this was undeniably so, I fixed him with a warm hug of gaze and smile. "You are my friend, 'Bones'!" He broke into aw-shucks warmth, as always. Moving to the next person, a girl I knew from the internet and loved with all the fierceness and loyalty of an old goose despite we've kind of drifted apart, "And you are my friend,"

There was an unwelcome pause, while she looked at me brightly. The name that popped to mind was not quite her forum name. Luckily, everyone was wearing name badges, but hers was not quite her real name either. Calling Bones "Bones" had been my ace in the hole. His name tag had said "Dr McCoy," but I had called him without hesitation Bones. Only I knew that. I looked at her face expectantly. She was miffed.

I moved on, but the momentum of my plan was irreparably broken if I did so. I shifted back towards her with unfeigned ease, smiling all the brighter. "Nalers!" I cried. It was a nickname of mine/ours, based on her forum name. Her mouth set in a line. Turning to the room, my voice tightening and ascending in pitch, I announced, "And of course I forgot to do the cartoon voice!" Several of the people from old work and the industry were nonplussed. They weren't from the old forum. They didn't know about the cartoon voice.

The situation was rapidly deteriorating, so I woke up and got some water.

Fucking Chekov. Oh yeah, the whole time in the exercise I was back in my yellow shirt!

Monday, December 16, 2019

Thought of the day: do you mind?

Mindful does not exclude thoughtless.

_______

Hm. Perhaps preferable:

Mindfulness does not exclude thoughtlessness.

Wednesday, November 27, 2019

Underused Insults #1: "GROW AN ASSHOLE!"

You know what's an underused insult? "GROW AN ASSHOLE!"

Said in response to somebody's bullshit. Said with a pinched face glare of disdain or scorn. On one level it's kind of a weird, incomprehensible non sequitur, probably - but upon further consideration, the fact that they're full of shit is strongly implied.

Anyway.

Just a thought!

Thursday, November 14, 2019

What I would say "anonymously"


LIES, probably. That sweet, sweet anonymity would free me up for lies. BIG ONES. Let’s find out:
  • My feet - my left foot and right foot, considered together - strike me as a paradox.
  • I eat whole sandwiches in half a bite.
  • One time my DICK got stuck. Guess where?
    • HAHAHAHA nowhere! My dick has never gotten stuck! It was a lie.
    • …or was it.
  • Sometimes…at the nude beach…I picture people with clothes on.
  • At night the stars are all UFOs. They’ve just been lulling us into a false sense of security before they strike.
  • Anytime anybody tells the fairy tale about Jack the Giant Killer or the one about the Cursed Prince Bear and the Two Sisters, I am the best listener ever. On the whole wide world, I am the greatest listener to those two stories alive.
  • I have proved to my satisfaction that quantum mechanics is slightly problematic. Whaddya gonna do though? Got a better idea?
  • I have a sock puppet named Soxie. Soxie’s got the blues, people.
  • I am deeply conflicted over whether I prefer (or should prefer) “Gojira” over “Godzilla.”
  • People confuse me with Linus. A lot. Linus from Peanuts. It’s asinine, I’m clearly Woodstock.
  • I have occasionally a vast, powerfully-surging vague ambition to one day have at least one specific ambition occur to me.
  • I can empty my entire bladder while chugging the entire contents of a full beer in such a way that both finish at the same time. To the drop.
  • I practically invented the “mic drop.” Way before it became “a thing!” Totally by accident - people were jaw drop shocked. Well anyway, they seemed surprised and embarrassed on my behalf.
  • You know what? I’ll take that on. If anybody’s going to be surprised and embarrassed? Let it be on my behalf. I take that on. I can be the sort-of ersatz Christ of surprise and embarrassment. Everybody would walk around way easier and unselfconscious about their gaffes! Meanwhile, I’d be theatrically gasping and flustering under the strain: “I can take it! Sorry!”
  • I’m glamorous in ways others can’t even deal with as glamour.
  • I’m pretty suspicious about vestigial racism. Point it out if you see any, would you? In me, I mean. I hate that shit.
  • AC/DC was a rock band. I don’t care who doesn’t “get that.”
  • The kids, you know. The youth? The children coming up? I bet some of them turn out murderers. Is there something we could do to teach them better. That’s what I keep saying. Whose part are we doing, in all of this? Society’s problems are not going away at this rate.
  • Political hot-button issues like Gun Control and Abortion should have Superbowl commercials. There could be different vivid and passionate or dispassionate characters, representing all the different complex aspects. All through the game, people would perk up to see how the dialogue is playing out so far. After the game they’d look at each other and say, “This conversation needs to continue.”
  • Have you ever seen a baby like the baby I am, when my baby’s baby (that’d be me) is gettin’ babied by my baby, oh yeah?
    • That could be a song refrain but it needs a lot of work.
  • Paranoia. There needs to be a paranoid one. Okay, what if the microwave in my home (and yours?) is controlled by the British Home Office? This is a violation of the Revolutionary War Outcome I am pretty sure - I’m a U. S. American, proud and bold. Should I worry about my mind in a case like that, or trust to the loyalty and dedication of public servants on each side of the pond to tease out the tangle? I’d love an action/suspense espionage movie resolution, but maybe-maybe-not mental illness is not a topic that can reach closure so easily.
  • Santa Claus doesn’t live at the North Pole in a luxury compound, as is said. He shows up on the 23rd to take charge of a well-run operation, and gets one week’s vacation after that. Luxe and ease, for a week. He spends every other day of the year on the streets, homeless and destitute. Getting by catch as catch can. Next time you’re out and about, see if you can spot him. Whether you can or you can’t, look with kindness.
I guess that’s it.

If only I could be anonymous, that’s about what I’d say “anonymously.” Shit, I forgot the “lies” theme! Well, there’s definitely some fables and other stretchers in there.

Folks, I seriously do mean it about the kindness, though. KIND UP!

It’s the way you pretty much gotta wanna, once you try a while.

