GV aka VG

Thieves use listerine? Why exactly is house robbery something requiring one to care about halitosis? Why does the sunshine shine? Only the bees know for sure.

SideBAR

Snakebite

too much of so cal -?- git yerself sum antidote

N

Here there be

a dragon, oh dear, a dragon. Instead of red, gold or black, these are rant, rave and whine. Apparently not ironic however. The entire post would have been blank. Or is that truth. Ironic would be reading it and watching it turn blank. Perhspas it's a magical ironic truth dragon. The kind I found last Thursday night near the entrance to Radio-Shack before being re-routed to the All Batteries IN THE WORLD store in quest of CR2330. Nearly at the door this kind of thing pop up as being simple, trite and quite polite then becomes more like a half-eaten discarded scone on the sidewalk. Ants love it. Ironically they share. Truthfully I would not. Dragon dispensary that's a ticket to ride. Though before you ride. Be aware.

There are no dragons. Or are you still not drawing a blank. Half of infinity is still a pretty big number. Deck those val-halls. Don't forget to kick the wyrmm on the way out.

O

Oxtail soup in the fall on the shore of the oxbow. As far as billabongs go it's quite modest. Wee turtles, green lilies and a small amount of duckweed and sunfish.

Oxnard OXR it is not. Thousands of oaks yes, but within a forest rather than a county.

Oxycodone scheduled not once, but twice for reasons of making everything into a world of sweet fuzzy rabbits. Much like the cotton-tail in front of the bumper of the car in the parking lot this lunch, today.

Only Occidental in its sum of a sun setting over the western mountains.

P

psychosis or slight periodontal dis-ease, each a malady turned back by the toothbrush. one by land, two by sea. lantern-like in appearance on a dark-knight delineating the border of light and dark. thats the spirit. outside of a common frame of reference and stabilized reality-field of consensual delusion. that is what is known in the business as the doctors office. hygienists know and enforce this. pushing toothbrushes with every technological enhancement of angles, bristles, bristle layout, even colors in order to create a common order. a land of publicly fluoridated city water systems for the societies continuing reach.

Q

Sometimes things happen with ease. Flow, so to speak. This is the q. Quixotic like peppermint flavored flavur-flav with a eucalyptus schent. This is the q. Quantified like standard oil future based derivatives in a bull market. This is the q. Quintessential like forcible entry at the bank vault on a Thursday afternoon. This is the q. Quinine like the malaria fighter but with a special alcoholic based twist of lime. This is the q. Five mysterious yet standard things which may seem innocuous, but in fact are part of a larger whole. QED.

R

Jealousy proves everyone is the same. How about you just go to U down below, press play, and open this goodness in a new tab. Make it through the whole song you get a prize. Maybe the prize is your own sanity. Or lack thereof. Not that any judge should be. Though that is kind of the point isn't it. Comparison only works when things are roughly the same, but different. Say you got a flounder and a halibut. Both bottom feeders. Both fish. Then you got a star-fish. Now they all live underwater. Now you got yourself a library book on the 3rd shelf of the 2nd row of the stack on the left near the entrance. Not much in common. Maybe. All exist on earth. For starters. Judging by things it could and could not be similar. Matter, check. Carbon-based, check. Earth-bound, check. Proximately close, check. Green, fail. Contain green, check. Smell like oranges, fail. Quite obviously there is going to be a whole lot of stuff happening during this post if this goes on. So it won't. The assumption that the number of examples was too few may be in error. Maybe it is not all the same and more are better. Wait, maybe less. Wait what is this? Reaction, perception, thought, feelings are shared? Well damnation this gets confusing. Except you understood and were misunderstooded. Communication works nice that way.

-->*<--

Things got to be common enough to understand, too uncommon and you don't. Which done goes to show you jealousy is certainly skin deep. At least.

S

Texarcana never looked so good. Not nearly as good as a Greyhound full of witches packed aboard on a journey to Alamogordo. Despite what you might believe, they cannot eat that much. Wolves could perhaps, but not greyhounds. What really happened? There was an unfortunate game of chicken. Witches playing chicken is not the same as ordinary chicken. What you end up with is a bunch of smaller and smaller witches who can't get much smaller but won't admit that they cannot. Next thing you know there's this mangy little ex-racing dog lying down on the sidewalk in a small Texas town who's just picked up the a whole abashed coven or conclave desperate for transport to somewhere other than the middle of the wasteland of the sidewalk. The effects may wear off at anytime, no telling. The voices will grow along with the dubious characters masquerading as fleas at which point being a deaf greyhound with the ability to run fast under duress isn't so bad of a thing.

T

Under the hanging green moss and the green-yellow light of the perpetual dusk they live. No need, no desire to travel. The stars they can see. The reasons for going they can or do not. Those wishing to visit simply come to them, their world. Just instants to simply jump light-years or further. There and then it becomes clear what travel could mean. Engulfing stillness within a silently roaring forest and conversations which reach further back and far forward in time within an expanding depth. Lost, with the realization of the mountain home. The tree, the forest, one voice and then many, many more... and wayward firefly's going on home.

U

know the way.

V

The soul is yellow and the magpie is blue.

STOCK

MARKET

W

Life is a confluence of events. Once I heard that somewhere. Maybe in the previous sentence, perhaps in one previous to that.

Sometimes coincidence is so coincidental that it is no coincidence.
Other times it is all coincidence.

There is no such thing as chance, however.

As soon as you pick up a d20 your options are one to twenty. That is not chance. That's pseudo-random. As they say, the die is cast.

Chance happenings, perhaps, but not random.

X

Nearly everything about space is empty. So why does matter, matter?

Easy, nowhere else can there be an lama riding an llama with the reins in one hand and a pancake in the other. Other places or non-places can claim to have that, but they don't. They are cheap imitators. Now you may say that a llama and a horse are not all that different, but tell that to the horse. Of course, you're going to hear nothing much. Besides that Mr. Ed, he was really animatronic. Looked real enough to fool you, didn't he? Without James Randi I'd have never of known myself. Not that I really trust him either, but I guess one man's artist is another man's savior, is another mand's doctor is another man motorcycle mechanic. Unless you are a lama. Then my understanding is that the pancake is really more like a roti and it really just fooled you all into believing that the waffle house started to allow llamas in the drive-thru. Just so you know, they don't. Don't even try it. I did and it is safe to say that next time I'm getting the coffee and just spilling it on me and suing right away instead of eating the pancake first.

Y

Wings are gravity knives.

Or skeptics. Looking at why falling towards the center may not be what you just do.

Or heretics. Displaying why inevitability is not.

Heavy it is, as self-centered.

Z

Spin up the wheels, it's time for a ride. Time to ride the crazy train on an express route through the alpenglow of your inner medula oblongata on and through your corpus collusum and into the collusem of the unseen collussus of your primitive sub-concious self. Welcome DAvid. Pick a nuber, take a seat and lets see how long of an eternity your chair will exist before losing its legs and becoming an primitive piece of art and general pedestrian hazard. Tripping isnt it. Onto your face. About face if it's a mirror. Mirrors on the floor. You wouldn't fall onto the ceiling. Unless you're into living on a ringworld or something with no floor. Last count though, asymptotic boundraries didn't hold much water. More like they flowed the ocean through the eye of a needle and left about as much of a grain of salt on the tiberian plains or dear Troy. Nearby to that city was another, in another time however. Greater, and forgotten today. It will remain so for times longer. OH I see the laundry is done. Which means cleanest of socks and new fresh furry terry-cloth fuzzies to populate the lint trap of the edge of conciousness or is it the dryer. Jim morrison couldn't get much higher. That though is a physical limitiation, man. The doors to perception, those are barn doors. That back 40 is a pretty good size and right right when those doors are swung open with teh hay a drying. May even be a bit of a breeze blowing. Like the kind of the yellow stubble fields of van gogh's frenetic nightmare waking dream of the walking dead. Like near on to there was this gas station which had maps to the edge of the state, but no furterh. Supposing though there will be another filling station a bit further on down. Eithe rin this state or next.

Finest Hour

Some know how to speak. Churchill for instance. Everybody can speak, but not everybody can speak. Most can read, write and type. Though all are not the same. To you on the sidewalk yesterday, you are equal to all, in everything but achievement. ==

Leaves you.
=--======!
==---=======##
=== --- ====@@#


Wondering. About ASCII art. code tags too.

ASCII codes, wondering about art?

