Recover Post

i spend so much time alone that i don't associate myself with my better parts. he, not me, gets things to go the way he wants. he does things fairly and justly. he has confidence, he dares to attempt, he succeeds before he begins. he is me. but he doesn't contemplate. he doesn't question. he walks lightly, elf-like, without an imprint. he sees the beautiful surface and flows with the current. me, i dig each foot deep into the earth, i am surrounded only by dirt, i'm immobile except for my sinking. but then someone comes by and smiles, or the man at the bowling alley treats us unjustly, and then me, he, boils up again and makes things right, and gives me, i, just enough impetus, just enough of a breath, to go back under and explore the claustrophobic depths of what it is that ever caused me, he to fear in the first place. we work together, but there needs to be more of a balance. classic case of trying to get to the answer of life as one enters the working world, that uneasy, almost unrecognizable right of passage that our culture ignores unless one fails. Are our elders so unsure of their positions that we can't get any encouragement, support like that given to the young tribal adults, for example, with all of the community lending their presence and energies and prayers, all to urge that child of life to see for the first time beyond his youthful view, and to see the miracle outside the shell?

HAHAHAHAHA

for me, maybe not for you.

Two of the best are Stephen A. Smith and Jamirouquai.

Somehow I need to make people understand Stephen A. Smith's greatness, but I'll think of a better way someday. As for the other guy...

She's just a cosmic girl
From another galaxy
My heart's at zero gravity
She's cosmic!

Sends me into hyperspace
When I see her pretty face
Sends me into hyperspace
When I see her pretty face
Sends me into hyperspace
When I see her pretty face
Sends me into hyperspace
When I see her pretty face
Sends me into hyperspace
When I see her pretty face
Sends me into hyperspace
When I see her pretty face

and probably about 5 more times

oh, and the rest of the song? hahaha

Video Games and the World of Tomorrow

So which is it? Winning Eleven or Fifa? I used to play Bases Loaded II for Nintendo. I used to pretend that the players on my team were the players from the Major League movie. The Nintendo game didn't have enough space to keep track of season stats so I was forced to do so, on my stomach, on the floor, tallying singles, doubles, etc with a pencil and paper. Around the 100 game mark of the season I finally grew sick of the game because a couple of my players were batting over .400 and I had the game on the hardest level. I realized the game was unrealistic. Right then, I had my motivation to be a video game programmer. But maybe my ideas would never have sold. Most people play video games for fun, not to simulate reality. Most people I know get frustrated when they get shutout in a baseball game or a soccer match. They want to hit homeruns and score goals. Most people enjoy having constant success in video games. This is all backed by the fact that any baseball game I've ever played skews the offensive categories in the same way they did back in the old Nintendo games. What I thought was lack of necessary technology was actually video game programmers' winning strategy. Sure, now his name is really Jack Wilson, and damn if that doesn't look just like his batting stance, but ho! wait a sec, where'd he get this new homerun power? Is the game simulating the future of baseball, already injecting it's players with steroids? Obviously this is what fans want. Few (Lou) enjoy the thrill of having their no-hitter broken upi n the ninth by a bloop dropping in over the first baseman's head. MLB2K1. That was a video game. Every moment was nerve-wracking. Make one mistake with a high changeup and you can kiss the game goodbye. It's poker or chess at it's greatest. He came low with that fastball last time, will he try it again? Will he dare a high curve, hoping i'll think it's a ball? But the game has evolved since. Most people don't seem to enjoy the second by second tension of the quick passing and checking of a hockey game. Instead they just remember the goals, the touchdowns. It's like they're barely present for the game. I think this because I used to be the same way. I used to play Bases Loaded II completely fueled by imagination. A guy goes of for his last twelve and I feel like he's in a slump. He pulls off a clutch hit in the 7th and I feel good for him and a smile comes to my face and I might pump my fist and shout him encouragement using his imaginary name. Now, however, I see the game more as its programming. Or I realize that it was my fault that he struck out swinging. It comes down to your will to win the game. The more you wish to win the less imagination you can utilize. This usually means also the less fun you have. But then comes the new breed of gaming systems and with these comes the most important aspect that a game can now have - physics. Now, you can use your imagination to your advantage. Whip a grenade off the wall jutting out in front of you so that it bounces off and over your shoulder and right into your enemy's path. Begin dragging the ball one way until the defender over-commits and then slam it out in front of you diagonally before you fake a shot and then flick a through ball down the wing, all just to get your crafty winger into position for a high-lofted cross. There can be nearly unlimited creativity in a game with fantastic physics, but it takes a certain kind of gamer to appreciate it, one who has evolved to take advantage of it. Or you can just mash buttons and hoot and holler and shout out the real-life name of your star player after he hits a homerun, as if it was he that just won the game and not you.