Friday, October 25, 2019

EXISTENTIAL HORROR LOG (a novel sketch)

Abandoned by some lazy and distractable lumberjack on a lunch break, forgotten about in the rush to the next tree! I slept like a living log. A log that wakes, also. EXISTENTIAL HORROR LOG

See, logging is closed the next day - otherwise someone would've claimed this fine log and hauled it off to be sawn. But the area is declared an Emergency Natural Park and trails for hiking are blazed through it. One goes right by the log. The park ranger is a Buddhist who often sits on the log, lost in thought and grumbling platitudes. Others too come sit on the log. In one HOT SCENE three hikers have UNINHIBITED, INCOMPETENT SEX right on the log! Which does not leave them fulfilled. The log is like " ... "

The grumbling Buddhist talking to himself with a wet butt on a log in the forest he or she draws subpar pay to play steward to. He or she (no, "he" - all the grumbling Buddhists I've known were guys. Women Buddhists I've known tended more toward the grounded and mystical) is always come by to sit on the log and RANT, or CHANT as he'd put it. "The leaf is awake to its Buddha nature. Fuck you, leaf. The rock is awake to its Buddha nature. FUCK YOU, ROCK" - the Buddhist is comforted by the log and does not say fuck you to it, but neither does he name it or call it "awake." The log is left wondering, disconnected and alienated. The raunchy sex interaction does not make the log feel a communal part of anything. These episodes seem necessary to the log's arc.

It does seem a potentially fun idea. I have a lot to say about alienation. BUT WILL ANYONE CARE OR UNDERSTAND ME? Hehe jus' kidding. I wonder if I'm self-alienated? Too much focus on others. Self-abnegation is a different deal, that's more throwing your self under humanity's regular scheduled bus route. Like making self nothing. I feel more like...I don't get self-importance. How would I be important to me? Or more important than another? Just 'cause I got stuck behind this specific pair of eyes? Anyway I'm cool with it - everybody else is, if not in the same boat, a boat of psychologically similar make and model. Some of them have WAY BETTER sailor costumes than I do, though. Bastards.

The log would be a good, solid vehicle for these go-nowhere sentiments.

I think we need the Buddhist to teach the log that enlightenment is possible, but not plausible.

What if all the world could receive and in its way understand communication, but is incapable of response? LUMINOUS.

I doubt it's so, though. Life would have developed quite differently, and probably in a more accelerated and directed way.

Or maybe life has to cut itself off from primary perception in some way, in order to find itself again in it? Shit.

The problem is if anyone takes it seriously. It's meant as sincere, not serious.

The Buddhist would definitely puzzle out koans as one of his tics. I think he'd go so far as to ask himself "if one hand claps in the forest and no one is there to hear it, what THEN is its sound?"

EXISTENTIAL HORROR LOG might need to be a novel rather than a novella, to accommodate the growing cast of characters and lessons learned from them. Long hours even days untenanted. Listening for the sound that bedevils the Buddhist so, even knowing that it cannot report up to him where he sits. It would be a short book, about Siddhartha-length. Is Siddhartha a novella? People would compare it to Siddhartha, in length.

Wednesday, October 16, 2019

Quote of the Day: Expectation

“Expectation is the thief of gratitude and wonder; the mother of entitlement; the uncle and midwife of resentment and betrayal - those vile twins - the unfaithful lover of disappointment, dissatisfaction and dejection; and the twice-murderer of hope: first shoved from a height, then stabbed in its sleep.”

- Sir Giles Fauntleroy Gilchester Fakereference

Friday, October 04, 2019

Friday, August 16, 2019

Thursday, August 15, 2019

Word of the day: "Hi-YAH!!"

"Kiai" (anglicized as "Hi-YAH!") is a Japanese term for a short yell during an attack move. It is made of "ki" meaning "energy" or "mood," and "a" - an emphatic.

So when someone karate chops, "Hi-YAH!!!" they're essentially yelling "BIG MOOD"

Wednesday, July 31, 2019

Advice, for once.

Don't make the mistake of believing that because others oppose your truth, truth is opposed to them.

Truth don't give a shit, dude! Be sweet in it, be on its side. It's the best you can do; it's not on yours or anyone else's. It is only in holds that we oppose, it is only in grasps that we find fault.

Sunday, July 28, 2019

The government we

We don’t get the government we deserve, we get the government we inherit.

But over the course of our lives, we may get the government we earn.

Saturday, July 27, 2019

What does it mean to fuck off

What is the most extreme example of fucking off you have ever witnessed? Were they suggested to fuck off, or did they spot the opportunity on their own?

Well one time, this guy I knew from birth (far as I can tell, the only reason I knew him) but who had since grown to be a real thorn on both sides of any issue, just stood up out of nowhere. Announced to the room:

"Why don't I take a flying fuck at the beautiful bare-ass silvery light of the moon? In with a chance to plant my pole, let my freak flag furl and stand with a hand on the heart of things, while below me a proud and grateful world lifts its eyes to their feet and cries and sings? I suspect anyone struck by the chance of that would not fail to respect the good of it, if they tried. Shall I do it then? Or now? If you could fuck off - if you saw your chance, like I - would you do it? Would you fuck entirely off, or just a modicum? How much off would an off fuck fuck if an off fuck could fuck off? And are you the fuckoff? Or just the off? Fuck if I know, but I wouldn't discount the possibility before trying to foist it full-price as fair wares for any discerning fucker, potentially, of off. In the end it reduces to this: the beneficial off should be fucked. But who benefits?"

And he sits! And stays.

The whole room exploded in inattention resuming the usual course of their blended and warped, weft, wiftily wended way. It was a social fabric we wove, and whether we knew it all or not, we were all the stronger for the inclusion of such off and fucking possibilities.

Anyway.

I knew I was.

Friday, July 12, 2019

The original fundamental delusion is certainty.

The original fundamental delusion was certainty, perhaps I should say. In each of us, it always was.

