Theme park idea man #2: CHILD SIZE

"This makes me urge some entrepreneur all the more to open my KID SIZE theme park, where the houses, squares, stairs, funiture (not "furniture") all start out baby-scale huge and diminish as you go. Grow. Big park."

Call it Big Park. 

Thought of the day: human worth.

The worth of a human being is beyond one's reckoning. 

Yes, even your own. 

Thought of the day: seems legit

I never went ice skating because I can't swim

Open Dream Journal #A (new numbering): the clown

I had a dream where I was on a social media site where this guy I never liked, barely knew or interacted with (we didn't see eye to eye) who had a long-running shtick of drawing vignettes from his life as a cartoon clown (Smelly Stinky Diapers The Clown) had left a big sour goodbye post in which he as usual touted the greatness and indomitability of his weaponized glum clown persona but fuck you and fuck IT - he's done. 

I'm pretty sure the whole long-running thing was anti-comedy, since it didn't seem to be even trying to be funny. Just a clown in polka dot comically oversized diapers and blue nose (in the colored ones - most were b/w), huge frizzy clown wig that was a normal brown color, and makeup applied differently each time - in defiance of clown norms. You're supposed to be like a classic KISS member! Same face, bro! But it was not funny, nor trying to be, seemingly. Just sour human interactions and a grudge-filled thought balloon as he'd walk off each time pissed. 

Anyway, I left a comment that was part sincere tribute and part lamentation on clowns, kind of anti-clown overall yet sympathetic? It was beautiful. I was touched. I don't think he'd see it - I scrupulously didn't look at the post date, but I sensed he was long gone. 

When I woke up I realized I had no idea what that social media site was supposed to be, and as to this clown I'd never encountered him at all. Despite an immediate knowing of long if minor backstory and familiarity between us, and a seemingly deep memory of his (pretty well-drawn actually) cartoon clown persona hijinks! 

RIP Smelly Stinky Diapers 

It was weird. He seemed to be cryptically boasting how being a clown was excellent for getting laid by babes (he didn't put it so bold or vulgar, but pretty obvious) but because he wasn't getting the recognition he deserved overall - he was done clowning. Huh? Wait what are you a clown IRL, TOO? 

I thought the clownification was an add-on for art's sake. A lens through which to view ordinary life, by a self-image that improves nothing. 

Thought of the day: plausibly true or false rationale

"We lie because the truth does not meet our high standards."

Questions from elsewhere Pt 1: Does an effective value system facilitate development of integrity?

Is it true or false that establishing an effective value system will pave the way for the development of your integrity?

This makes it smack of artifice, which is not necessarily apt.

Can we define “system” very, very loosely?

If so, then it is:

True.

But what I mean by that could be made more clear. An illustration is indicated.

---

Example of “value system”

1. One goes through life finding and valuing good in experience.
1. This “good” is of all kinds. “Moral good,” sure - catch as catch can! However, good of use, good of advantage, good of pleasure or enjoyment or satisfaction, or anything otherwise found and known desirable swings and weighs heavy in the mix. We rate and weigh these different types differently.
   
   this is Values.
2. As one goes, one notes values are not all of equal weight or charge. We rank and order them by importance.
1. This is hardly an operation that requires thought. It is stimulus and observation of variegated response. Thought can be put in, too, on top.
   
   these are Priorities.
3. As one goes, one notes which things tend:
1. …to create, enable, support, protect found good.
1. When the thing is an action, these acts are called “right.”
2. Where the thing is a condition or element or other factor present, we merely regard them as propitious. Perhaps each a good in its own right! Yeah! (We trust ourselves to prioritize)
2. …to risk, harm, diminish, destroy found good.
1. When the thing is an action, these acts are called “WRONG.”
2. Where it is a condition, element, factor present, we mark them as hazards or similar. Watch out. Or: oppose! Root out! Circumvent! Such WRONG CONDITIONS may find themselves at RISK of HARM, DIMINISHMENT & DESTRUCTION when we spot them! RIGHT-ON!
   
   For it is not destruction, but what is destroyed that makes for telling right from wrong. And in these stakes, it is all about the good. Which good, too - and how much we know it’s all worth.
3. Our inchoate attempts to apply these sensed (or imparted via rote to-do/to-don’t lists) guidance and decision aids prove probably laughably bad. We have to gain in moral judgment by ownership of and examination of consequence. Outcomes, traced back down causality to our part, for inspection, identification of fault (if any), rectification, and reason back up to reconciliation throughout the system in tipoffs, hints and self-allegations of implications to ramify. Reason back up from rectified flaw spotting all parts that flaw touched. Popping out misfit modules, clicking in upgrades - reasoning out from each such point to where that flaw touched. It’s not work, unless you call artwork work. It is recreation. Re-creation. Remaking, and it’s good of use and pleasure to boot.
   
   For while truth never conflicts with truth (a thing cannot be both truth and untrue in the same time, place and sense), goods can be in competition. Goods may conflict. In the event, to choose one good precludes or may preclude others. Moral judgment gains in aim, grasp of values and priorities deepens and strengthens, as we drink in the cleansing and effervescent ever-flowing beverage of our consequence of being.
   