Sidewalk

From away sideways it is forward and back down the walk. Back there all the ended steps, and the start. On ahead steps the path to walk, a destination. Guidance in concrete. Around the block, street and path upon a mobius world a track. Avast the ocean. Pirates!

Pilots of chaos, indeed.

Dancing the waltz, tango, foxtrot up on the wheelhouse roof.

StoryArk

aquarian



speed limits

Grist

Depends what you're looking at... sure looks like a hydro-powered water wheel lens capable of spinning up a bunch of turbines.

Brown

Later that day it turned out that ideas sometimes were left as ideas. This conclusion was drawn after playing a game of cards with someone of ill standing. By ill standing I mean someone who was both standing and ill. Not physically ill, mind you. Mentally ill. The kind of ill which is not readily apparent. Able to dress normal enough. Act normal enough. Eat, drink, work and walk normal enough. This is the kind of thing you learn about someone after meeting them in the morning. Sun is out, shining, everything fresh and nice. Not the kind of time of day you expect to have to be on guard. Unless you are in prison. Which on one hand you may be, or on another you may not be.

Unfortunately due to the state of the economy this story has been interrupted so that I may bend my considerable will and attentions to full-time worrying. Its expected that things will get worse before they get better. Its expected that things will get better before they get worse. That said, there will be ample opportunity to panic, hyperventilate, bail-out, take on a 3rd job, lose your health benefits, turn gay and have an abortion all before noon. Provided your first job happens to be at Starbucks so you can use your health benefits. Remember those may go away due to either the general state of the economy or because of your sexual preferences. So have a latte, storm out of that place, retrain, retool and get yourself a rewarding, high-paying job where upward advancement is not only possible but highly likely in... information technology today. In a few short months we'll teach you all you need to know to be globally competitive. A free 3' x 4' cardboard box and instruction on slum-building and sustainable living below the poverty line is provided to you at no extra charge. To show how educated and serious we are in sharing this superior knowledge with you a pro tip is offered no strings attached.

Pro tip: Place cardboard living structure on low traffic side-streets away from parks, civic centers or large streets which may be be frequented by individuals causing civil unrest during unlawful public gatherings or assemblies.

Retuned to Sender

@ is odd. at, each, self-addressed temporal postcards.

meet @11.30pm, .75 cents @, astralric@address-to-me.

@ moment @ now refers@self.

To: "a"
From: "a"
Subject: excuse to blockquote
^D
^D

Or simply, everything is now. Addressed, returned to you.

Bicycle Song

Whiskey to cover the pain from being run over.
Tango maybe you'll dance it again, someday.
Foxtrot nobody laughs at this.

Seriosly though techno is dangerous. Assulting the senses in the morning to wakup with it may result in the unexpected. Liek almost being hit by the first responder firetruck.

Fractions

1/3 taken from above.



1/3 taken from below.

alllermerain

This is one whacked up planet man.

There are some which are chill, others which are orderly, some which are uptight and chaotic. This one though, it's totally got this other thing going on.

Watches with diamonds on them? Please. Tell me that isn't ironic in the slightest. That one day when after that arch was sculpted which read 'This Too Shall Pass' was a pretty nice day. Other than the weather, which wasn't. Those watches are like that same thing, though unless I'm mis-judging something they are not ment to be droll, intellectual and philosophically trendy. Rather, just really impressive and immortal. Which they are not, in the scheme of things.

Even that whole deal with the time and clock/watch thing may is ironic after all.

The best guess is that carbon=dating, lattices, molecular resonance and revolutions around the sun create this field or ironicalness which encompasses the viewer and then makes them view things differently. Like what happens after having a nasty bout with licking poison toad frogs on a stick.

loa

level of assurance

Terminus

This one time Ponce DeLeon and I were standing around in this gully in some god forsaken little place with nice shrubs and few scraggly trees when something unexpected happened.

You'd expect a course of events to lead to another sequence of things which became a chain. In this case you would have guess incorrectly. In this case nothing of the sort happened.

There was a light breeze at the time you see. Nearly 5 o'clock in the afternoon. Late, but not so late that you'd just pitch camp just anywhere. Not nearly that late as of yet. Just soft light, a few mosquitoes, crunchy yellowed grass and several birds chirping somewhere out of sight in one of the trees.

Thereupon, by happenstance or chance it happened. The unexpected of course. After a time we both looked at each other, then at the skies --taking in the brooding rain-clouds upon the distant horizon. After that we rode on through the night. Never once looking back, left nor right. Simply onward and forward.

Tangerine

Fruit is a funny thing.

It is like society. The outside wraps and protects the good parts.
There is weather, bacteria, insects and all kinds of animals
trying to just get at the good part. Their our soldiers, artists,
scientists, hackers, and more.

Yet, the outside also advertises and attacts for the good part.
There is a good or bad scent to suit your tastes, and colors to match.

Inside, the good part contains seed. To start all over again in a new place and time.

Come hither and now leave, with a parting gift.

Man you're such a squirrel.

Knowledge is trees.

Raglan

Ahura Mazda

Base ten is odd, it's like air. Nobody thinks about it much. Explaining that even though the number of digits didn't increase but the value did and it done blowed up your shiny computor is the lose. It is like the same thing like when base sixty and time comes up. What you say? Base sixty, huh. Yeah, time for a sammich. Why you do that is odd. Odd is precisely the point though. One hand is five. Counting up the next is six. Six is the first time duality, both hands and helping come up. Before that you can put in all in one hand. Things are simple. Six though, thats two hands and all mystical, everything changes psychologically, physically and on and on when you got two players in the game versus just the one. Course six isn't that cool until you multiply by ten and get base 60. Then you're onto something huge. Except I just made it all up. Except not. It just works that way.

This other thing. The one about being in a stadium and having the invisible guy turn to say hello, and check this out. Then watching him do the ghost dance... literally... if you could see where he came from in a recent incarnation. That's the thing feathers are a nice touch. Which of course you know what's coming next and then the highly improbable happens right before 50,000 people who've no idea that just a moment ago something pretty funny went down right there, yet totally unseen. The whole thing is just amazingly dumb luck. Except its not, its not even a trick. It is simply a dance, a wave, then a result in the physical world. We may be spirits in a physical world, but what is the physical in the spirit world. Maybe it even breaks a code to say. Though that was kind of the point. A wink, a wave, a kind of yo, check THIS out... for accolades. Which in turn means to due your part you've got to pass it on. Kinda like if you cheat a haunting type ghost by not getting freaked out and scared and passing it onto others. Its your job. Be scared. Be impressed. Be impressed and scared. Either way they are coming to getcha. Question is, will it be the doctors, or the dead.

FYI: The sun. Is shining.

Captain Omerica

Fitting where at the end of the day.

Mostly tricky like witches fitting into the ending an era.

Tight fitting like religion, politics, fame, war and pure rapture

Apparently it is only fitting that this go at the end of the line.

Fireside

Toaster strudel doesn't make much sense. Microwave toaster strudel does. In the race to the bottom you need to get there first. Who knows what kind of great shiny things and glory await should you arrive just a few seconds sooner. Maybe in an ironic world getting there sooner means you've arrived at the strudel factory just in time to make more strudel. The toaster kind. Higher margins, more room for unions, paid vacations, health care and the like. Not like those poor schmucks working across the street in the microwave toaster strudel factory. Illegals, no minimum wage, holidays, PTO, nothing. Just super fast strudel, super fast. Though what this has to do with a fireside chat only you may know. Certainly it evades reason. Cognitive linkages even. What it really could be is that the hearth and meeting place, a place to commune, has moved, disappeared and reappeared to reside anew elsewhere. The place which defines and pushes back the edge of the dark, the unknown itself is unknown in a world without basis. Which in of itself explains why microwave toaster strudel is required in order to speed up the frantic search for self while gagging on a pastry.

Oh dear god, raccoons. in. the. yard. again. Time to get a torch and yell.

Fire & Nice

Don't worry anymore. Fear is a temporal thing. In the moment it really isn't a reality. The future, the past hold fear or loathing. Now, there isn't such a thing.

Have you seen the light? Being less than 20 seconds and a shade away from death isn't that crazy. What's crazy is not knowing that you're always there. It's simply a matter of how obviously it's staring you in the face. Death's got your face. What I want to know and he knows is when the time goes, and you go.

The bands always playing. Sometimes you're at the show, other times not.

So no, it's not scary. It's reality. You deal, land and move on. It's like my new sky-friend said... you started thinking, you stopped flying.

Then Jim for whom Normandy was but a moment ago says where does the time go each month in the sky.