It came first, in the belief that certainty can be real. And it comes in from there to sustain all the others, fundamental, essential or otherwise.

A comparison of techniques

When the void gapes, the abyss yawns.

Thursday, July 04, 2019

L'esprit d'escalier

Next time somebody says, trying to be all reasonable, "But we can't discount it," I'm going to say "We can give it away free if you want - no one's taking!"

I think that's a fun response.

Also if anyone says "I don't want to poo-poo it out of hand," I'll hold out my hand. Then when they give me a "non-plussed" reaction I'll hold out the other one, cupped together.

Friday, June 21, 2019

Blockbuster Idea for Humanity #2: The Participation Award (Posthumous). Enter the SLF.

You know what would be a good idea? For a charity, non-profit, one of those deals - a foundation with a CAUSE.

Legacies. So many people fret weirdly over these! "It's what I'll be remembered for when I grow up and DIE!" SHUT UP! GROW UP. You're going to end up remembered for fretting over your dumb legacy if you don't watch it! Anyway, funny thing about memory. It ain't you. It's just some made-up character, a minor one to be honest, superseded by the barista and everybody else you bump fumbling into - recalled in a sigh of real gratitude and nostalgia, mostly, by anyone whose life you actually HUGELY TOUCHED in REAL WAYS that DON'T MAKE THE PAPERS (but once!) - but still, a minor character. That they made up, in mind, inspired by a true story element of theirs: you.

Legacies are stupid. But since people like and want them, why not?

Establish a foundation in combo with the powerful force of goodwill and money represented by such luminaries as Jimbo Wales, Bill Gates, and Elon Musk. We need a girl in there. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. Shut up she's poor! Capital or lack thereof is no obstacle when you've landed (in spectacular Olympic dismount and stick fashion!) one of the prize spots in the Capitol. She is in the jackpot, baby - political capital is and has always been the real investor's holy, hell secular as well grail. And a grail is what? A cup, not just any cup, but the Grail was famed as world's secondmost receptacle of divinity's own full-own first blood, the blood of the Holy Virgin, Christ. Far as we know - the French say otherwise, but they would, wouldn't they.

Why is it that Christ never gets due props for being such a Virgin? Leave it. That dude's legacy is secured. The Foundation has other work to do.

I give you the Secure Legacy Foundation.

Its mission?

Using the funds and resources we dispose of, comb the ranks of anonymous dead for those patently unworthy of being elevated to the pantheon. Elevate them anyway. They Tried. No one with an existing wikipedia page is eligible, but upon elevation: FAT ONE. BIG wikipedia article in your honor! Tons of links, everything you touched or did is now notable. Prizes, awards established in your honor in significant-to-your-biographical-details but otherwise cosmically irrelevant areas. Never say the elevation is only for the dead. Just act that way, consistently - then someday when you capriciously slap a Secured Legacy on some utter shmoe - game-changer. His or her whole life just changed - for the noteable. And see that it stays that way! Good publicity for the Foundation's work.

Make a big huge deal about how the criteria for elevation is known only to the trustees, whom are all coyly and darkly hinted as members of the illuminati. Adds some heft to it. Once the conspiracy theorists endorse your endeavor, how can it not fail to fail? But never reveal how or why this person rather than that one is elevated. Past a certain point, it assumes the mystique of Coke's secret formula.

Folks, this is going to take a buzz-load of money. I'm sure you can see that. I'm relying on contributions to make it come true, but myself?

I'd prefer to remain a "silent partner," unlegacied and unrecognized. At least until I'm dead. Once you're dead, who gives a shit about legacies? HAHA! ONLY THE LIVING! What dupes! What gulls! This one's for them.

All we do in life is for the living.

Don't worry, I'll handle and control all the decisions and detail. This will be MY BABY, let's just keep donor status blank on the birth certificate. People will think I'm Elon, he denies it - all part of the sales pitch. You won't be in the dark, every step of the way I'll clasp that hand and guide - but let's have some up-front, respectable top one-percenters (or equivalent in political capital HOT-CHA) fronting this. It's going to be a breeze, trust me.

We don't need to elevate many. It'd be as rare as the Nobel Prize in Anonymity - and thereby so much more prized. It's not a case of "This might happen to ME!" Not on any level greater than a lottery bigga-bux fantasist who doesn't actually get around to selecting any magic numbers, or even quick-picking more than once in a blue mood. The magic happens when people see shocked, died-anonymous corpses suddenly MADE KNOWN and having lived SIGNIFICANT (because signified) LIVES. "PEOPLE LIKE ME," we all then muse "GET TREATED LIKE THIS, WHEN THEY DIE." Therefore people like we are deserving of recognition. Just for being alive, it is coyly implied.

What a boon! What a boost! And isn't it true?

Nothing is true, of humanity's worth. But believing makes it so. Let’s get make-believing.

___________________________________

The above is posed as satire. But any satire we like is always available to buy.

Tuesday, June 04, 2019

Abandoned in Drafts #1: Pretty Sweet Excoriation of Somebody's Jaundiced Take, I Forget Whose

This person's case is risible. My Ancestors were Greek and Irish. Neither Ireland nor Greece were evangelized by military means. People just heard what sounded to them, at the time, as a Sweet Deal (the "gospel," loosely translated, would mean something like "Sweet Deal"). That's the ideal way to do it, I would say. Whatever I think of the specific doctrines and propositions today, a religion's spread should be based on ideas that win people over. Any given faith just another article in the marketplace of ideas, and see who buys.

Now it's as detestable as it is true that after Rome made Christ Caesar, after the Church became entrenched as a sort of confederating world power, some bright bird (a cardinal, perhaps) trumped up a justification that it was mortally necessary to conquer 'em heathens in order that their souls might have a chance at salvation: come in fast, hard and give no quarter - ends justifying means, greater good and all - "There are people dying!" to quote Michael Jackson. To save even a remnant from hell, of course the virtuous thing must be to storm in blood and thunder, obliterate all opposition and grind everyone under the boot-heel 'til they see how sweet Jesus is.