   Advantage ours: the more we take in, take on, take apart and own. Consequence of all acts, inaction, decision, indecision, speech. All consequence, whether unintended or deliberate, whether foreseen, unforeseen, unforeseeable. In taking on and owning it all, we grow into and know our own part all the harder, sharper, brighter and softer! What was once unforeseeable glints to foreseen, and we deliberately avert course, change our aim to glide by without setting off a chain, chain, chain of woe. Aimed intent lengthens by kilometers and contracts at need to pinpoints. Dang-on.
   
   this is conscience. It is nothing but the faculty of judgment exercised in the moral dimension.
4. And all throughout we have a rollicking ride of nature - human, ours - to contend with. So we amplify and civilize, go wilder as we grow wiser, all by turns, each by our own lights:
1. We feed and strengthen the drives that do us right, and they become more prominent, sure and acute. Instinct drives forward into intuition as the sensory end of the driveshaft swells, and grows rational and irrational antennae.
2. We starve and neglect the drives that do us wrong. We do not OPPOSE THEM. All resistant, denial-based energy we pour down them strengthens them. They GROW.
1. No. We pour that energy down better, chosen and aimed channels and the drives that do us wrong atrophy and shrink. They never go away or die. They revert, birdlike and featherless to naked hatchlings high up a nest, whose cheeping and peeping are powerless as velleity. You almost wince in compassion, hearing/feeling that lil’ pipsqueak plaint to do yourself bad! But you smile and laugh. It’s only you, and you’ve wisely grown so weak in such ways, they shan’t ever fly.
   
   this is integrity.
   
   Integrity (our stated aim, here, though there’s tons other good to pick up on the way) is merely self-consistency. As one wag put it, “Honor is two things only: 1, know thyself. 2, never betray that.” Integrity’s just honor with the fancy dress off, and perhaps a stick or two removed from its sweet ass.
   
   But integrity’s coherence depends how deep down it goes. Ideally rooted sure in a coherence core of well-known full-grown deeply-held values & priorities, whose radiant penumbra and emanation brighten right in view, and throw shade on wrong.

Merely as an example.

You can see how a system like that would make it a piece of cake to develop, and even ramify, elaborate and elucidate integrity. A piece of cakewalk - and don’t mind the icing on those roughshod high-gloss spit-shined steel-toed sh!tkicker workboots you’ve grown into, at some well-missed point during all this dance!

You know.

I must cop to being a bit foolish, here. At first you spoke of system, and I was like “SYSTEM! PAH! IT DON’T TAKE ALL THAT! It flows in natural nested dovetailing of splendidly-dependent and radiant parts in sensible, even reasonable relation! It just happens.

Yes, well, so it does. But as I teased it out up there in steps…that thing IS a system.

Well, so is one’s heart plus all attendant vessels.

And so is one’s brain, plus all attendant nerves.

So yes.

A system like those two is essential. BOTH are needed. And a system like I laid out exemplar-style, as an example - that’s simply the natural outgrowth of those two, fed at need or want by eyes, ears, skin, tongue and…the other one. Nose. And it unfolds into place in a process of progress untamed and undesigned, mostly, with a bit of constant-gardener action throughout, in thoughtful pruning here and there as the whole thing - it does not tame, no - it trains.

The system trains itself, and you with it. And you grow yourself, with system well-schooled and unruly in your train.

So yeah. The answer is:

True.

---

There is a considerable profusion and embarrassment of other systems available.

“Try mine!” I pointedly do not say.

“Use your judgment not mine,” I say.

The system I outline is rightly called a consciention (or “consciension”) system. It’s purposeful aim: to do all that is right and necessary to the case, case-by-case, catch-as-catch can. Naturally spotting wrongs is a given, pfft. Avoid or oppose or destroy those, they are neither right nor necessary.

There is also the flip-pole of conscientious: scrupulous. Here the emphasis is on BAM. STOP. EYES WISE for bad and wrong, and DON’T.

Neither way is more childish. Either way serves. Each ways top aim trails the other’s bottom in its wake, and is not necessarily neglectful of it, it’s just not the focus.

The system you find or make to embrace suits your strengths and weaknesses to a “T,” ideally: to feed grow and train the former to better and farther aim. To stunt and whup and disdain the latter like the mutt-mongrel inobedient domestically and hunter-gatherly USELESS nondogs they are, only perhaps gentle it up a bit.

To find what suits is the key to unlocking all your coping, thriving and defense mechanisms (most of them taken off the shelf at Culture Nurture Mart) and disassemble, upgrade and weaponize them - preferably in a nonviolent way, but you get the idea. Hard, horrible world betimes we’ve got to stride with feet or roll upon, fly or set sail over with device. It takes strong kung fu to walk this world without armor and armament.

Well, you’ve got some in you. Integrity is its mastery.

Mastery is effortless aim to whatever end’s desired, in one’s chosen field.

Let yours be life.

---

Morality is any concern in right and wrong, to tell between in order to further right or oppose wrong.

Morality’s deepest, highest aim has always been self-control. For it’s always been we, each individually, who have to find, cobble, design or practice to discipline (rising towards mastery) such aids and guidance.

Self-control doesn’t work on others.

Self-control is made in two main parts: self-restraint, and self-aim.

Some do it all one way. Some do it all the other. Most rock an interesting mix.

I am an original, unscrupulous but highly conscientious unprincipled moralist.

A value system is one way to get to integrity intact! There are probably others I haven’t properly noticed or known. These things are clearest on the inward glance, if you care to look. Another’s is harder to judge.

Cheers.

Thought of the day: janitors

I feel as though in some ways, the janitor is the butler's modern urban soul-brother.

In any English-style drawing-room armchair whodunit set in a modern-era public school, the cliche would become: the janitor did it.