The only way to read a book is to start at the top-left corner (unless it's in Chinese)

My fortune cookie predicted: 'The way to get to the top is to get off your bottom.'

Fine advice, but they're not called cookies o'quotables. As soon as I finish filling out this lottery ticket with my lucky numbers, I'm going to call the local Red Dragon Buffet and complain about their lack of authenticity. At least they could have said that today I'll get off my bottom. I'm not looking for them to get my future right, but I am looking for them to try. They may as well have told me that my lucky numbers today are the ones that have always been my favorite. The lost effort on the front of my white slip of clairvoyance must have actually just been used up on the back where I'm learning Chinese a word a meal. Dian-hua means...you guessed it - telephone. Now if I could only find my Chinese pronunciation guide. So I won't be able to say it, but at least it won't stump me next time I'm flipping through my collection of Han era literature. Or I guess Sima Qian would never have mentioned such a device. Which leads me to how much I can't stand trivia. That's basically what you get in history majors. All I really learned, but it really was a big lesson, was that history was real. It doesn't matter exactly what happened, just that things happened, and yes, there are, at the least, vague patterns. My personal life-view is strongly affected by my four year immersion in history, anthropology and archaeology. Every other class I took, as electives etc., stood as training grounds for my historical view. The notes I took while in 20thc Russian Literature had nothing to do with anything the teacher was saying. As I've said before, as all the other kids heads came up, my went down. The only reason it's good to know someone's name, historically, is so that people know what event you're alluding to, or what time period. And when all you do is study history, you begin to see it all on a larger view, and even WWII becomes little more than a blip on the timeline. History, to me, no longer concerns specific events except for as examples. History is the progression of the way people have lived, even somewhat into pre-history. And then I take this and judge it on my feelings based on all-important undefinable values such as justice. But I try to do this with the knowledge that my feelings are only important to me because the idea of what is 'just' changes with each society. Finally, when I look at it all, I can't get a certain feeling. I'm not sure. I guess it's really our decision though. We can try to slowly go back to a more natural, earth-friendly way of living, or we can try to treat the ailments and ignore the causes for them. I see us in the future either as a blissful maybe Vulcan like state and at one with our environment, or as a bunch of futurama-type heads in glass on robot bodies.

you are so beautiful

you are a light powdered blue in a cold purple desert
you are a shattered crystal lamp
you are three kings sacraficing their pride
you are a night of shining starlight

you sail through strangers' sight
breaking like a wave their ridgid posture
you are like thunder
you have effect

you pull me in one way and then another like the moon
but i can't stick to you
in the end we repel each other with our sameness
we are two negatively charged magnets

no force can keep us together and we fall to the table alone and dry-mouthed

who's dat?

food is on the way. how am i responding? um, i usually ask questions because i don't know the answer.

what might i tip tippity tap out next. ext.

tension 3884

so, you, me i mean, moron, your leg is calling, shift position. 'but to which one,' i cry. 'it won't let me alone.'

actually, i'm feeling rather fine. but not in a 'just dandy' way.