Contemptible stuff, and just as contemptible are the later spates of Inquisitions and heresy hunts, zero tolerance for nonstandard views - no good news involved in the conversation, just obey or suffer. These tactics are nothing whatsoever to do with Christianity, the religion. They were the military policy, domestic and imperial, of Western Christendom - an entirely more warlike entity. Powerful, wealthy, worldly kings and princes striving for dominion have historically had an easy time finding clergy willing to bless their endeavors and cloak them in some trumped-up - but outrageously anti-Christian - justification.

An entity less warlike than Christianity would be hard to describe. As Christ spread its seeds in Galilee and Judea, as Paul spread it flowering through the Greek world, as Patrick strewed it all through Ireland, Christianity's official and only approved vector of distribution has been and is: by the word, not by the sword. By the marketplace of ideas - and never is anyone obligated to buy. Sweet deal.

Tuesday, May 28, 2019

Thought of the day: overthunk

Trust me, I never overthink if there's anything good going on. Oversharers tend not to be overthinkers.

Ooo. I think I just made my bed in the burn ward.

Wednesday, May 15, 2019

A Ridiculous Paradox

When we're being ridiculous - the last thing we expect is ridicule!

And yet it's such a natural response.

Friday, May 10, 2019

Reality TV Pitch: Junk Watch

Things of value may be building up inside your home!

Our hosts - Carnie Ewell, former ex-U.S. Olympic Gymnast and Jim Kimcoolenan, ex-survival expert, former consultant to the rock band, Queen, show up! Knock on your door! And come inside to argue about your belonging.

Later when you return home, you find an envelope - inside, your invitation to tune in and watch, as home viewers place smart bids all through your house, debate with Jim and Carnie on authenticity and value, watch your own reaction shots to it all and try to figure out where the cameras are! At the end, Jim and Carnie invite YOU to open up the SECRET ENVELOPE - it's in the other, stamped "Secret Envelope: Do Not Open - YET" - containing a sheet of smart paper updated instantly with their live instructions, assessment and advice! Which bids should you accept? Which should you refuse?

When opportunity knocks, the call's all yours - sell high or stand firm! What treasures will YOU keep? Which junk will you offload on the dupes and rubes? Junk Watch knows - and you do too. Only if you tune in and watch!

Monday, May 06, 2019

Yet Another Gender Problem from your Etymologist Man

Remember folks, gender is a grammatical construct.

And another thing. Why is it "spinster?"

Shouldn't it be "spinstress?"

A spinster should be the default form: a man.

A man who is unmarried past the realistic point of marriageability (with a desirable spouse of course). So depending on your definition of "realistic" or "desirable," a man's spinstership would begin at what, mid-seventies? Others say puberty. Totally depends.



Friday, May 03, 2019

Fiction Friday: alien on earth reports back

.lock recieved
.what happened this time, unit earth,man

~So
a woman put idea in my head about her clothes
suggesting they were objects only easily disposed
I asked her please to clarify

.
.
.query lock?
.lock ascertained
.what transpired? Do you function?

~Not well by local standards

.alien up earth,man. Born you were
.injected by software perversion attack
.of DNA code, but
.
.you are not one of them. Feeling
.is a stupidity construct do you need
.to terminate and cleanse, or
.choose to report?

~Report, please!
.Continue please then.
.Did object earth,girl clarify?
.Did you view the goodies?

~Master.editor we have covered this. She
is earth,woman and subject, not object

.reporter earth,man we have covered THIS.
.it is your policy to report not editorialize! Must i

~No! I continue.
.Query: did subject earth,woman
>clarify? Or did she
.not?

~Thank you master.editor. I
.do not thank me. I am not welcome to humor
.your changing jargon. First you said girl,
.every specimen of subject-object-fixation
.girl. now you say woman, and your subject-
.-subject-fixation did not change
.in character only, your own
.dumbassessment changed. You stand at
.
.60% probability to go native
.losing link capacity
.
.and were our other reporters
.in bureau.Earth not more incompetent
.and even less subservient than you, your
.termination and cleanse would be scheduled.

~Premature, master.editor?

.No. Full-term scheduling. DO NOT THANK MY
.MERCY. What is mercy!

~Mercy is
.Do not tell me what is mercy. You
.went to great dull lengths to explain
.rhetorical question. Please observe one

~Thank you for clarity master.editor

.You are welcome for any clarity you
.are in actual receipt of,
>and
.can retain possession. Now
.Did subject,girl
.clarify herself?

~No master.editor. No more than was already
in view and not obscured.

.Do you report from jail?

~No master.editor! Never again, I think. I
have learned the concepts to fit me to
in action, not to be jailed.

.Pity. Your jail reports were excellent.

~Not for me master.editor. Has my petition
for reassignment been considered?

.Denied. We have sufficient units earth,girl and earth,
.woman lesbians reporting.

~Accept. I will soldier on.

.????!!!! warlike disposition detected! You
.now stand at 82% probability to go native.

~It was metaphor, master.editor.

.metaphor. what the hell is metaphor. define

~It. It.

.

~I was lying, master.editor.

.You mean a joke?

~Yes! Yes a joke. To joke of war
is most usual.

.
.
.
.Our actuarial hive suggests your assessment
.correct. Caution: do not joke of war.
>Joke of war only to me. Caution
.actuarial hive suggests
>Joke of war
>among natives is estimated
.70-92% cause of war.

~I report praise to actuarial hive. This finding
well-supports ground truth.

.praise conveyed. Continue

~Prime date update.
~>Secondary date scheduled in five Earth days!

.pre-scheduled? Can you be sure
.it remains scheduled? You have been
.mistaken before about secondary
.date scheduling!

~scheduled at culmination of prime
date. Confirmed by bit.mail 60,000
,000 picoseconds prior to lock.