The power of positive wait what

Don't think "There's somebody out there for me." Think "I'M somebody out there for somebody!"

Top 10 Most-Important* Films of the Decade

This is a list of the top 10 most-important* films of the decade**.

Editor's note: I found this in my drafts. I have no idea how I wrote this; I haven't seen most of these films. I think I must be taking the piss, here. Indications are this was written December 15th, 2009, which was before Robin Williams died. The original post included the asterisked note "*Important that Robin Williams wasn't in them" - cryptic. Non-prophetic. I've added a double-asterisk to signify: **the decade 2000-2009. 

The rest is much as it was, apart from a couple typo fixes and deletion of unnecessary instances of "very." 

Bit of an enigma on the whole. It can't be plagiarism. But where did I get these opinions on these films? Why write this? 

Perhaps it's a satire. Why does anyone write these sorts of recaps? 

_____________________________

15.) Rocky Balboa (2006)

Suspend your disbelief for a moment. If we forget about the other sequels and consider this film in partnership with Rocky (1976), what we are left with are two movies that complement each other perfectly, albeit thirty years apart from each other. Watch the two movies that bookend the series back-to-back. We have a very moving story of a man at the end of his career, mourning the loss of a loved one and trying to rebuild a relationship with his son, with a truthful, humorous and extremely touching portrayal of one of the finest characters to ever grace the screen. It really did bring a tear to my eye.


14.) Zodiac (2007)

A film that appeared to split the opinion of audiences, but for me it was the film that finally marked the maturity of David Fincher, and his transition from a very good director into a great filmmaker. A story of obsession, based on events around the Zodiac killings, it leaves us feeling uncomfortable and searching for answers.


13.) An Education (2009)

A recent release but one that stole my heart when I first saw it. Not least because of a personal resonance, but also because of an outstanding central performance by Carey Mulligan, and a true story which could quite easily have been one-dimensional, but was realized in a very thought provoking way.


12.) Gone Baby Gone (2007)

Didn't get the credit and the audience it perhaps deserved on release, partly due to some similarities between it and the Madeleine McCann saga, but this is a gem of a movie. It's a beautiful meditation on the difference between right and wrong, with an understated performance by Casey Affleck, which is heartbreaking at times.


11.) Closer (2004)

Started off as a stage play, then made the transition to the silver screen, where it's four lead characters and their relationship machinations left audiences emotionally drained. Which of the characters do you most identify with?


10.) Dancer in the Dark (2000)

The only musical to make it onto my list but don't let that put you off. This is breathtaking at times and will put you through an emotional journey that will leave you shocked and crying like a baby at the climax.


9.) Mystic River (2003)

This is a powerhouse of a movie. Clint Eastwood at his finest as a director with great turns by Sean Penn, Tim Robbins and Kevin Bacon. Deeply affecting with it's multiple tragedies, it's a consummate look at a small community, Shakespearean in tone and delivery.


8.) Into the Wild (2007)

A remarkable movie from the directorial hand of Sean Penn, this is a moving and beautiful portrait of a young man who chooses a very different life to the rest of us. Spiritually uplifting and earth-shattering.


7.) City of God (2002)

A frenetic and dazzling movie from Brazil that rates as good as anything that Scorsese has produced. With brilliant use of music, some stunning cinematography and professional performances from a virtually amateur cast, it's a movie that leaves you on the edge of your seat throughout.


6.) Synecdoche, New York (2008)

What may turn out to be the most important movie of the decade. It's exploration of reality and meaning of life leaves you mentally and physically exhausted after watching it and remains with you long after seeing it. I still think about it all the time. Not an easy watch by any means but one that is worth it.


5.) Downfall (2004)

Based on the memoirs of Traudl Junge and the final days she spent with Hitler in his bunker, this is a captivating film, not least for the wholly believable performance by Bruno Ganz in one of the most difficult roles an actor could ever be asked to play.


4.) Hunger (2008)

Brutal, visceral, devastating. In a time when new technology has become commonplace to replicate thrills, this is a film that uses no such tricks, instead showing the real power of performance and the use of a camera.


3.) Donnie Darko (2001)

A movie which successfully treads the line between profound and pretentious, it is an easily identifiable treatsie about life, death and love, one which comes on an old friend who just can't take a hint.


2.) Requiem for a Dream (2000)

With a score that has launched a million other films/promotional videos and some exceptional cinematography by Matthew Libatique, this is a hauntingly powerful movie based on source material by Hubert Selby Jr, which marks out Darren Aronofsky as the talent of his generation of directors. Unmissable.


1.) The Lives of Others (2006)

My film of the decade. A film about time and pressure, it captures a moment from history almost perfectly, showing the intensity of a relationship between two men who have never met and the things people have to do to survive.


Other worthy contenders that didn't quite make my top fifteen include:

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Hidden, Tarnation, Adaptation, Revolutionary Road, Primer, Two Lovers, In the Shadow of the Moon, Lost in Translation, In the Mood for Love, Memento, Sweet Sixteen, Mulholland Drive, The Kid Stays in the Picture, The Pianist, Amelie, Pirates of the Caribbean, La Vie En Rose, A.I. Artificial Intelligence, Amores Perros, Man on Wire, No Country for Old Men, Sophie Scholl - The Final Days, Easy Riders and Raging Bulls, 500 Days of Summer, Where the Truth Lies, Zoolander, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, The Dreamers, Apocalypto, This is England, The New World, Intacto, Pineapple Express, Adventureland, Hotel Rwanda, Almost Famous, The Piano Teacher, In Bruges, O Brother Where Art Thou?, L'enfant, Royal Tenenbaums, Good Night and Good Luck, Phone Booth, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Sunshine, Battle Royale, American Psycho, The White Ribbon, Wonder Boys, There Will be Blood, Borat, Anything for Her, Juno, American Gangster, Y tu Mama Tambien, Phone Booth, The Wrestler, The Science of Sleep, About a Boy, Hustle and Flow, Pan's Labyrinth, Before The Devil Knows You're Dead, The Wind That Shakes the Barley, Dark Water (2002), Wedding Crashers, Mesrine: Killer Instinct/Public Enemy No. 1, Tell No One, Dead Man's Shoes, Be Kind Rewind, Brokeback Mountain, Let the Right One In, Roger Dodger.