Reserve Ride

No, not today. Shaking before having a full cup of coffee. There is time to wait --that's for sure. Those 3-4 seconds are an eternity, almost over in an instant.

raft

graft is to blame. heya... time for more of the same. so there is a raft in the kitchen. why it's flying the jolly roger remains unseen. despite this the way to the fridge appears navigable. veering to the northwest in order to find passage the way will be replete with unseen dangers. wrinkles upon the rug, breadcrumbs, dead bilge-rats to name but a few. should the way be won the return is no less perilous. laden with dairy, vegetable and meat goods movements and responses will be slowed. beware the pirates of the nook. nearly last year there was this incident with newly backed ginger-snap cookies which could have amounted to an international incident and resulted in the invasion of Libya. then it turned out that the pirates were not of the mediterranean variety and were more of the meditative tax-imposing kind --intent upon setting up a client-state for wealth and prestige. good thing they were set straight once the whole concept of legalized gambling on Indian land was brought up. Up to the point where the confusion arose as to the difference between native americans and native indians. Sub-continents aren't quite as intuitive as might be guessed. thereby the trash never was taken out and the fridge door left ajar. small things to be sure, yet cataclysmic in the end as the rampant confusion between the source of the malodorous stench resulted in a wholescale mutiny followed by the creation of another pirate raft in the kitchen. next thing you know it's like the gates of Heracles in there. The only way being straight on through until morning.

doppler

wind isn't something you see, you know.
like that doppler radar type thing they got going nowadays, it's about quantification of the relativistic change.
it's got sail-boats and kites, yet it leaves one wondering.

snap

godspeed, vermin.

Doormouse

That said, creation, preservation and destruction feed your head.

Those dead walking as animated dirt.

In bed dreams passing the night away.

A reality wed, and the wave can't stop.

977

one

Decree

Everything is made of toast. Doesn't matter... rye, spelt, white, white, cracked wheat, rolled wheat, crutons, it's covered. It's all just toast. You man are toast and to toast you shall return. Even bacon is made of toast. Furthermore, nothing can move faster than toast. Given that everything is toast this is not as complicated as one may initially believe. Toast is simply the limiting factor in the universe. Until this thing called a photon came along. Now it's claiming the thrown. The idea being that photons move faster than toast. Which I won't believe until I see it.

Contradictory perhaps, but nobody is going to convince me otherwise. Photons or no photons. All I got to say is that until I open my eyes all I got to eat is toast. Which is a fine feast. Unless you're a complainer and malinger of all this toasted creation.

Heh, word just came in that these photon things have a speed limit. Toast has no speed limit. In fact it communicates faster and beyond the ken of the light limit. Smoke that Einsteinian physics. You lose. Toast has one. It's very existence being one of show and disproving that light is fastest. In the end, there can be, only one. Its name is toast.

Strainer

People watching is fun. Especially when they are deceased or crazy. The Gene Levy prototype hair man is especially fascinating in regards to what kind of frozen vegetables a man like that would buy and keep in his freezer.


My guess is pre-sliced wavy french fries.

Opaque

What is most cool about the brain is its ability to block things out.

Everything, everywhere is totally happening now.

Look around. See? Too bad you can't see too far, or too through many other things.

Then you'd see everything all over the world happening at the same time.

All the birds, bees, trees, snakes, gardens, waves and raves.

Flying, buzzing, hissing, basking, crashing and thrashing.

All at the same time.

Then your head would hurt. All the aspirin trees would be cut down and biodiversity and future headache relief would be impared.

All because you see too much.

Not to mention that it seems like it would violate some laws of nature, probability and like Schrodinger's cat would get REALLY pissed if you saw into his box.

Guess alls well that ends.

Seagull

Close your mouth and open your eyes. Or yeah, go back to eating, being fat and happy, and nom nom nom your way through all the nuts on the tree. Mr. Squirrel you are living it large. But next year, the tree mold is likely going to take out your prized black walnut tree. This means no more nuts. No more dropping nuts on my house at 5am. No more chattering, no more frolicking sex in the yard. Though maybe it won't come to pass and somehow the tree is going to pull through the epidemic and not come down. Would be nice. Personally I'm skeptical of my plan to create a squirrel-fur umbrella-shade to help shade and cool the house after the tree is gone. Could be time to talk to the druids. They may help, but likely for a price. There is always a price with those gypsies. Last I checked they didn't take plastic and they didn't take squirrels. First-born, other trees, groves, glades, virgins --yes! Other things, no. So now here this. Low-cost provider druids who don't mind taking a bicycle with one broken wheel (it's almost in riding shape) are encouraged to congregate and conclave in the little enclave behind the domicile. There you can refresh yourself, eat grapes, relax and squabble of the rights to the mostly working bike. First one to conclusively save the tree rides off a winner. The rest of you are walking to memphis. I don't care if it's hot and the pyramids are not what they used to be. At least you don't have to swim there this time. This time you got the ability to float and pass through things going for you. Be nice and get the freaking little squirrels to leave along with saving the tree and there may just be a plate of buffalo wings in the deal for you. Food got you down you say. Nevermind. Maybe it'll just be a saucer of milk and some candles then.

Jicima

If I was made of wood flooring I would call myself Mister Kestrel.

If I was sitting on a mantle I would call myself art.

If I was inanimate I would not call myself, nobody would offer me a reduced rate and free cell-phone to join now.

If I was anything else I wouldn't be what isn't on my shelf.

Random Thoughts

Slippage sometimes occurs on at the worst times. In an MD500 while skirting the edge of a cliff and the collective on full or as a 300 pound man in tight shorts sits next to your table in a cafe with no air-conditioning. In cases such as these it is best to remember that grease may be a lubricant but may not be the best choice for all situations.

Cinder cones may be covered in snow. Snow cones should not be covered in cinders. Unless as a resident of Dante's seventh level you find that appetizing.

Midnights Children they may be, but midnight may only be relevant in the garden of good and evil.

Toasted wheat snacks.

Creche

Interesting how symmetry works so very well sometimes.
Nests being one of those times, a priori style. Nevermind the causality thing trying to get in the way, it simply doesn't get in the way really.

Not even in cases where little crows attempt to bypass the world of appearances and skew things into a darkness without bound.

Loci's Graveyard

Heat is not fun. Having to talk to somebody close to the edge of dropping the industry after they've spent 4-5 years fighting chaos only to learn that chaos is part and parcel if not THE driver of the industry means decompression walks have to be longer, hotter, more sweaty and less soothing. Unless you are a reptile. Given the genomic sequence of of this incarnation that is a near impossibility barring rapid and drastic technological advances. It can't be helped maybe. Though why chaos isn't taught and respected as the reason you are there to fight and earn a paycheck and make someone rich seems obtuse. Well maybe not. When you're building minions. I take it back, angels like being angels and devils devils as there isn't anything but from that view. Man bones, bacteria, code, life, its all against the chaos. The pantheon lost a few too many branches and now seems like esplaining all this stuff and turning someone back onto the path, but with a hidden dark chaotic core wrapped in white goodness is getting harder and harder. Who ever heard of a one legged Loki on a pogo-stick trying to cross the Atlantic. No one, cause the guy has no depth perception and drowned when he missed that first hop. It's a big one, even for him. Makes you wonder who gave him the helping hand, and why, so he can get up and try again and again. Snow is not going to come soon enough. The pond needs to freeze. Wait, now we gots ourselves the global warming. Guess it is time to call the god of war and see how his planet is doing. They at least got some reasonable termpura there. May even be able to make a nice ice cave.

Live Down

Heliopause

Day and waves both break. Unless you're in space. In which case either may be true, or false. Depending upon where in space and which waves you're speaking of. Tempting as it is toasted grapefruit isn't really a possiblity. At least with the kind of toaster and grapefruit available to me. Fried grapefruit, pan seared with a light panko crust perhaps, but straight up toasted grapefruit is unlikely. Though an industrial laser to cauterize the grapefruit slices may be enough to hold in the juices and prevent it from tripping the breaker again. This may go a long ways to helping the sanity and well-being of the boss who can't seem to understand that loosing power and having to reset all the clocks in the house on a nightly basis after doing toasted grapefruit experiments isn't so offbeat, but rather just a juxtaposition of fruit and electricity re-arraigned into something pleasing, good for you, and lightly crunchy without the extra caloric intake of fry-oil or bready crusts.

Sipn Roses

Caramelized dreams of greatness ride through a deep velvet bordello of Kalifornated streets. Upon wheels of solar cycled fossilized fuels.

