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.