There are probably others that I have forgotten or I haven't seen but that's still quite some list. Do you agree with my list? What did I miss out? And what would be your film(s) of the decade and why?

Thought of the day: retro

Retrospect is the next best thing to omniscience.

Okay, I’m off the fence: “Shoot To Thrill” by AC/DC is a pretty great song.

I remember when I first heard it, nah, second heard it (because it was after the first full listen-through*) I was like, “This is the weakest song on the album.” To be fair: the album was Back In Black. Even still.

*If it’d been the first time I’d heard it, that would’ve been pretty impetuous. It’s the second track!

Even still.

I can’t tell you how many concerts I’d go to and the band (usually AC/DC) would play “Shoot To Thrill,” and I’d be like - again? Then I’d be like, “It’s the crowd’s fault. Stop encouraging them you guys. Save your cheers!” Save your berserk revelry - it’s only “Shoot To Thrill”! Later (it kept happening!) I was like, “It’s because it’s a song from Back In Black. A case of great-by-association, clearly. They’re cheering the idea of the band playing songs from that album.” Which I could get into. Great album.

Much later, when they put it in that Iron Man movie (2, I think), I was like you assholes. WHY?

So many better songs to choose for this. Why not Live Wire? Flick Of The Switch? Heatseeker? Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap?

Big Balls?

Whatever. Shoot to thrill, Tony. I mean it fit pretty well, as used.

After that something in me broke down. I figured “There’s something in this song people actually like on merit. Shoot To Thrill qua Shoot To Thrill.” I’m not ashamed to say I knuckled down a bit. Read some modern philosophy. Found out about qualia. I mean, I already know about qualia, but it had never occurred to me…perhaps this was the key?

Every time the song came on after that, I gave it a chance. Then just now (after about five further years of openness), suddenly I realized the song was on in the background, and it had just shifted into full gear for the first verse, and I without consciously noticing was totally on board - off and away!

I had been rockin’.

So I let it roll. By the guitar solo I was like, yeah! “What are people’s problems? It’s a fine song.”

And I came straight here for a vigorous and spirited defense. Set the record straight. Folks, the verdict’s in. This is an okay tune.

DAMN OKAY.

In fact, (belated retroactive spoiler alert for the post title) it’s pretty great. And I don’t know if you’re savvy on the rankings, but that’s a damn sight better than pretty good.

It may even be great. Jury’s not quite in on that one.

No need to rush truth, people.

The principal flaw of humanity.

I think a principal flaw of humanity is the refusal or failure to grant the other’s expertise. I mean here no stupid human trait mastered to trick level (magic trick, in radical effortless cases). Nor do I mean mere boom erudition magnetized by and alchemized in application and practice to depths incapable of sounding for the comparative layperson.

Both of those are excellent! They spice life up like whoa, and leave us often wondering for more. Both are entirely beside the point, here. Exclude them.

I mean the primal expertise we have. I believe we all have. It is expertise that comes will-ye or nil-ye in a sustained and continuous navigation of self into, within and all through reality. Only a fool would balk at acknowledging yes, this one has had dire plight experience and lived to tell right from wrong, stupid, impossible and unworkable plus plain misguided or mistaken aim - and in all candor, it wouldn’t even occur to most fools. To bother balking at so obvious a duh! Or to decisively withhold such acknowledgement, it wouldn’t occur to them. And in saying this, please know: I myself am a fool. Sorry. Too obvious?

It is never the other’s intelligence one insults with the obvious, but one’s own. Maybe. Most fools (being the only ones who could so balk or refuse) remain inconsiderate of it. Insensate - justly so! They have their own hands, fool! And overflowing in all moment, mostly. Or else all too empty, and such others-assessments ring truly hollow then. A vain procession of bells, tinkling as they take their toll unheeded in a mind occupied by emptiness. I’d disregard that, too.

So I do not assign fault let alone blame, here, but cut us a break. We do what we do because it saved us for this moment. We have much misaligned in us, much unexamined - and very much well-known in experience good, bad, ugly, and rare: brightly, brightly and with beauty! Those last flash to mind when we recall who we see ourselves being. In our best moments, and at our best. Who we are, which is also: what we are capable of.

Which is a mark well-missed and rued in mess-up and deferred untangling, basis-banging and hard work reasoning back up from where we fell - finding why, to aim from thereby. Hard work indeed, and few hark to a clarion note of joy in’t! And so unharked, the note unsounds. Joy never was unless felt and known. Joy never is, unless opened and surfed in a sense innocent and driven curiously to wonder. “Why not always such joy?” BECAUSE, STUPID.

Because: stupid. Yes.