Chasing pleasures here and there, onto the other side. Botox tears flow as wine. Crocodile boot and purses faux flash with the lights.

On the other side the war is not over. Breakfasts of the unknown for all soldiers.

Chose to crew the ship. Chose to slew the slip. Screw the time-line.

Chily

You can take man out of the bacteria, but you can't take the bacteria out of man. Though a large course of antibiotics sure does a good job at trying. Nervous times, skeletons roaming the corridors in the dead of night. The closet may be to small or maybe there is an exercise program afoot. Undead really should wear socks so it doesn't click so much. All that racket makes it hard to sleep through a good haunting. Being the drama queens they are it is to be expected, perhaps. Though it would sure be an improvement and more socially conscious to tone down the incessant tapping up and down the hallway all night. Some of us actually have to get up with the sun instead of jamming it out to the perimeter and dwindling into a wraith until dark. Now same thing can be said for e. coli; debasing the versatile nature and surfer ethos of 'that's cool, i'm down with that' or aforementioned creatures they too could use a good set of footwear. Probably a new kind of protein coat to match the shoes as well. It would make things much more interesting, plus maybe they'd blend in a bit more and cause less troubles. Much like how the crazy cousins you have always wear their best and dress up and try and stay sober when coming over for christmas and all. It is almost passable, and could trick the average joe into believing things are totally suburban and under control. Not that I believe the endocrine system is as gullible as your mom is, but at least it is a start and maybe it isn't an act after all and they HAVE learnt to behave and have decorum and respect and everything. Doesn't the average square footage of the intestinal track leave enough space and room for everyone to just do their own thing and get along?

Crystal Tower

And we're off. Off to visit the trolls. Glorious sunny trolls in the summertime.

Leastaways it won't be snowing at the time. With any and all luck.

And that they say, is a wrap. See ya after the jump.

Sunchi Dryken

Nearly everything regarding that power evaporates doubt.

Years after its appearance doubts lingered.

Drawn out by disbelief, skepticism, narcissism.

Its arrival was quiet. A dawn in the fog. Subtle and unknown, but present. Undeniably different than before. Days spun by. Years. A vanguard of whispers switched to public voice. Speech become policy and life became belief. Reinforced it grew. Engulfing the globe. Shaping cities, towns, countries. There were years of dark, years of light. At the onset unknown, at the height unstoppable.

Then as is wont it recedes, closing slow.

Rallies, drawing forward and yet more back.

Nearly everything regarding that power evaporates.

Have no doubt.

Roost

sometimes you use the internets and sometimes they uses you.
sometime internet, sometime.

Cottage

So this thing of creating a robotic pet is compelling. A little bit more impelling and with subtle touches such as adapting each one to mimic a former pet would be really swell. The kind of nice thing you could envision happening in a taxidermy shop run by Desmond Tutu. The world may misspell dispell all it wants and nobody will really care. Though the animatronic pet could care. It could have a really big built in vocabulary and correct and teach any number of languages all while reminding you of a dearly bereaved pet. Now I'm not going to go as far as saying it would be the same orange fur from your tabby on the electric critter, but just that there would be orange fur on there. Where it comes from is a mystery to all but the factory. The factory of course keeps its secrets. All good things have their secrets. Quite like how compulsion and emulsion are related but systematically differentiated in a conceptual and psychological sense. There is also this issue if a solar powered virtual machine pet requires time outside for anything other than a battery charge. Could be, or could be that it doesn't. That in they end may be a decision which lies to each and to his own to come to.

Nearly so... but then it came to light that "The left lane is the new right lane".

NP

Freaking witchdoctors. Got me confused and sidetracked. So yeah, back to the story. This whole universe thing has got this NP complete problem associated with it. Like knowing everything about everything and all is insane. Classical physics of course sees it this way, a clockwork universe. Then of course it IS just an NP complete problem and you got yourself a God who is the only one who can actually solve the problem, while everybody else just sits and trys to solve it. Then you wonder if that fits with a gnostic type world. Much less with the kind of god who'd lay down the law, start things off and then go for a bit of siesta. That kind of world seems much more zen and much much unpredictable, incomplete and chaotic neutral. Then there is the question of if night follows day or if day follows night. And now for something incomplete

MP

The other night this multi-colored LED light thing in my bedroom spontaneously turned on at about 3am. Its this little magnet thing about the size of a pencil eraser. Now why it suddenly turns on after being up there for about three years is beyond me. Except I knew what it was and it really just turned on cuz it was like this telekenetic dream-race type thing I had going on with this witch doctor who lives in mozambique and we play games on each other and do that whole I bet you can't do this game all the time during the night. Dont think he won as he couldn't turn that little light back off, which is a shame. Having to get outta bed like that when you're not really all there is dangerous. Like walking across the room is scary. Things are all out of proportion and the rules which you just were breaking a minute ago are all in force now that things are moving on that level and stuff hurts and hits back when you bump into it and stuff.

Not like that time at the inflatable elephant slide. That was cool. It was red and grey and all poofy like a marshmallow, except that it wasn't sticky or white or really like that except for a little. Though there was lots of the bouncing stuff going on. Now that is like the stuff we used to get when you got really great fabric softener and then took your socks out of the dryer and they almost jumped out of your hands and arms while you carried them and they was all hot and fluffy like some kind of semi-rabit chinchilla but without the biting. So more like a chinchilla marshmallow in the end if you can understand it.

It goes from that kind of chinchilla-marshmallow back to the cold hard edges of modern living reality like in a few seconds and the old brain is not working quite right yet and next thing you know you're running into things, walking into the wall and pretty much stumbling around like some kind of crazed drunken fool on mescaline.
Which aint all bad if you were really doing that, but since you aren't it is all bad. Bruises are real. They also got to be explained to you and your friends the next morning. Nobody and I mean nobody likes to hear stories about how you got into a knock-down drag out fight with a witch-doctor from mozambique and won but ended up looking like you got your bell rung by some telephone call at 4am saying that somebody you know is now dead. Now do they?

Graph

The geopolitical thing is quite the scene, man. You gots peoples occupying, profiteering, mountaineering (only on certain sides of sensitive border areas on especially prominent peaks), warmongering, fishmongering, stripping the lands, oceans and air back to the ground state and now I hear about these new "superconductor" type things they got these days. Supposedly you get something for nothing. Like the man taught me one thing in his day. You aint get nothing you aint paid for. Which is the truth man. What goes up comes down. Even bugs bunny knows this stuff. So like this oil stuff it's got me worried. My SUV ain't what it used to be. Now don't get me wrong, watching a DVD in the backseat on the side of the highway while blasting the a/c isn't the best thing in the world, but it is a sight better than falling asleep at the wheel and killing somebody in a head-on collision or something. So now, if these superconductor things could be put in my truck here then I could drive myself and 8 of my friends to the top of freaking everest and really have ourselves a nice tailgater. We'd even drink Tsing-mao beer and wave one of them prayer flag things to wish everybody well while waiting for the brats to cook. Reminds me, can't forget to bring the gps, take a wrong turn on the way down and who knows which country we'd all end up in, and if they'd even be friendly at that point. Dont matter much I suppose, after a few rounds of beer, brats and a good action flick on the dvd player everybody is gonna be my friend.

Fungus

Apparently the walnut tree is toast. There is this walnut tree killing fungus on the rampage. Which has got me worried. The price of milk has risen to new heights. Which would be all good if this was someplace like Sherwood or Brooklyn. Then the purchasing and use of waffles as a fungal decoy would be cake. Instead this has been turned upside-down as while I'm out bringing home the bacon they are out there looking for a way to slay my tree. Might be time to head to the pet store and by a nice serpent; already got several nice apples. It may be that having the tree of knowledge in the backyard will be too much temptation and the fungus will be obliged to destroy it, passing the walnut tree over. I've heard that's how they roll. Anyways maybe it actually IS time to make a big suit out of waffles with chevrons of bacon and try climbing the tree. Maybe though that's just nuts.

Pi,e

Nearly all have seen us. In the final counting it became a numbers game.

Irrational perhaps, diabolic even. Pi,e. Pulsed in time at then empty space.

A long-lived star, an enclosing half-living cloud of dynamic emission absorbing particles. Self willed, repairing, hopping from yin to yang on the spectra.

Though counting requires a wait. Interleaved within the bounded repeating digits is the true unending calculation. Metronomically spaced on into space. There space and time are held relative to the beginning, on and on until the star burns out. So those older, faster, wiser may measure their age.