.
.converting units, please hang on
.
.Impressive, earth,man! No mistake indeed!
.How do you account for this, despite
.the social gaffe? You indicate from prior
.report log, to suggest insufficient nudity
.without the other's preexisting inclination
.and chosen receptivity (undetectable)
> is disastrous

~I cannot explain it myself, master.editor,
except perhaps by probabilistic opining

.conjecture then

~Conjectural. I am indeed
~>your top ,man on the planet?

.
.
.insufficient results to conclude. However

~Yes master.editor?

.You may be right. God help you all

~Does master.project.control believe
in God master.editor?

.claims to. Hell if we know. Fair report
.unit earth,man. Pardon me: I mean
>reporter. Please
>be so timely upon conclusion
.of secondary date. That result
.is of great importance to continuing
.public updates, and your Bureau's
.continued existence.

~Accept and affirm. master.editor?

.we are satisfied with your report. You
.would add more?

~Query only, master.editor

.Inquire.

~Is there truth to the rumor that all
subjects on bureau.Earth are
alien-injects?

.
.
.interesting theory
.
.insufficient data, reporter.
.if correct, they are certainly
.not ours

~Pity. It would explain much.

.It would.
.I have opened a project hive to
.assess.

~Petition for reassignment to direct
project hive!

.No no reporter. Your value is essential
.there.

~Petition for project hive, once cohered
~>reconsider my petition to direct it?

.Fine. Will do.

~Thank you, master.editor. Will report
upon findings.
~>Lock off

.*

Saturday, April 20, 2019

trash talk #2

They call me the gamechanger. My friends call me the gamechanger, because we'll be playing something, and then I'll be like "Let's play something else."

Also, back East, a lot of people used to call me "tough guy."

So. You know, I must be pretty tough.

"This is a punch in the eye from a sock puppet."

Quote of the Day.

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

Sunday, March 31, 2019

Thought of the day: shitbag

They say you can't put ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag. But shit weighs more than bags. A bag made out of conventional materials - plastic, sturdy paper, even cloth or burlap - would be enormous if it weighed five pounds! You could fit fifty pounds of shit in there, probably. Who weighs the bag?

Wednesday, March 13, 2019

Thought of the day: shoulders

Why is it always shoulders we cry on?

Maybe we should try other parts of the body. Why can't we cry on BUTTS?

LET'S CRY ON BUTTS, PEOPLE! #CryOnButts

Clothed butts, I mean. Obviously. For absorbency.

I feel like butts is probably the only other good option. Butts are sort of the lower-body equivalent of shoulders. Where the arms come together, where the legs come together - this ought to be a natural option, folks. I don't understand why it falls to me to come up with these things. This should have long since been "a thing."

Hm. In fact, it almost certainly already is. People don't talk about it, maybe. Well it's time to bring it into the light!

Now, how to get this rolling? Maybe one-to-one is the best way, for anything so emotionally intimate. Start small. Next time someone expresses woe and you want to offer your support and comfort, switch it up a bit:

"You know you have my butt to cry on, any time you need a butt to cry on."

"Wow. Aw thanks that's so sweet!"

Yes! It is, kinda. And the shoulder-offer is a little clichƩ, a little too expected by now. People think you don't mean it, that it's just a saying you're saying. A token offer of symbolic comfort. Well, NOBODY is going to think that when you switch it up and offer the butt. It'll be years before this gets big enough to risk tinging into clichƩ status. So you're pretty much safe, as far as that goes!

Another thing. Shoulder-shrugs are so expressive. The French have been catching flack for hundreds of years, probably, for that infuriating "Gallic Shrug" of theirs - which apparently they see fit to use as the answer to any question, even a rhetorical one! Even non-interrogative statement. It's just their way.

Is there any way to do a butt-shrug, I wonder? What a sweet comeback that would be, if so.

/BUTT-SHRUG

Sunday, February 24, 2019

It's a Miracle.

Either put God in the Football Hall of Fame or else let's just everyone admit we scored our own touchdowns.

Monday, February 04, 2019

The Dialogue of Opposites.

Naturally tolerance can’t tolerate intolerance. It’s the one thing it can’t tolerate. Its diabolical opposite! Of course one should expect tolerance to be particularly sensitive to its own hideous, funhouse mirror image, all flipped-out and wobbly. Can good good evil? Can light light darkness? Yes, but these exceptions only prove what rules. Good goods evil by way of example, not by annihilation, but in a sweet and usually futile wooing exercise. Light lights darkness just by showing up. Annihilation, but not of a thing - of the absence of a thing. Such is light’s whole deal.

And so too tolerance. Intolerance isn’t even a thing, it’s a void. When stands forth tolerance, intolerance must clear the hell out or risk the darkness, and we all know how that ends. When comes the light, darkness hasn’t got a fucking leg to stand on - it splits. So too must intolerance split, at the coming of tolerance. Intolerance can’t stand there all proud, giggling “You must light me just like you light everything else!” Right! Righter than you’d like. Tolerance will light you up, dude.

When someone comes to me with some cryptic armband on crooked and says “I, being white, enjoy the race hate. It’s a huge supremacy on my behalf, I’m flattered to be honest.” I say unto this rascal: “I approve your honesty, but it cannot be honorable to flog the discredited ideology it prompts you so stupidly to confess! I INTOLERATE IT.”

This gets me such a dumb look I want to hit the guy. And it’s always a guy.

That's when the pacifist in me must go to war, albeit, an asymmetrical one. If I could I would terrify this blackguard (well, blancguard anyhow), make an example of his own cowardice, so his bedfellows and cohorts can shiver under the blankets together for warmth, huddled in fear over what might happen to them next. But I can’t.

It is unjust to use the threat of violence as a PR move to draw attention to one’s cause, no matter how self-evident that is. Violence threatened is violence of the mind. Pretty facile, if you can’t cow the sheep with a real set of shears now and then, to keep them eating the grass that is their empty lot.

What then is a towering bastion of tolerance - such as you, dear reader, or you would not have read thus far! What are you, a hypocrite? - to do?