Yes. I am too hard on us. Yet in fairness to myself, and with a mercy I’ve learned to my grief is all too well-deserved (wretch that I am, and do) I am also too hard on us. I mean for us. I have a hard on for us, for persons more than for humanity, that no amount of fad ice bucket challenge could droop, except for occasional tension relief as one’s organ of inexorable jut for humanity must needs exhale.

It exhales blood, but I mean the whole thing spiritually. Not in a gross, physical way. Far be that sh!t from me - and don’t get any on you, either. I assure you it is psychologically impossible to me to mean such things such ways. I find nothing gross in that sense in the physical! Rest assured this lil’ pure boy knows no shame in what’s only natural. Wow. Kill this tangent please, buddy.

Let’s bring it home, buddy. We must be buddies to each other, yet first perhaps: we must buddy ourselves, in a truer and more peaceful buddiness. A peace which finds its purpose within us: a place which exists to buddy from. A root which shoots to trunk and branch in spreading canopy, twigging like mad in budding that blooms not to fruits, so much, but in…bears.

Okay never mind I lost it.

IT’S THIS.

Others views, routines, coping-thriving-and-defense mechanisms and drives, values, tendencies, habits - all their inner array! Its greater splendor blissfully unknown to us (thank God). Which to our cocked eyes, all-askance in the pants and panting for understanding, may yet seem twisted - slipped, far too far-fetched to be fetching, ground to dust and metal shavings in an acrid burnt chemical smell of mismatch and disproportionate exertions, slipped and caught locked gears, perverted, stupid, dense or too-fancy-flighty, or in any other way disarrayed - are not so.

They are fit.

In the sense of “best fit.” With the understood tacky tack-on “…available.” With the further sad cynical note of “or any way, available to examination and trial, largely unexamined, largely untried. ‘Unavailable’ in that sense.” Yet don’t we know? Others are all too painfully aware of the misfit and misalignment that clangs within them, as it echoes out to ripple and widening flood in consequence of their choices and acts. In consequence, mostly, of unexpected outcomes. Unpredicted (well, unpredictable surely!) response.

We know. We know too well the dissonance within, and where and how it meets and fails often to mesh with the dissonance without. We know where and how we don’t fit better than how we do. Either way “why” remains elusive.

Herein though lies our expertise.

It should not be dismissed at all, let alone lightly. Yet we do. And so often, without passing thought so much as only passing through.

The symptom observed is this: the other, apparently, doesn’t know any better. The tart remark scribbled in our interview pad is: how the hell can they not? We know better than that. Please note the glint of humility peeping out! We really cannot credit or fathom that another’s ability is less than ours to grasp what we’ve found-and-valued obvious. We almost entirely neglect to note: obvious is a valuation that a) depends entirely from the found thing’s fit and pop once nested in one’s complex of inner frames, metrics and ironmost assumptions! Obvious pops a certain way within the known. But b) also depends on actually noticing the thing. Whereas invisibility to notice is practically the main superpower of the obvious! I digress. Again.

Shift the interview. Self-examination room. The symptom observed is this: of all the potential ‘better’ coursing and circulating abundantly to be known upon this specific problem we note we have, this too-frequent clash of gears-and-lenses within, HOW DO I KNOW which IS the better piece to install? And which will fit with what I’ve got? And not force too much inner wrenching discard and revision? OH DUH-FVCKADOODLE DODGE!

This specific misfit mangle-clash is not after all that bad. Perhaps it does not need fix? Perhaps it ain’t broke, so much as baroque. Just part of my unique and dare-I-say jaunty setup! Others have worse, and don’t even know or seem to deal with it. So complacency okay?

Yes, complacency okay overall - but on how many individual points, now? And the dissonance of misalignment between our points-complaced and theirs grows, nobody knows how much or how far. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. Everybody knows how much and how far. “Why” remains elusive.

Yet upon the spike of the moment, we’ve declared a point insoluble and moved on. We must, to be okay with our imperfectible selves. Another gold star on the benevolence-charged kindergarten report card of our own known well expertise.

The flaw is this. Couldn’t we risk seeing others in the same way? THEIR report cards look like sh!t in our mind half the time! We grade not on the curve of a bell, but on some absolute per-point pivot system where faults must be ganged by redeeming qualities in quantity to offset - or the other falls in rankest rank! Yet really if we step back detach a bit, surely the work they do is not too dissimilar to our own. A difference in substance rather more than kind, and to scorn to see it is…rather less than kind.

By my lights anyhow. Important disclaimer: I only think this. It may be no more or less real than thoughts others have, for all I know. Sorry about the digression, up there by the way! It was no dick joke, merely a metaphor perhaps too equally fulsome and sincere. I need to learn the lesson myself:

Work not too-assiduously the first metaphor that comes to hand. Chances are, that bird should have remained unmolested in the bush, where its worth could be charitably graded “unknown.” Not bushwacked and carried high back to civilization in triumph! “Please! It’s a bird! It’s worth so much in my hand!”

---

With this post I award myself the coveted Master of Subjectivity degree. Note 1: self-coveted. Note 2: “award” is slightly off. More “I both accord and afford myself” - unanimous decision with one abstemious, begrudged assent to no opposed. 2: it is one degree only. There are at least three-fifty-nine others, and may be as many as 7.8 billion odd. Go get your own. Mine is taken, and indeed too far.

Thought of the day: on feek

"Defecate" is to rid oneself of feces. "Fecate" then is to attain feces. Fecation is eating.

Strange Tales of Repartee #3

Somebody called me ridonkulous, I called her redickudonk. Then she called me redonkudick.