Against time the count goes on and on, over and over across the untold galaxies seeded and visited so far.

Someday sooner or later the infinite progression may turn into a mathematical regression and expression of calculated being.

Vermcilli

Midwinter

Citing rising energy costs, fleets of large automobiles have begun to appear abandoned on dealer lots. In other news, the newest news is the news is not news. News would be news if it were new. News which is recycled, redundant or retold is old. Fame is like this. Fame is old. News is before fame. Fame is afterwards. Old. Old like time for a wake old. By the time the so called news discovers and reports fame it has already become famous. Religious even. Then the old becomes the news so that the relics of a bygone fame can continue on as shiny new famous things. Reminds me, it is probably getting around the time to repaint the house and by a new car.

MinerMinorMajor

There is a crystal palace. On the edge of a dark night. INSIDE the space near the edge of the end of my head. It serves mint juleps at inflated prices. Therefore it is the recommendation of the austerity council that self-serve frosted mini-wheats shall henceforth be named the official currency and coin of the mid-land realms. Until such time as the day or bowl of cereal ends. Inside that cereal bowl is a crystal palace, filled with supermen. Until such time as Jorell closes the bannana republic near the hippocampus and decides to initiate a kitchen-wide spending spree enforced by the lookout post above the fridge in the kitchen light. That indeed is what it means to be an interstate transportation system lost on the superhighway of the information age. It means an reality and version of camelot turned into the bazaar of a thousand nights spun down into a top-quark mass revolving around a synapse inside of a skull, leaning over a table in a theatre on the eastern side of broadway right near the starbucks. That my friends is near to the time the garden gnomes start to move and come alive --everybody loves lattes.

DISCLAIMER: No substances, illegial or otherwise were harmed in this exercise and any resemblance to reality, intentional or otherwise was purely coincidental.

Midas

Floods are fun, like a reason to remove and replace all kinds of old stuff which gets ruined by rising waters. Sump-pumps are also fun. Especially when they pump vast amounts of potable city water right back out of the basement back into the city sewer. This results in much cleaner carpet than you'd normally get. However unless you've also got some kind of weird gas leak or way to vaporize the water it turns out to that it is not all that sanitary. Improvement yes, totally clean and sanitized, no. Mostly like what happens when elephants are left in the elephant house at the zoo for like 2 weeks straight during a blizzard and the electricity is on again, off again and the handlers make it in to check on them about every 3 or 4 days due to the bad traffic, accidents and general societal chaos and shutdown induced by 3 feet of snowfall. This could lead on to wonder exactly what fall is supposed to feel like or if fall feel and fel are indeed past parcipitates of some larger granualar syntactic object passed down from somewhere in the ancestral past of the speakers of common english. At this point you are also likly wondering what this all has to do with leeann rhymes. Granted, it's spelt incorrectly, but you get the point. Like what happens when you get stabbed with a shiv and wonder if it used to be a spoon, screwdriver, drill-bit, or ear-piece from somebodies glasses. It matters about that much. Really, like would you do that kind of thinking if you were a spiny echidna and some stupid also-ran marsupial like the platypus decided to muscle in on your prime grass hummock? Definitely not. As befit any bearer of proper eggs you'd simply improperly injest some more arthritic gold treatments and pray that the accretions on the outer layers built up to noticeable levels before the giants get back. Not that there is anything wrong with either giants or country music. They never rhyme much anyways.

Eclectic Sheep

Dreaming of infinite monkeys aping androids.

Slow and steady, the british way.

Guess this does answer why the c i a got so angry and had m l k snuffed.

carp

dont be coy with me.

that is what happens when you mix washers and pan-head lagg bolts up with last nights curry flavoured rice dish.

so near as things could be it seemed like something akin to a flounder but different than a halibut and friendlier than a catfish and more hardy than a tilapia would make the ideal dinner table companion for asparagus and salad.

then when your deck-chair suddenly falls apart ruining a postcard afternoon capped by a home-cooked feast of culinary presumptuousness that carp will be laughing it up from little carp heaven.

that for the life of me is the circle of life.

Nightengale

Flashlights do not sing.
Flashlights beam, and only for a brief moment.
Flashlights are small and too risky, merely point-to-point.

Stars sing.
Sometimes in all bands.
There in those waves is the message.
Omnidirectional and across vast swaths of time.
Those are the messages, bound for the others to find.

Without a reference frame for space time noticing nova exploding in grouped patterns of three and one and four would be dispersed and stretched across the distances of time. Unless the cluster is small and close. Its wave would travel and pass-by too quickly to be efficient and patient enough for those that may watch over the long eons.

For billions of years those without ears are hammered with the pulsars beat.

Until they hear the constants Here.

black

swan

MPEG

something about pixels and stuff.

Ribbon

The present has them. They are holding the box shut. Inside cats, poisons and Pandora trade Cheshire moments ment for times before. They are needless, waiting, smiling for the future. With the cutting of scissors goes the ribbon. Opening the box results in a yellow, marzipan scented toaster-strudel. Yet a lack of toaster results in a cold sub-par breakfast requiring mouthwash and coffee afterwards to cover the bitter taste of dead cat. Oh that damn woman and her faint smile. Speaking of which who let her in?
Who cal

Lintel

The ringing could be bells, or it may be bone. The resonance of sympathetic little bones deeper in the head. Tuning as little forks. Rebroadcasting and amplifying all the noise. Maybe it is a lack of milk and calcium and phosphorus. Maybe it is more of leaching and withering of age. Maybe something else. But the music stops.

Damaged Kilo

Lightning foments a way and a path is chosen. Spun like the glowing fire in the eyes of a million-thousand rabid hamsters encircling the golden arches. Jagged lurches of indecisive least cost paths flowing from the feathers of a white pigeon nesting just above the promotional poster of fingered chicken. That is fast food.

Diorama of sundered krishnas fleeing a cracked hammer of thor through the darkened skies. Eaten as the feasted ghost of the valhalla. That is glamdring.

Dragon-ships ply the skies conveying bits and pieces of bit pie. Wandering the coppers of insulated world of uncertain collapsing certainties. That is intertubes.

Short of this last miracle mile, this is the damanged kilo.

Big red Button

slow burn

druids were books and at 451 history ends when decentralization runs out of room

crickets

nature loves symmetry.

the very large and very small being the same and symmetrically bound together would be humorous. kinda like standing between two carnival mirrors, one which makes you tall and thin and the other short and fat. which would you be?

Santos

Chemistry

Gut morning says the
joker to the
grief

Nearly

On the edge of the road, nearest the green grass and the ditch runs the fence.

Between pasture and thoroughfare a line of wood and wire.

For each, a border. Yet a continuous feature in its own right.

Parallel running, tracking the edges of cars and cows.

And downwards are lines across and of the grass.

Nearly noon, upward an eagle in the sun.

Restart Later

We're Here

The concentration age.

That is where were are. Materials and minds. Pooled, collected and refined into an ultra-pure state at the tip of the spear.

Metals and fuels and research and fields... pure and specialized.

Concentration requires lots and lots of time, energy and raw materials.

In another age encompassing this age is the biological age. A place requiring less concentration and energy, and fewer materials and time.

So if mechanical materials were great why are they not everywhere already. Replication and exponential growth would mean they should be, if they were at all anywhere in the last recent millions of millions of years or so. Some cheezy plot line from Stargate or something did this already. Though for reals, if it was that easy it would be reality. Here and now.

Instead, it is biologic. The least cost. The least materials. Concentrated, but still dilute. Specialized when needed, then removed.

Watch the energy flows and materials input into a mechanical system vs a biologic.

Very advanced tech is almost magic. Almost. Which is where and why and how the magi speak in organic molecular recombination. For reals, a wave of biologic exponential expansion seeded, grew and expanded in the void. Then later, spawned machines in a high-cost parody.

On this planet at least.

You do the math on the others.

Note to self

Fatalists are good skydivers.
Optimists jump at the ground and miss.
Pessimists should find a better form of suicide.

What happens to pessimistic fatalists?

Much of a danger to others?

Die Trying

The theme for today is give up and fail. Apparently somebody forgot to give me the script, but everybody else seems to have gotten it.

Granted, there is only one exit from this place. One fate inherited from being born.

Ok, two. But that is a different story. You're dust. Toast. Star-ash.

The twist is nihilism and anomie.

Nothing is different than TV really. Don't like the channel? Change it.

Course, you'll still be sitting in your living room, doing the same old things and living the same old thing you were before. Except you'll be watching a different channel.