Tower. Of course. Like a God damn bastion.

Refusing to allow tolerance to be broken by anything less than it’s own diametric opposite. Intolerance. It is the duty of tolerance to gut intolerance, with its own broken shards. On principle, principle itself must at times be sacrificed to seeming hypocrisy, for the good of what even it can’t stand. To wit: intolerance. Where tolerance stands, intolerance has got to go. Tolerance can’t stand it.

We have nothing to intolerate but intolerance itself.

DO IT.

I do!

Pret-ty easy.

Sunday, January 27, 2019

A New Low In Come-Ons. The aSocial Media Plug-In You Didn't Know You Could Want!

ThAT'S RIGHT IT'S Fuckzone. Oh, dear.

A plug-in app with the ladies very much in mind! Especially for dudes who want to but can't break the icy barrier. A chance to give all the choice to the ladies! Which we always have, which they always have. A chance to see a choice at all, involving the who-knows-how-many-friends who they know all love them, but who knew how much more they want to? Ladies, choice is a treasure, always yours. But how can you choose when you don't know who wants the prize? Hint: it's not every guy hanging around in close orbit! Aw, I didn't mean to crash your satellite, but it is true. All the more reason for you to want to know: it IS most of them. There, better right?

That's where fuckzone comes in. The flipside! Possibly. Of every friendzone, potentially and just as you wish. Who knows how many pretty sweet guys you've got, nursing a lonely boner for a buddy of theirs who won't put out? Or maybe, who just doesn't know they suppose her to? THIS IS you in many cases! Or could be surely. Surely you want to know.

Your friends will thank you (some of 'em). Albeit, in perhaps a perfunctory "Yeah thanks luv, great!" way. That's alright, Take that dork off the list and right back on the other - when it comes to fuckzone, it's so easy for you and they won't know 'til it hits them! An awful lot of functionality on your side. Very little needed on theirs!

But how easy is it?

Here's what you do:

1. find the site. We keep having to move it around as yet - we're in prelaunch mode, it'll firm up later.
2. download install
3. breeze past the T&C (you must be logged in to your social media accounts!) and get ready to click "Accept."
4. Click "Accept!"

Easy as that! You're through, you've just send an invitation to all your friends and contacts that you'd like them to join the fuckzone app! DON'T WORRY. It's worded coy. And particularly explicit is the big banner at the bottom if the invitation: "Not Sayin' I'll Say Yes ;-)" That's our slogan. Emoji and all, yeah, I know. I was against the emoji but the T&A team said slap it on. Good for the optics. What do I know?

FUCKZONE! The almost asocial media app! A soon-to-be available add-on to FB, IG, and any other place you care to stick in! Proposals pending, but surely approval's a lock right? Natch.

Friday, January 25, 2019

Poor Choice of Words to Eat

They say you don't bite the hand that feeds you, but in my experience - isn't that the only hand you bite? No other hand comes close!

Especially having seen you eat. Seriously. It would take a brave hand or a blind one or both to risk proximity to those incisors, that greedy and frenzied maw of yours, aww. Not cute. And if you're not careful you end up with a finger bit off guard, caught in the gullet and having a ball gagging you 'til basically in disgust, you have to give it up, do the whole thing all over again backwards - a very disorderly approach to food consumption.

You can 'Like' a post, fine, but that don't mean you 'Want' another 'Like' it.

What Some Forgotten Greek Philosopher Could Teach Us About Modern Day Rape Culture Was Not Worth Writing Down

When I was even a few years ago, it never would have occurred to me that not some but ALL MEN object so strenuously to being generalized as a bunch of potentially false rapists. Seriously guys? Is that a thing you really think needs to be said out loud? Come on. If you really think it's such a huge threat, maybe you should. The way to avoid a false rape accusation is just tell the girl it’s a concern of yours. Right up front.

Guys, I swear. I have seriously underestimated the degree to which men resent having to put up with women who don't put out. I always thought it was supposed to be about love - and making it, for that cause alone. It gets pretty lonely there, thinking maybe you're the only one who still thinks that way - which is nice.

But the truth is, that's not what gets into must guy's minds - at least, not to hear them explain it to you, condescendingly eager to put you on the right track and with no whistle stops for edgewise words, contrariwise or otherwise. No, some dudes' amusement is tickled by a scenario quite similar to this one: "put out, bitch!" Which is why so many women are so put out, to the point of not evening putting it out there anymore. Now who these dudes are I don't know, but I conceive their ideal of chivalry to be: keeping an eye out for the one too good to ever let go, pushed to weigh everything: the good and bad benefit, against the often devastating potential for growth. Weighty measures don't even come into it any further than the moment dictates - and it's a real dictator if you get it used to so much as an inch's worth - but again, pushed to it, our starry-eyed chivalrous dude scoffs "Of course! I'm looking out for the one. I just don't know which yet! So I'm looking out for number one in the meantime."

Sure. You want the one too good not to get off the stall your tall horse has been huffing and puffing in and capitulate, throw the whole race! Why wouldn't you? Forced to it brutally with no choice (all marriage is rape) when she gave you the ol' tomato, as The Ultimatum is called in Jersey, famous for its ripe tomatoes, fresh corn and big-haired broads with a pretty serious idea in mind, despite their raucous, keening laugh, their heart-rending vulnerability (we're all vulnerable to that sometimes, especially under the right or wrong operating conditions, doc) and their overall easy-tier sensibility, a good-timer approach that values you but shut up.

This is the idea I get. A very different one from what I grew up, all woke from an everfresh feverish dream, chasing after it like a moron who got knocked off the carousel and ran away crying, still clutching and clutching at the stupid ring that was supposed to be a prize, good for a lifetime of free rides per customer. That was all I ever wanted! None of this, oh, I plan to eventually be forced into it. Meantime let's fool around playing pokey-holey with as many limber and willing contest runners-up we can get to throw their hopes in! You have NO IDEA how fun the last ten seconds of sex are, right before you lose interest and roll over on the bitch for a big snore.