I think she won that one.

Fiction Friday Pt. Now: Jayce the Furdragon

“Jayce the furdragon had been rejected by the Academy of the Krav-Magus for the third time. The application consisted of writing yourself into the future alumni list. It was a significant test of one’s storywarping abilities. Once you’d proved you’d graduate, you could go. Jayce knew he could not submit another application without risking the Loser’s Curse, which would follow him for life. He’d seen it trailing shamefully in the dirt-wake his older brother Volm’s tail made: a faint, hovering glow; a silhouette in outline of some unmistakably pathetic eldritch avatar of failure.”

Jayce stopped. She read it again. Am I starting too far into things? Should I go back and lay more ground? Am I sure about being a he, here?

Again. What would the silhouette of the Loser’s Curse be a silhouette of? She hit Ctrl-A, Ctrl-X, pretending to delete the whole thing while giving herself an out, in case.

“I’ll never be a novelist,” she huffed. Nobody wants to read about stupid furdragons, living in their own complex, highly-evolved society next to the humans who can totally see them but find them entirely unremarkable and ridiculous, apart from the occasional moral panic. Her eyes lit up. Pasting the clipboard’s content back where it was (just in case), she opened a new tab and began typing swiftly:
“Jayce half shrieked, half roared. He was stretched to his limbs’ limits on a space-age polymer-alloy apparatus. The Christians had finally snapped, and were putting furdragons everywhere on trial by punishment. Jayce has already seen his brother Volm broken and discarded, carted away. Now it was his turn. Could he endure the unendurable? Who would care? How could a ‘loving God’ let such things happen in this world?”

Jayce grinned, on a roll at last. How could a loving God? She loved God, and was sure God would get her through this latest thing with Stissy and Kyla and the test, but she was at least eighty percent certain that in a world with real furdragons, just trying to live their lives unpunished, Christians wouldn’t put up with it. Especially if they could learn magic and cast spells! Jayce frowned.

She looked at what she’d just typed.

“Crap, I killed Jayce.” She hadn’t really been paying attention. It had been brutally, perversely (pervertedly?) beautiful, and was surely the best thing she’d ever written. “This will never get published,” she hissed!

The thought came again. “I killed Jayce.” How could she bring him back, undo the best thing she’d ever written?

She’d killed Jayce.

There was no way to notice what was happening. Her skin had grown all softer soft; she ran a hand down her arm and touched plush. Something felt out through the back of the chair, something she could feel to its forked tip, stiff with sensitive bristles. Her face grew more beautiful, she was so sure, eyes uncanny in size, slightly alien in shape. Her irises gone a dully-gleaming gold. He was dusk lavender all over. She hadn’t pictured what that meant. He was stretched to his limbs’ limits on some unforgiving thing, the central attraction in a huge, spherical soundstage too bright and hateful to look at.

“Open your eyes.” said a harsh voice.

He opened his eyes.

He thought it would be her dad or something! He thought it would be a dream. She definitely hadn’t gone to sleep!

It was no dream. Stissy the Undercutioner of the Christians stood over him and smiled, blandly handsome and utterly inoffensive as she’d pictured and planned to describe him. The effect of all he knew was terrifying. “You stand accused, dear ‘Jayce,’ of trafficking and meddling with foul powers. You are charged with storywarping, which as you very well know is a capital crime.”

Jayce winced in lengthening pain, suddenly aware, as if sensation had come back from wandering to find its sweet house being torn apart and down. No way. No way. I will not give in to this.

“Do you have any last words? A confession, perhaps?” The Undercutioner’s tone was plummy, as if enjoying a good gossip with an inferior pal.

“I will not give in to you!” Jayce half-roared, half-shrieked. “Whatever you want, you’ll get none of it from me! What kind of ‘loving God’-”

The long iron bar pulled back with a hiss and a hard, final clank. The result was not beautiful, but fascinating, Stissy thought. As many times as he’d seen it, he couldn’t quite put his finger on the appeal. So many tuning in, as well. Well, he might as well say something for the viewing audience.

“That’s enough of that, I think.” Stissy the Undercutioner whirled on one boot, clicked his heels, and bowed.

How many people does it take to screw in the light bulb over your head?

...and that's just a thought of the day.

Fiction Friday in One Go: Enter the Narrator

The main character of the piece crossed the floor of her flat, suddenly both English and female, or possibly Australian. She was sure it was one or the other. This was clearly a "flat," not an apartment. It might be a "walk-up." Hard to tell from in here, in the foyer. The flat was basically a small foyer with key pieces of furniture, and not much opening off it. A pair of cupboards to either side, one fitted up as a kitchen, the other a bath. "Hey!" she objected.

What?

"Why can't it be proper accommodations?"

Fine. There's a trapdoor in the ceiling with a pull-down ladder. Leads to a quite well-appointed small mountain chalet. Classy - but I warn you if you go up there, your former life will be left behind.

"Suits me," she groused, grinning. "What's my name supposed to be, anyway? 'She'?"

CLOTHILDE.

"Sweet." A suspicious look crossed her face; Clothilde's face. "Am I naked?"

No, though I confess you are remarkably conventionally attractive. You're wearing a fucking CLOWN OUTFIT - except it's all black. No makeup, no wig, just the outfit - big roomy coverall, one of those big doily collars, big shoes, the whole bit. All black.

"Does it have pockets?"

Yes! It has pockets. In fact, quite a number of them sewn in, some of them quite cleverly-concealed.

"Anything interesting in?"