Don't know about you, but I'd rather be forced to watch NASCAR than Lifetime almost any day of the week. Though maybe that is enough to make you get up and turn off the TV and walk away. To realize there is no TV, no life, no room, no death. What there IS is the different story. Nihilists don't go there.

Star-ash is from; not the star.

Parabase

Climbed a mountain which is used for paragliding --essentially hanggliding with a parachute instead of a scary little aluminum tube type of deal. Pretty sweet looking over the edge and thinking about jumping. BASE is way dumb. Dumb enough that now I've started to wonder how crazy scared I could get... and rationalizing that sure its more dangerous than pretty much anything else to do out there besides mercenary or librarian at the regan library. Then again, how dangerous is too dangerous. Like getting hurt isn't all that fun and really downright blows like the white whale with a sinus infection and captain ahab bearing down on ya with a harpoon. Anyways kayaking with whales, also dangerous. Now if it was cool like water world in real life then why not hook up a whale to a big harness type thing and get them to pull you all around the oceans, you above water fighting with the kestrels and albatross and flying fish and him down there eating squid and spitting out revolting little jellyfish and stuff. Maybe a big short circuit of that would be even better and just jumping into the belly of the whale right off and being like Jonah would be totally better and stupid/crazy/cool/fun/last-thing-you-do/life-changing/cathartic type of deal.

Melange

Sighting

Latest sighting. 200 miles from home, in a strange restaurant during off peak hours. Sometime after sitting in the same classes during college said individual and myself decided that an annual random encounter would be both fun and exciting. A where's waldo for real life without waldo or funny clothes. This time around he was with a wife and two kids. What is very odd is the lack of planning, coordination, or caring, yet totally assurance that we will end up at the same place at the same time. My suspicion is that he is also wondering if I am following him while at the same time I am wondering about the chances that he is following me. Sometimes coincidence is so full of incidence that the number of paths and streets which makeup the timeline fail to keep you far enough apart or from crossing frequently into anothers path that green spaghetti spinach hand-made by old women in the wilds of tuscany seem like less of a fantasy and more or a reality than others. ok, so yeah, i'm going to have to go with the fact that rainwater seeks the lowest level except when the drain is clogged and time cannot escape.

Million Years Meebe

tRaNCe

Hamster wheels, are those meditative machines for rodents?

How about if they are put under the hood and used to propel your car?

Motorcycles run on fumes and good thoughts, so they don't count.

Round and round and round and round and round. Outside perspective.

More and more and more and more and more. Inside perspective.

Propulsion outside in and you've got meditative trance.

Hamster wheels in cranium, more and more and round and round.

Prayer wheels are those for cycling perspectives outside and inside?

How about if you put them in your head and call them living?

Mustard

Transformers meet for lunch near the corner of Elm and Wasatch. Pigeons wait for crumbs. Cars circle the block. Cafe's become more than concrete, steel and empty. That is the setting of a stone. The stone of Earlach. Seems it may have stood the test of time, but not the test of man. Some things erode slowly, others corrode quickly. What transformed the rock is beyond any count of the count of the seasons. In a blink it disappeared into the pavement. Beyond that is a pigeon. Simply not the passenger kind. Again, those also ended their ways on this earth. Abruptly. Rather the large, unruly, hungry, do anything for a quarter pounder with cheese kind of pigeons. The kind which leave you wondering which side of mean you exist on. Or even if there is such a thing as wrong or right. For the hunger has its own set of rules. Rules which once looked, acted and enforced rational and lucid principles. Rules reduced to survival. Transformers one and all, except for the corner of Elm and Wasatch. That lives on in memory. Untouched by transformation. Thrown apart by the simple mirror of recall. A camelot sitting forever out of reach in a snow-globe of static being, dreaming of transformation.

Formerly

Heinlein Incorporeal,

Lineage, such as that found in the question of paradox of Jane's mother, father, grandfather, grand mother, son, daughter, granddaughter, and grandson being one and of the same leads to a rather peaceful conclusion.

This letter is to inform your past self (whom in the future is your future self) reading this document that, not only are you Jane, but also you and I are the same as well. This inescapable deneumont became a priori truth the moment that DNA and RNA pairs first entwined and subsequently unzipped to replicate and become the progenitors of the human species. As your arrival in this plane of existence requires physical substances to replicate the chain is required to link both to and from the past ad infinitum. The scale or 'wholeness' of a being none withstanding, you are a sum of parts, the whole is a condensate of smaller more dynamic parts. For the infinite governs the very large and the very small and everything in and outside of these continuum's. Jane and the biologic reproductive processes fit quite nicely into this continuum, being both small on a large scale and large on an extremely small scale.

Indeed, it is this very property of infinity which binds both this conclusion, letter, author and yourself into an indescribable whole. While you are pondering this life is arising in a certain time on a planet in a galaxy far in your distant past yet quite near to your own residence at that time. In your relative "current" time the distances will be such that only a glimmer of the galactic core shall be only marginally visible to your photonic based recording instruments.

Nonetheless the same infinity from which your entire family and self have sprung is the one and same infinity at play in and upon every particle of matter everywhere. Startling as it may seem, all simply are.

Cheers,
Milton.
<-O->

ACTION

ADVENTURE! ADJECTIVE! ACTION VERB!!!1 ADJECTIVE!

Why the MACHO MAN RANDY SAVAGE was not contacted to do the vocals shall remain a mystery on par with the contruction of the pyramids or stonehenge. -- RollingStone Magazien

Crysstell

Something of a seed starts it all. Lines of force and information start to flow and solidify out from the center. Like a town growing over time, but in your head. First there is some inspiration to start something new, build a house in some weird place, or recycled slum. Next a few followers jump onboard making a little street, and things get a bit more accepted. Afterwards trailer parks and churches spring up everywhere. From there things pretty much evolve into everything we see today and everything you believe. Contrary to popular belief fast-food convenience stores are not suitable for grazing sheep. Neither are observatories and movie theatres. Though supposing they were the same things would be interesting only once ever few thousand years. Popcorn sales would go way up. Next thing anybody knows cats have infected your brains with a nasty semi-benign virus causing everybody to love to feed even more kitties. This leads to one inescapable conclusion... in order to fight the virus wipe your imagination and BEcome a troglodyte. Or I guess buy a tuning fork and learn to fish using sympathetic resonanace to fracture the ice.

ergonamix

This thing with the musical chairs is odd. The spheres make sense, tones, metals, scales, planets, metaphysical sub-planes, the greeks had it all. Except that somehow over time the detritus of cultural and linguistic evolution added in a chair to the mix. This may have been necessary to facilitate fun childrens games, promote the sale of furniture, or simply as a gambit to allow deities to recline in a safe, positive manner while reviewing their subjects. Now what has me wondering is if there are seven chairs, or eight; the latter being the chair of the overlord. Correspondingly, do the chairs themselves embody, emit or induce noise in specific tonal regions and vibrations. Celestial spears, that may be what happens when really loud people decide to yell in your ear about current events. I seen it happen in kung fu hustle. You don't take the chair of the celestial sound man. The night will end with this bad ringing in your head, a lack of memory and small amounts of canadian money being found in your pockets.

Diagnostic

Shouting lingerie in a tortoise store isn't one of the smartest things I've done.

Apparently, something about lace and reptiles is not sexy. Nay, not even mildy sexy.

Rather the two articles are not clothing nor related enough to be considered cute.

Funny is definitely out as well. Even with racks and racks full of tortoises to counter my yell of lingerie with in your face obvious contrarian observations the funny is not allowed.

Nearly enough to say that next time when viewing tortoises that nothing remotely resembling an article of clothing will arise as a topic of conversation, or much less spontaneously bellowed out while ogling a terrapin.

Warfare

Things move in the dreamtime.

Some shine, some absorb.

The burning light comes to cheer and teach. Listen still. To you, say nothing.
The cloaking black comes to feed as a vampire. Be cold fear. To you, give everything.

Waking dreams and looping mirrors each, death before the infinite.