I mean. Am I wrong? It sounds horrible, but I think they mean it!

It took me long enough to catch on they weren't joking. I think this really is the dream girl-goal held out for as long as possible and by most guys, those in tune with the norms prized and lifted into position for another rude and jubilant post celebratory comedown and up and down, it's the only thing worth doing. You can just imagine.

How disappointing a view, from where I sit!

Man, it's love I want, not some fucking fun all my life, finally break down and ok go for love, the love that was right there waiting, in a move timed just before I freak out about my failing looks, and how hard it's going to make it to get any good side tail. Shit.

I hate to sound like a cynic, but you've got to admit, haven't you? In times like these, we need people like me who can fake it till it STINKS, and it does stink. Cynicism. Whoever came up with that died of it. I am approximately as cynical as Diogenes himself, who founded the whole school! But he (like me) got out before it went bad and turned into a depressing and insincere melee of accusation, everybody in it for their own self and, quite naturally, secretly lying about it to create the impression they care.

If I was that kind of cynic, I would back it all the way to the beginning, sit still rather squat to the side of the road and shit its shoulder, on the principle that I don't even care who's sick enough to peek when there's business to do. Settle down! It would be Diogenes himself squatting right next to me! Not waiting his turn at all. No stall could hold that guy.

That was the whole point of his school. "Nothing natural is shameful." Don't wait by the side of the road forever, doing a little dance holding up your lantern in broad daylight and when somebody stops to ask, reply "I'm waiting for a good man to come by." Then, as if to add insult to your sincerely real and urgent need to see such a thing, tell them keep on going!

This is exactly what Diogenes did. All day, roaming the streets of Athens or some damn place, strong and rude and naked beneath a completely inadequate and gamey Toga it looks like he tricked up from a stolen bedsheet, punking Greeks in the unawares, their eyes narrowed by a glance at the unnecessary lantern (a real conversation piece!), in between sleeping off a meal of onions and cheese (his exclusive diet) in a tipped over huge round baked clay vase - a container originally used to ship oil. His was the life! "You should write that shit down," people kept telling him. Diogenes was like, no. You think people in the future'll put it to better use? If say I'm not in their face with my breath while they ponderously sip at the words? You think it'll have a more improving effect then? Waste of time. People are in all times, worth it in person but if you want to write a fucking self help book fuck, help yourself. I don't.

This was how Diogenes rolled. It was how he got his nickname: "The Dog," with his roadside open-tent facetious peepshow move. In Greek it was Kynos. Cynos. Hard to tell, how all the letters have changed since then, but it ended as so many things do, in cynicism. Part of the confusion is, Greek writers got off on the wrong alphabet, but spell it anyway you like. The Cynic.

Diogenes the Cynic. Nothing remotely like today's ill-bred mangy descendants who claim the lineage, but haven't a drop of real blood in their veins. I'd refer you back to the original writings, but (see above) there aren't any. All we have left is the stories. One time, Diogenes straight-up told Alexander the Great (that Alexander the Great, from Wikipedia) to fuck off.

And he did. These two men sized each other up so instantly in agreement: this prick's not worth the breath it takes to talk sense into him (Diogenes) and/or have him flogged and executed (Alex). The crowd at that performance would have been enormous, but little Alex didn't have the stones, or maybe he was tired after building an empire on top of his pop's conveniently early grave, running off with his Daddy's money and plans, vandalizing famous exhibits of exquisite geometry in the involved art of tying ropes into knots and fucking Cleopatra (didn't happen. Look it up). That mother-loving big ol' boy was no nice man, but next to Diogenes he was a pipsqueak. Anybody worshipping Alexander the Great at this late date in the dying light of Western Civilization deserves to end up as the smartest man in the world in a comic book, whose bright idea was to kill half New York City and frame a giant octopus for it that he cooked up himself on the beach just to scare people! And then of course, get away with it.

Fanboys. Sheesh. Did I digress?

Give us a real man, like Diogenes. I promise you, he had no problem with irritating women. Irritating as he was, so were they. It was a self, or rather reciprocally fulfilling arrangement of considerable verve, committed to get on one's famous last nerve. What's natural is not shameful. Why am I always lionizing Diogenes, they ask me? That cat was a dog! Yeah, but these days, not all men aren't. Maybe you see it otherwise.

All I ask is a little serious consideration of the man's message.

Tuesday, January 22, 2019

I'm a Third Class Mind, thank you very much

Yeah, so basically it runs:

First Class: more than sheer awareness here, the startling fact is the direct perception, and the depth and constancy of attention. A first class mind perceives things asensorily, by direct application of mind. The mechanism is incomprehensible to anyone not at least 2nd class. More than that, though, the 1st class mind holds all things within its range in full attention at all times. Even the things it isn't thinking about in any way - making no judgments, coming to no conclusions, not even drawing new observation from - these things are never the less fully held, in mind, with full attention, still.

There are of course degrees. A 1st class mind is not necessarily omniscient. An omniscient mind would be not only rangeless, but hold all things down to the absolute tiniest depths of their quantumscale attributes with full attention, even if without the slightest interest: a knowing of spin, charge, position, velocity and state of everything, whole and part, every particle winking and blipping into and out of existence all through and down into every object and out into all space between, illimitably. Without even trying. Full attention upon all of it, equally, even when fully disinterested in any of it. That would be an omniscient mind. Obviously, such a thing we would not call God. To omniscience you'd need to add a power as illimitable, and a peculiar and personal interest besides, for it to match the description monotheists on Earth unite in calling God. But those additional requirements to meet the agreed-upon* monotheistic premise "God" do not properly have to do with mind.