May be. Why don't you check?

A cross look. Gasp of exasperation. Her eyes swept up, saw the trap. There was a recessed handle. One springy step and a leap saw her catch and drag it down, landing lightly and ducking out of the way as the ladder slid out and down. As she stepped 'round and mounted the stair, a narrative interjection stopped her.

Wait.

"What is it?" she brightened. "Anything interesting?"

There's some sort of kill-team or monster approaching up there.

She made a face. "You're pathetic." Skipping lightly, she ascended. The steps retracted as her weight left, and the trap swung shut.

Time passed.

None of it was considerable.

The door to the bath cupboard was open. The sink was antique, with hand soap pump, toothbrush holder, toothpaste tube and a small, decorative tin perched about its rounded surfaces. It was really a cute little flat. Lots of touches. With the door closed in here, the mirror was empty. Just a blank wall in it. There was a slight, squared discoloration where there used to be a dried flower under glass in a chunky wooden frame. Had she taken it with her? Stuffed in a clown-pocket?

She was gone.

Clothilde, her former life left behind. Somewhere away up there, some kill-team or monster is about to discover brief regret. No way to intervene or assist, or even narrate.

She'll be on first-person narrative by now.

Thought of the day: is was

Is is what's left of was.

Rejected Quora Answers #1 ("Needs Improvement"): Why do people think that beautiful girls are always dangerous?

I will tell you why. Have you read the other answers? Read them. And then come back and read this one last. And then you will judge who has told you why. I recuse myself on that one - the call is yours.

Why do people think of the danger of beautiful girls?

Because they know. They know of the danger, what if I stood up and declared to myself, in my inaudible mind-voice, “The girl is MINE. She is beautiful and has been nice to me as a regular habit!”

It would have no effect. Nothing changed. But then what if I declare it audibly, to her in her presence?

And then what if the girl (well, woman really, but this one gendersexually identifies as “girl” and has made it known, this preference is hers, and so she is) were to rise and declare, “The girl is not his. He has confused my innate habitual sweetness with one and all as a claim on my favors! No dice.”

It would feel like a broken bone in the heart. Or a bad sprain at least - and a heart-sprain, which is imaginary, can take years to heal. Where a normal sprain heals at medical rates. Which do you prefer? Spare the heart, give up the ankle. You’ll thank me in relatively few weeks.

A girl like that, beautiful and sweet and true, is like a devouring monster from the inside of a pretty sweet dude who, though, is a little on the hapless side, and lacks self-control and a certain purity of purpose (I don’t mean “puritanical,” please - get your mind from the gutter and rinse it off! Do not wash it - brainwashing is not the solution. Use tears - they smart a bit, but it rinses you clean with catharsis).

Even a bold, hard man, such as myself except bold, and hard, is in danger of heartbreak and heartache from a woman whose beauty has won him, but who will not herself be one. Or won. Whose fault is that? It is not hers. We have no claim on her but the claim she gives outright - which she is free at all times to revoke. We are all free to choose what we give of ourselves, and to whom - and what we shall keep.

In short, the only man to whom a woman is not dangerous is the one who despises women, who sees in them only an instrument for personal gratification: ego (personal or social worth) or id (the genitals). Such men have other things to worry about, though, principally repulsiveness if their hearts were known to one and all. Or the ancient ache of alienation, self-loathing growing to hatred of all, should their hearts be known to none. That’s a no-win deal, people.

Homosexual men, too, are relatively out of danger, in these dangers of the womankind. As are heterosexual women. Trust me, though, they have their own challenges in this world. Bigots galore, misunderstandings and stereotypes - you name it. Most of all, men.

But enough of the danger of men.

That is the danger of woman to man, heterosexually. There are other dangers of course - she could knife you as easily as anyone, if you’re caught unawares! But I sense the heterosexual danger to men (and the homosexual danger to women too, I suppose, but I feel as if being women, lesbians have an insight which spares them much of this weird othering of others of their gendersexual preference) is the thrust of this question! It is real. As real as doves and serpents - these are not made-up mythological figures, though of course they pull double duty there. Your only course: be true. Lead always with your own real likes, wants, needs and loves. These will ward off those who are no fit match for you, with whom match would only be misfit and misery. And it will shine up the world around you like a beacon for those whose likes, wants, needs and loves are good for you, like yours.

Basically don’t make decisions about other people, where you don’t really know. Don’t prefer some made-up thing and want that. Prefer to honor who is in front of you, to find out who she is, and so discover in getting to know each other what you could be to each other. What she thinks about that is key.

Thought of the day: grounded

You keep me grounded.

And I didn't even DO anything!

King Unicorn Angel Sword

(please note: this is a children's book. Each line appears subscript or superscript upon a full-page gorgeous yet fetchingly casual illustration).

To be a king is a duty. A responsibility. An obligation.

Some kings deny their divine right to rule.

So long as they do not shirk their duty, I hold peace with such views.

I am King Unicorn Angel Sword.
I don't always dress this way.

Ofttimes a simple, classic, modern dress suit of clothes fits the bill.

Or to suit the occasion, I may appear in my military regimental dress. Dignity. Solemnity.

On the beach, I wear one of those 1900s getups.
It is important to our people to see that their King keeps to the old traditions.

But on special occasions of State, I appear before my people in my infamous full regalia.

The main response is a perfectly-understandable awe and deference.

Second-most prevalent response: hilarity. Also perfectly understandable.

My subjects think I'm a cool guy, pretty by and large.
I am stern of eye it is true. Yet fair of mien, to be fair.