Simpkins

Tree

Bears and trees both kinda check out for awhile during the winter months. Least in the northlands. So what is going on. Is it like what happens when my brain gets filled to overflowing with excessive amounts of useless technogarbage and requires a good vomit to clear into a normal stream of sanity? Probably not. Tigger doesn't hibernate and so my guess is bears would not sleep anyways. Not like anybody could, much less trees. Probably this is why the ents pretend to be asleep. Even though they are watching and waiting they sit idle, quiet and seemingly unaware. What else could one do in the face of Tigger, much less a world full of GMO cloned Tiggers popping up all around your forest. Ok, now you decided to turn on the wind machine? Seriously folks, if that Indian shaman is hanging out in my backyard again screwing with the trees and the winds he is so going to get it this time. No more nicely telling you to go play up in Indian Peaks and trying to remember the good old days with the others cavorting about. This time its gonna be raccoon patrol or something dirty like cleaning the lint trap on the dryer. Freaking wind, stop moving the tree.

Walk

Walking inside and outside is the same. Strawmen inside and outside are still stuffed shirts. Walking on the ceiling is still the same as the floor. Ask an astronaut. To be fair it may not really be walking if there is no gravity. Though that may not be quite right either. Depends upon if you are being spun around a central axis and feeling simulated gravity. Which could be. Or maybe not. Simulated that is. Jed Clampet would likely know for sure. He'd just shoot it and see what'd pop up. That would tell you fer sure if it is walking or not walking. Probably I'd guess he'd even be willing to either make or bring over a scarecrow for the back 40. Or was that Black 47. No that's oil. Crude, yet funny.

Fond Du Lac

Nekcihc

end the near fairly
middle the is quite not but
beginning the is that before and
circle a is that backwards

Carte

The holy ghost ate my chili-cheese fries. Totally unacceptable. After all gnomes, dwarves, and disembodied goats are expected to do such things.

Ghosts ? E_HELL_NO : chili-cheese fries;

See, no. You cannot and shall not partake of my fries again. Bread, unleavened or otherwise... totally acceptible. Bacon? Still ok. Terra-firma it is not, but possible. Now when and where the rules were changed to allow for fry eating none tell. BECAUSE THE RULES WERE NEVER CHANGED. You can laugh, you can sing, you can dance, but you cannot eat the fries. Oh no. See there are lines, rules and boundaries which are sacrosanct, places where devils and dust do not go and angels visit not. Much less ghosts. Places such as the oven, my kitchen, and unquestionably the interior of the refrigerator in said kitchen. Deign to steal the fries again and you will find them surreptitiously replaced with prima-loft, which I hear is both foul and insidious in that the consumer is left wanting a tasty beverage in order to finish the meal. There doesn't even need to be anything more said about that. It is well known what happened with that last beverage.

Fingertip

Rolling through the river Styx in a main battle tank is not advisable. Tanks do not float well. Unless they are floating in mercury. Though at that point you'd wonder why the river Styx was filled with anything but blood and water. Might look nice and futuristic and perhaps ominous and induce a feeling of solid liquidity leaving you slight discordant, but I'm sure there are better tricks to play than a running river of mercury. Filling the river with identical copies OF Mercury, the god, the planet or any combination of the two --like breakfast cereal with puffed wheat and toasted marshmallows, seems quite pleasing. Though it may just be that everybody gets to choose their own little version of hell and that the river and cerberus manifest on the whim of visitors. Perhaps inmates rather than visitors, but could lead to some open questions as to why you be anything but a visitor if you're driving a main battle tank.

Same /old/ Mess

Whump.

Everything is back where it is, except us. We're all somewhere and sometime different.

First things first. Check with the locals, no telling what has changed.

There are times when the greeting is good, coherent with things going well during our absence. Those times it is a matter of syncing up and moving on.

Other times, the times and sometimes places are not so well. Wars end, start, start and end, all within the segment skip through time.

People come and go like dandelions. Bright and sunny, white and wispy the next. Sometimes whole seasons go by. Sometimes a day. There really is no telling, just more and more travels, until you and those who share in your life/profession/obsession become the oldest living members of your race.

Speaking of which, I'm sure there are those who haven't caught up with the multiple species much less race thing yet. They will when their cache gets updated. Likely, there are those you wonder if they were lost, or if they reached far far forward and are gambling that their apathy and ability to outlast but not outstreach the civilization thread we follow and shape carries them further than all of us.

Transmit, record and leave. Librarian is not a bad life. Outside of never knowing if graffiti such as this splayed across the pulsars ever gets heard.

Next time,
Alexander of Alexandria

Whump.

pentecaust

Posthole diggers dont seem to be common anymore. Now there is this attachment for Bobcats and stuff which is kinda like a ditchwitch but different. Now what happened to the forests? Did those trees get so expensive that the wooden posthole digger handles are now too costly resulting in a flood of purely mechanical hole digging tools? Did the Spotted Owl cause the extinction of posthole diggers, or was something entirely more sinister at work?

Questions worth questing. Riddles without clearcut consensus and ambiguous conclusions. Those are the cards dealt and picked up for the modern day day laborer looking to avoid another day spent sheparding around and/or sitting upon some mechanical menace taking all decent activity and exertion from the labor part of the day.

Or could it be roads, roads without need of posts, cars whizzing by so far and so fast that the need to hitch and guide a horse is no longer concerns to any and all. Could it be that todays world has no need for the post, much less the digger of holes, and even less for the digger of post holes?

JaJig

the small symbolic club, or was that a chop?

religion

Campers

Sign out and Sing on.

The night is young and the stars are calling.

Filter

Great like Tony the tiger or like the wall? Things are like ripples in a pond, so what if we are actually older and everything has passed us by and really this version of life in this epoch is not even the first wave of colonizers, but rather a follow-on accident. Not like radio communication is all that expected or interesting. Ordering the chaos and noise with wide-spectrum signals seems much more likely than a searchlight in the dark type of radio beacon blaring out. If even it is efficient to do that. Then again you got to wonder if at the height of technology if things aren't just reused over and over and over really efficiently and recycled, so there is really no reason to go hunting around other star systems for bonus matter, you just reuse it. Or you discard physical matter in most forms, managed evolution on into a more ephemeral energy based existence which requires a lower energy state than playing around with eating and consuming water and all these other rare exotic materials we need. Maybe the aurora borealis is both the message and the colonizers, maybe they are riding electromagnetic winds with consciousness and thought spread out over a vast scale spanning whole light years, electromagnetic memory, awareness and beingness with creatures like us being akin to a kidney stone, grumbling away in a locked in state of matter and run-down energy states.

Shock&Awe

well played. wires, guns and fingernail polish.

Harmony

My old friend from Austin said once over breakfast that ritual was important. Especially when things have no base and are largely dynamic.

Stories are ritual, really good stories are a blending of stories, messages, insights. Like a van gogh with many shades they all blend into one loud harmonic message. Looking sideways though the singular points come out, then looking again there is another, the colors blend into shades which blend into harmony. Great ones do this over and over and over in a single story, like music, but delayed bursts of understanding.

The Heavenly Pit and jeb corliss, which i guess is really Journey to the Center in the parlance was like a bright mote, but there are other things which are harmonic and so layered that you wonder. In a world where animals are all but extinct, a simulated man releases a simulated dove, or not. Though both movies are the edge, the falling, the landing. Blue skies cya.

Expanse

At the edge lies certainty. Nothing about everything is as it appears. Near upon the law, the rule, the creation is something beyond. For the box is bounded by the box, the universe by time and space.

Shades of light and shapes of dark run about, calling, beckoning, entreating your will. Onto a ground of certainty, of sanity, of stability. To a place where love is love and hate is hate, right is right, night is night, and sight is sight.

Inside, the expanse this awaits. Collecting, herding and inn keeping. Yes, you know.

Outside, the expanse just unrolls.

Ghostland

The world of ghosts exists alongside the real world. Things move along well enough in both it could be said. Action, adventure, challenges, disappointments and triumphs. The two worlds even bleed over into each other at times. A dawn and dusk between night and day between ghostland and reality.

Mostly though the shades stay down and the two pass silently side by side, day after day, night after night. Occasionally the shades are lifted and elevated into a different world. Things seem too bright, too intense and just too jarring and real. So the shades go back down.

Swimming through fuzzy dreams or flying through a world of radiant lucidity.