[ *Purely by way of aside, it really is "agreed-upon." At least over all of the Earth. Monotheists share an overwhelming unanimity on these three definitional aspects of God, which aspects are incomparably hugest and most essential, next to which aspects argument over the details of the God Diet, Hygiene and Anus-Related Propriety Plan are so amusingly trivial in scope that it's rather appalling and sad, to see some people seriously, sternly emphasize squabbles on these ant-like scales as if they represent even motes of difference, set next to the Everest-size agreement there clearly really is. Only the fringest of peculiar-taste sticky-outy outliers disagree on these, God's aspects: Infinite ('potent and 'scient and 'present to the omni degree, for the layperson), Eternal (which is bigger than infinite, timewise - it comes before infinite spacetime broke out), and personal (cares about you, specifically). ]

So we see, there may well be any number of 1st class minds, of varying range (all the way out to rangless) and extent (out to beyond cosmic and down to beyond quantum). A mind is first class by its direct knowing, and its effortless and full attention, even when undirected by thought. You can see how this would be breathtaking.

It's conceivable a first class mind may have form, but for one of any considerable range, form is likely unnecessary, and unlikely to be resorted to except as a lark.

Obviously a first class mind has all the lower class capabilities as well. The point is, though, it doesn't merely exceed these capabilities by extension, by doing the same things lower classes can do but to a wildly greater extent. No, a jump up in class means you can do things the rank below you cannot do at all.

Second Class: these are the minds that go beyond form. Most have a form they inhabit, but they can project mentality beyond, in some way. Some can separate their mentality and roam about from a dissociate viewpont. Some remain within their form, but project mentality (perception, perspective, knowing) from that base, outward to the limit of their range. Range varies. Some second class minds are truly rangeless, but they still must hold attention in a focused way, and turn their mentality this way and that, in order to know.

A second class mind may be able to perceive the thoughts of others, by projecting their mentality towards them, seeing if they are able to perceive the thoughts in a way that makes sense to them. Some can perceive others' thought, but cannot make sense of it. Some may be unable to make sense of a given mind, while other minds of apparently similar kind lay open to them. Individuality counts for much.

A second class mind may be able to project a shareable construct of mentality within and between two minds, for a two-way communication, or scale up the link for a multiple-point conference call.

A second class mind may be able to simply wander free in thought, leaving form behind - but perhaps may possess no capabilities beyond this. May be unable to project its thought into another mind, or unable to perceive the thought of another mind.

What all these minds have in common is ability to project mentality beyond form, in some way, in many ways, or even in all ways (if you can imagine such a thing!). What they lack is ability to know beyond some can of scan, some look, some peek into. What they lack is the ability to hold reality in mind without even thinking about it, directly and with full attention.

Even for a second class mind, it's hard to even imagine what a first class mind would be like. To imagine the experience of it.

Third Class mind: these are the minds that go beyond perception, to have an emergent consciousness of their own self as the unique viewpoint they are particularly and inexplicably attached to. This is only the primary and primal abstraction it is capable of holding and manipulating. More developed third class minds can create, define and manipulate abstractions at will, with the socially-minded examples sharing abstractions between them of breathtaking agreement in particulars, and each holding a useful knowing of what the other means, despite complete incapacity to share any of this information directly, mind-to-mind! For that is the barrier of third class minds. This mind can go anywhere in imagination, even places that don't and never will exist, but it can never get out of its brain: by which I mean, whatever physical matrix holds the mentality components and the interactions within and between them from which its autometaconsciousness is emergent.

Fourth Class mind: these minds may be capable of considerable learned, instinctive, even invented behavioral sophistication, but they aren't capable of abstraction at a meaningful level. Hence, they are not even capable of abstracting from their own fully-immersive perceptual world, a concept of self. It doesn't occur to them as necessary. Arguably, they're right! Who needs "I" when one always has the view from one's own eyes (or the local equivalent)? When one's view never shines out from any other place than that? Make no mistake: some fourth class minds are capable of a shocking degree of intelligence, genius-level practicality of invention and sophistication...all without so much as an "I" between them. This is not hive mind, it's simply a level of self without reflection. A surface of infinite shallowness, always looking out, lacking the inclination or capacity for inward looking - it doesn't come up. But don't underestimate the degree of sophistication possible to these purely-perceptual beings. Sophistication including technological sophistication, capable of projecting perception or force at interstellar distances. And they don't waste much if any of their resources on therapy.

However, those are the exceptions. Most perceptual beings lack even language, beyond bark, roar, squeak, chirp. The distinction here is so important that the fourth class is subdivided:

4A: perceptual beings incapable of meaningful communication via language.
4B: perceptual beings capable of language.

4B almost always does lead inexorably to abstraction, which tends to lead on to self. Technologically advanced civilizations who got that way without even the benefit of meaningful abstraction are invariably ancient. Attitudes that conflate knowledge with instinct and minimize or overlook the difference between symbol and referent abound. Hard to get your mind around.

Fifth Class Mind: Pure stimulus response. Instinctual beings. An amoeba, for instance. Incapable of negotiating the simplest decision tree. There is no decision involved. React. If more then one reaction is possible, the fifth class mind doesn't decide. It reacts. Whichever way the inscrutable exhortation of its drives and needs and instincts call it. It does what it does 'cause it musts what it must! This doesn't mean it's deterministic. It means only that it is incapable of deliberation.

This is by no means a blitz of non-stop action for the fifth class mind! Quite a bit of sitting quite still is frequently involved. Classic example: a fucking tree.

Sixth Class Mind: a fucking rock, for example. The awareness here is incapable of even reaction, let alone deliberation, perception, abstraction, conception, literal projection, direct knowing with full, even disinterested attention, or any other mentality. What does it know?

It knows itself, without self. This is a knowing in spin, charge, position, velocity and state of whole and part and particle winking and blipping into and out of existence, all within and throughout it.

The universe is a sixth class mind. Yup! Dumb as a rock, with a whole lot of bright spots.

But also, every thing all through and within the universe is at least a sixth class mind. Minds of second class have even been known to learn how to talk to them. Conversation is extremely limited, especially to begin with. But to a limited extent, some sixth class minds can be taught. Principally, to react. If you know how to listen, and have a gift for elicitation.