And kindly, lordly and wise of bearing, as befits a king.

I try to be approachable.

I am very much relied upon in most quarters,

for my tact and insight in difficult personal matters,

and for my keen eye for fashion - for what truly suits, rather than what merely flatters the wearer.

Of course there will always be the occasional assassination attempt.

Generally the work of filthy revolutionaries.

Not to be confused with ordinary revolutionaries. (Note the indicators)
These guys never really bother anyone.

In a time of peace, my kingdom is prosperous and the love of my subjects is abundant.
These are the times I love best.

In a time of war, it is sometimes necessary to use war. In those dark days, my subjects rally fiercely to my call, to the defense of their country.

Results have been mixed. However, the strong fastness of my ancestral keep, Thunder Gulch Royal Fortress and Casino, has never fallen to any enemy while any remained within to defend her, which they usually do. That's a pretty good record.

Why not come live in my happy land?

Our tourism industry is nonexistent, to be honest.

Book a room at Thunder Gulch Royal Fortress and Casino while your temporary residential permit is processed, but my guess is after even only a few months here, you won't be wanting to move back to wherever you came from.

Our populace is happy and productive.

(by and large) (picture of filthy revolutionaries)

Our barter economy is thriving.

And if I may say so myself, we've got a pretty sweet King.

King Unicorn Angel Sword

Publishing Old Drafts As-Is #1: "Pre-Work Team Lunch Focus Check"

QUICK! PRE-WORK TEAM LUNCH FOCUS CHECK:

This time, Focus on
- Empathy
- free food
- goals: with shared clarity comes unity towards purpose. CLARITY MUST BE CHALLENGED TO BE ACHIEVED. It cannot simply be assumed.
- bid to power
- interpersonal journeys. Your coworkers are many roads to the same place: disalienation. Try to remember where you are upon each of them.
- inappropriate conduct-dar: questioning vigilance towards compassion with zero tolerance and the courage to speak up and out, not down.
- opportunities and traditions in a ritual meal setting

Viral Ideas #1: Next Hot New Personality Type Quiz Trend?

I want to set up one of those internet personality type quiz webpages. Only for astrological signs. WHAT ASTROLOGICAL SIGN ARE YOU? 100 questions, only takes 10 minutes. FREE

The final question would be "What's your birth date?"

Fiction Friday: Copperlocks And The Three Panties

Once upon a time, there was a medium-sized girl named Copperlocks. She was a woman, but for cultural and other reasons beknownst to her, she preferred to be identified as “girl.”

Copperlocks lived at the edge of the Ancient Yulby Forest, in a sound, cozy cottage of stout brick, tightly-packed sticks and well-daubed straw. It was just up to code.

One morning, Copperlocks brightly awoke, made her toilet (pronounced, "twa-LET") (it means “wash and prepare for the day, or whatever,” but Copperlocks loved fancy words like “toilet”), dressed in a flash, ran outside excitedly, and had her “morning constitutional.” This was what she called her customary brisk walk, to get the blood moving and such. Her grandmother had taught her the term, and a few others such as “b.m.”

Suddenly, miles already from home, Copperlocks realized what was wrong. She hadn’t any panties! She’d been noticing this for some time, and had kept meaning to jaunt down to the Jungle Mall in the heart of the Ancient Yulby Forest to forage for a pair, or two. Others had occasionally been noticing as well. Copperlocks was not that sort of girl to be above noticing what others had been noticing about her.

Filled with her chronic dismay (prone to it whenever her fits of unbelonging came on; she’d often lie down and wait for it to pass, but needless to say couldn’t just now), Copperlocks had only just noticed where she was again, when she realized it was right in front of the enormous House of the Three Panties. “Why how lucky I’ve gotten!” she cried, delightedly and wiped her face with her sleeves. “I’ll just pop in for a look-see!” And she did.

There, on the breakfast table laid out for inspection, were the Three Panties, pretty much as advertised. They looked clean and smelled fresh. “I’ll just try these on!” Copperlocks said. First she tried on the pink panties with gray ducks and polar bears - or tried to. “Ow!” she said. “These panties are much too tight! I can barely get them up and over my sweet caboose - and they pinch dreadfully!” Manfully she struggled and labored to remove them, and finally laid them on the table.

Next she eyed the black leather panties, studded and bejazzled with steel rivets - and crotchless. 

These panties were much too loose. She could tell just by looking, and did not try them on. They appeared to have been made for a giant.

Soon, she came to the third and last pair. Of panties. These were of purest deep white, and had tiny little satin bows, making the shape of a heart on the backside. Adorable! Heart in throat hoping, she tried these on.

They were just right. “Find something you like?” said the giant, politely.

“Oh, yes!” cried Copperlocks. “These are just right! Ring me up, please.” He did. She paid.

And on she went on her way, skipping delightedly. She couldn’t wait for all her friends to see her panties.

And the giant came out and changed the sign.

And that about covers it. (The end)

Thought of the Big Day

If it's a coronation when the crown is bestowed up your regal and waiting brow, would it be a moronation when it's a dunce cap?

Suggested Exchanges #4: Remind me later

"Remind me later to tell you about the accident."

"WHAT ACCIDENT?"

"Later."

"!!?"

"Remind me."

Tough Topics #66: Legalized Prostitution: Did We Do This One Already?

The real reason most people oppose legalized prostitution is they know (on an unconscious level probably, but they know) where it will inevitably lead.

HMO copays.