i'm almost out of it enough to almost tell customers that have borrowed the tape measurer and a pen to just go ahead and leave it right where they use it so they aren't inconvenienced with having to bring it back. i almost don't know what i am doing.

wow, how do i get through stuff like this

The Fall

and i've subsequently entered the low part of coming down from a high. there are moments inside of conversations with customers where i fear i won't be able to continue. there are weird moments when an old man's face looks strikingly fuzzy or an old lady appears to be 4D. but actually i've fallen since then. then, i was acting beyond my normal ability, with an abnormal energy and it was all too intense, but also at times very rewarding. i knew i would fall from there. now the energy is decreasing and the attempts are less far-reaching. but i feel safer here. more tired but more familiar. and soon i will eat. i won't have the energy even to post after that tailspin, i imagine...

all cheesiness brought to the forefront

on the upside, my hangover has made me socially entertaining thus far today. so that indirect antagonist, that culprit of this morning, is also everyone's best friend right now. :) (muffled chuckling laughter, with an air of disbelief as i mutter) and they used to call me by a different name...

whoowhoowhoowhoo

oh, hello. didn't see you there. cops these days sure like to pull folks over. me? hm, actually, i was pulled over quite recently, just today, in fact. oh, you know it, it couldn't have been worse. haha, i was on my way to the store to open it up. as a bonus, i'd just been pulled over for the first time a month or so ago. it's getting kind of fun. i noticed how veteran i felt this time as sir cop explained to me what the yellow slip contained. this opposed to my wide eyed innocence from last time. yep, i sure was late opening up the store. i jumped from my car and said immediately, 'sorry everyone, i just got pulled over!'

oh, sorry to interrupt, but did i mention that i was listening to the same cd. perhaps even the same track. hmm.

a bit

there's a scale in your society by which you judge yourself. if you are not number one in that scale you might be persuaded to question that scale itself. there is nothing there. except for to become buddhist, there is nothing there except depression suicide and death. the righteous will return. more later.

This Post is Untitled

I never feel like talking about bumblebees and candy canes but i feel like i should give it a shot. i think maybe something lies in there. as if, if i started up a dialogue between two lovers it would take me with it to somewhere amazing. actually, that is where my imagination usually takes me. usually to a long meaningful talk or a contained, concentrated argument. life isn't that way, but neither is fiction. BAM

but it's not me yet. i need the go ahead first from some real life experience. but i also fear being selfish. i know how i can be. umm, right, butterflies and lily pads and daisies and all that. i don't know if i can do it. i forget how to imagine it and i forget how to initiate fun and happiness in a conversation. well, let's see what i can do today.

(i still fear going into a movie theater) steve is here to go see episode three. let's do it.

hey, sorry i was bugging you

was just what i told my brother.

well, here we go.

ice cubes floating in some black liquid sure does influence my posting frequency, no? yes, is the answer. wheras, (which isn't a word) (i think) beer just makes me want to sleep. but this time, i'm up and about, as it is, and i'm spitting bunches, as you might get. but if you don't, i'm careless.

so, life. as buzzy once put it, "today, huh!' it was a great day, and for him, for sure. getting what he hoped for was all he could have wanted for that day. he was on top of his world, buzzy.

i used to work for him. cool guy. he liked to cook spicy sausages and go to the lounge, drink beer. lots of women there, till it burned down. now, i, personally, stay home, drink alcohol, play cards. both of which i don't particularly enjoy anymore. but i'm on a new kick. i'm the one in charge now, during conversation. it's how i feel that matters. it's invigorating. and although it still doesn't seem fair, it seems real. it matters, and i feel like life is involved with me again, and i get where people are coming from, when it comes to gossip. i'm like, 'yeah, he/she makes me feel this/that way. and me and implied conversationalist may, once again, nod in agreement. so, in summary, i know where you are coming from - the ego.

no longer is there soley, you feel one way about something and then, in response, i say i could feel the other way about it. no, i think i'll see what you mean. do you know what i mean? i hope so.

on to something else.