Futures so bright, gotta wear shades.

manchu

since big robes with cuffs are no longer in stle it has been decided that all people will hereby requireed to wear robes with big cuffs exclusions to said rule will result iin the harshes of stiff penalties the form of which shall go unnamed at this point in time in order that a sutable punishment may be draeamed up by the great minds of the torturarial scieneses

in the interests of national security and in order that carnivore and silentlight remain satiated with posts remaining at a safe threashold level this post is hereby deemed to be stopping, posthaste.

tamerlane

the puzzle is of the variety of the kind of which isalsoknown as a trap. infamously yelled by nefarious space going races of all kinds throughout the eons. its a trap, lastly of course as any real trap is indeed a trap and by definition not something to escape from. so these fears of a trap are highly overrated, trust me. just come a bit closer i have something you want and there is nothing to fear you'll end up the better for it all no worries, argh its a trap. no wait just joking it was a trap but isnt anymore as now its not a trap but just business. reoccuring revenue and repeat customers are all the rage and so much better than the one hit sally and john type of deals going on over at the used appliance exchange but i really gotta say that despite being a trap it is quite fetching fetching in the sense that most other things look reasonable at least in the way that they can and would to someone who cant tell what reasonable is anymore because everything is relativistically all the same kinda most like what happened in the sahara hte last time in which the sandstorm nearly ended the days of us all before the whole incident at the relief hut which in all honesty was probably not the best thing which could have happened but it was what did happen in terms of reality then it was reasonable and waht neeeded to happen for it to all work out like anywyas no more batertering in huts in the sahel unless somebody brings extra matches )note to self bring extra matches and a twist tie( next time it would be somewhat prudent and behoove anyone who likes the english langange to first realize that any and all language and spoken and writeen and communicatable forms of expresion are nothing but a chemical swirl on the inside of their very own skulls not for export resale or cummunicatable which in broader terms is quite good as many things are best not shared at least with those with whom sharing is a question for like if they still question sharing they are not and you should not bother to share just give it away it will be easier now the question being where in the hell is that twisttie

Orangelane

rainbows and freeways. one for the sky, one for the commuter. here in the left lane we've got the violet and blue lights and over to the right the RVs and short-buses holding everybody back. then at night with the moonbow there is the empty country road with nothing moving for mile upon mile. now being in charge of central planning seems to be something fun, glamorous and exciting. until the 20th time in one day when pixies and leprechauns are both talking to you simultaneously about how they deserver to be in the fast lane and not stuck in the right lanes like you assigned them because they are small, easily crushed, have bad situational awareness and sometimes imbibe of the spirits a little too much to be considered top-echelon type of commuters. then what you really tell them is that your bosses boss is having a really bad day and is thinking of extinguishing the sun entirely so they should be pleased and happy for the opportunity to ride the rainbow at all. course if the whole thing wasn't a bluff you'd be free to run off and buy some really dark clothes and disappear into some crowd somewhere till they tracked you down and put you back in charge of something equally annoying such as the rate of calcium dispensation for mollusks. so all in all there isn't much else to do at least until the sun does stop shining for good.

Error

Inside of things are other things. Things of immense size, dwarven galaxies crossing limitless expanses. Outside there exists equally diametrically sized atoms and particles crossing equally limitless expants. Somewhere upon this foam is a beer which turned inside out becomes a bar, a patron and a band. A band of soccer holligans, a city, a country, a world. Thereupon the world turns, turns into a galaxy itself which itself folds down upon and into a quark, gluon and beyond. To the edge occam, your razor is nothing but a dull moonlight in the daytime. A universe of suns and microverse of neutrinos sings your requiem to the dark.

Periscope

Beneath any good sea there is a submarine.

Aquamarine like your subconscious.

Deep down the blackness pervades.

Depths beyond the scope and light.

Of that unending dark, none tell.

Except the spiral Nautilus shell.

Conductor

Start 1, 2. 1 stops, start 3.

Doesn't make it right

Turine

Hank Stinton

James Lawrence

Please contact your party and the nearest white courtesy phone.
If no phone is available then the next available phone will be provided to you.
Should your native language prove to be incompatible with the phone system a translator will assist you.
Under no circumstances should you attempt this yourself.
Press 1 for home, 2 for phone, 3 for assistance.

Vines @ 10

1) Go to Rental City and rent an industrial shop-vac
2) Go to Big-R and buy a large small-animal live trap
4) Drive to Montana, place trap in national forest
5) Run over small animals (may be done before step 4)
6) Bait trap with carcass
7) Capture wolverine
8) Drive home repeating 5 as necessary
9) Place angered wolverine inside industrial shop-vac taking special care to hold top closed
10) Turn on shop-vac

Granola slide

Eating and researching equals ahhhhhh. Or is it ARGHHHHHHHH. Or is it man jumping off a cliff.

All I know is I'm casually chomping away on some dinner and innocently visit wikipedia. Next thing I know my worldview is being challenged and redefined by some weird way of classifying and making something into a metaphore which then somehow turns around and becomes metonymy in polysemy. Next thing I know link after link has flown by and nothing is anything like what it used to be and synecdoche pops up. Then it all turns into some kind of blur and makes a nice vodka drink seem exceedingly enticing. If captain picard was here he'd just use the negotiating skills like he did that one time with that race which didn't use language and a language is describe and broke the translator. Meta meta morph. Where is my crunchy dinner, I was just eating. Swear to god the internet is the worst house-guest ever. No contest. Like that one ex-shaman, he at least made sense, as did the potter and the florist. Internet it just has more stuff and baggage than seemed concievable. Maybe it should be the inconcievable internet. Or if a web-page dies on the net does anyone hear. That at least reminds one of long past days of blowing sands, sunsets and home cooked hummus and roti.

Next Blog >>

To the Yakuza, I am sorry. I looked, did not understand nor enjoy.

To the rest of you, I am sorry. I looked.

Children less than 2 years old, with a blog. I couldn't even speak at that age.

Speaking a romantic language, having a bus, your own band and a party combining all three is beyond my comprehension and ability.

Marketing under the guise of blogging is disingenuous and genius.

Emo mermaids en español. That is all.

Glacial

Periods of extreme slowness frequented by areas of disinterest.

Which of the following best describes your current situation?

___ employment history
___ whining sled dogs
___ faustian bargain
___ bumblebee

A: Edges of perspective trail near to chaotic.
Q: Which static parts are immutable?

Extra credit: Koan is zen?

Phone

Ring, ring. Rang. Ring-Rang Ring-Rang Rang-Rang. The phone never has answers but you answer it. So I suppose in it's bell like voice it questions... are you there? Do you still love me? Pick up the phone you bastard. Do you want to buy something? Do you want to go do something cool? Do you want to hear about the greatest politician since the last greatest politician? Do you want to give me money so you can deduct some taxes for charitable contributions? Do you want to never answer a question such as the ringing bell proposes ever again? Do you, punk? Punk ass bitches really stopped using the bell. No, now it is all about the songs, the sweet melodies, the jealousy inducing rap song or counter-cultural indie ringr you've got polluting my ears. Yes, yes... no more bells. THE BELLS, THE BELLS.

MellowAU

Past the edge of gold is platinum. The kind of tricky credit with limits rising upwards from gold. Finite yet closer to something untold. Eat lead and you are closer to dead. Drop up, rise down in the electrons and tables or color coded status. Nearer to the mellow is yellow, gold-like. Gold-like, but not gold. Without the L almost deitic, god-like, but not god. Except if you love the money and the credit and the shiny sparklely of things which are far from mellow.

Hammurabi

Codex Rulez

Notice

The Internet is violet.

Violet is the new white.

Manwich.

Pixels

Funky funky funk fun fu. For You! That's what happens when you spell MU and it comes out differently. Differently like what happens when catabatic winds blow the wrong way and decide not to be known as adiabatic winds. Unabridged chaos for the slipstream, vortex of vortexes, alternatively scree on a boulderfield, or 8 bits rather than 32 bits in pixel farm. Which gets me to the topic of conversation, not reading, as that given the medium would be a bit circular and self-referential. Even for something bi-polar. What kind of little 8 bit creatures live on a pixel farm? Back in the day quite a few, then advances in growth rates and such made 16 bit creatures all the rage for a very short time and wow, it was soon onto 32 bit creatures packed and herded about the pixel farm. An industrialized nightmare of production, segmentation, shepherding, transmogrifying, morphing, and their ilk. Sooon the friendly little pixel friends became something large, scary, hairy, wooly and un-wise. Ah, but back back back to the time of the 8-bit sprite, now that was a real delight. So imagine my surprise when what do I find but map, no mere map, but a wonderful simple, blocky, map of maps. Describing the world and all underneath it all. Which incidentally also confirmed my suspicion that cthulu is a mere secondary manifestation of a higher incarnation of.... oh I cannot say. You'll have to ask the mice. They'll answer, but if they don't, don't blame me. Blame yourself. Maybe if you stare for a bit the pixels will change or you're looking too deep, or too fine and missing what's right there. Though it could be that the mice, they really aren't there at all either. Except when you look at them.