if i told you there was a beautiful tree in your forest, would you take a walk to go see it. i hope you would. i'd imagine that there was a large antlered buck perched next to it and it would run off at your noise and disappear into the mist. i'd hope you'd search after it. imagine where that mist would take you. imagine that it would take you deep into the forest, dark except for some red and blue lanterns hung from the trees. imagine that you'd transform your mind from its ordinary state and you'd become just naturally curious, as if in some fantastical fairy tale or some wondrous dream. what do you imagine you'd run across next? would it be alluring or frightening, or relaxing, controlling? i'd hate to think that it would make you think. i'd rather you just get caught up in its flow.

in youth, there is so much energy that you force your way against the current in attempt to make your mark. you don't know that you are already a mark. and anything that you do is of less effect than your overallness. it doesn't matter that you spin around or stay, hardpressed, at the beginning of the current. you were in there, and everyone noticed.

direct yourself as if you were the creator. and don't regret that you weren't it all.

but i've been restricting my buzz in an attempt for clarity. but clarity doesn't cometh. and so a brass plate, made to shield, falls upon its empty side, armless, and thus useless. cigarettes burn, without two fingers, and yet this won't become depressive, because two eyes burn, blue or brown, and we all see them, and a face describes them with expressions, and someone looks closely, and we remember a dream from last night, but only in feeling, and there was something involved, that meant a lot. it was us that had that, and it was us that mattered. a shield can protect, but not disguise, yon cowboys, and girls.

now this is getting somewhere.

imagine that every word i've said was italicized. imagine that every thought you've thought was in bold. this is what we want. it would help reduce some redundancy. a redundant one, is one who was not cared for. a redundant one, is one who then doesn't care.

most of our gods demand that we love and care for all things. our gods do not suggest this. and so, we, the creators of our gods, do not, ideally, believe that we should go around apathetically. it does matter, and how will you continue, i ask, at least, myself. empathetically, i'd hope.

but before any thoughts are conjured, i'll end in a different fashion. i've taken up this role, and i unashamedly won't forget it; belief, hope and faith, really should be our god, and love falls somewhere in the middle there.

In Transit

It's such a game when you're not playing, but once you get involved it becomes so real. Emotions. Saying something sappy to your mother on her mother's day card because it could be passed off as a joke, but if you let it, tears well right up.

Time is best experienced at a fast pace. Just, you never realize what it is you've just seen. There's no median for me in there. I crawl through questions, or I squeeze my eyes shut, bouncing off the occasional rock in the tedious cliche of a swift current.

I hate it when things get built up. I don't feel like I needed that advantage. I don't want that advantage. I want to do it all spontaneously.

An imagination works best when it dreams only a step or two above reality. When I'm having a good time, time flies, as we say, and so does time fly for that half hour drive to work, fueled by the imagination, all gassed up on reality. Imagination gives you an experience a few steps below reality and so the cirumstances within the daydream are usually heightened by the user to get a similar effect.

You might not even know how much easier something as easy as walking becomes. It still feels a bit sickening to be interacting normally. how did people take me before. was there really that much eye contact and facial expression. does my gaurd mask my awkwardness or does everyone see right through it and forgive it or mock it when i'm not looking.

Oh oh oh oh oh. The black tongue of thinking begins again it's accostomed ascent up my throat and into my brain. My own tongue hardens, the pressure in my head increases and my chest is strained. My progressive and energetic contentedness is slowly slipping away. I'm sitting right here and letting it. Shouldn't I get out of here. Have I created myself some bad habits. Shouldn't I quit this. This that won't ever let me loosen my straight face.

But I want to write, but it always takes me to the unknown. Isn't the best writer the observer of things, not the analyzer? When I'm happy, I'm an observer, but don't care to write. When I'm otherwise, I care to think; I'm forced to write. But what about the second sentence of this paragraph? Maybe I should have just been the star running back for the Pittsburgh Steelers like I've always wanted to. I can still make those moves in my mind, and I've never seen anything like them.