Sleep to dream

Hi.  I guess when I get enough sleep, I start having/remembering dreams.

It was some kind of presentation.  I was invited.  This doesn’t happen often, but I decided to go.  This happens even less frequently.  I arrived, late (as usual), but things hadn’t gotten started yet.  The room looked like a generic high school commons or lunch room.  I went over to the food table.  It looked like raw bacon made of differently colored and patterned meat.  Raw.  I giggled in delight as I loaded up my plate.

And people wonder why someone who refuses to partake in small talk would show up late.  The food has been picked over, but nobody in the room is hungry (old saying: the polite man goes home hungry) any more, and, more importantly, nobody’s in my fucking way to stand and look and think and decide and aaaarrrrgghhhh.  I was out of there in 15 seconds flat.  That’s when I went to take a seat (hs lunch table seat) at the back of the room.  Nom Nom nom.

Woke up.

Now, isn’t that a pleasant way to wake up?  I do wake up naturally before noon, but when your work day typically ends at 1:30 to 2:30 am, a good night’s sleep runs well into the morning, if not the early afternoon.  Sleep matters.  Don’t compromise on sleep.

My sleeping and waking patterns shift significantly when I share a bed.  Fuck.  I need a dog.

My spoon set looks amazingly incredible in the daylight.  I think it’s worth more than my car.  Fuckin’ high art

Here’s the thing, musicians.  I’ve had your beautiful voices singing directly into my soul for 34 years and 5 months now.  I feel like I know you better than any real people.  I’ve memorized, rather inadvertently, the timbre of your voices, instruments, and effects.  So don’t act so fucking creeped out when I talk to you like I know you.  I know you.  That’s how you know me.

The reason there’s no such thing about too much information is that I’m not embarrassed for any of it.  The times I was mean.  The times I got loud.  The times I made contact for your refusal to acknowledge my eyes.  Your sunglasses make me wanna break your nose.  Sometimes.

O.M.G. I wanna see the internet stats for WI in the lead-up and post super-bowl.  I bet there’s a huge porn spike.  Word.  (fap) Love. (fap) Them. (fap) Packers.

She just said “anonaminity.”  The report also included this.

“It’s a trrible site iffa person were ta see it, but there weren’t nobody around.”

“Dig a deep ditch, throw the arts in a hole.”

This is a cover, but it’s the first I ever heard.  I’ve heard a lot of music, but not all music.  Sheesh.  It’s a big world.  I’d rather hear stuff I ain’t heard before.

I am the kind of weird that drops out of law school so that I’ll continue working like a law student until they give me an honorary degree.  They whoever.  I have no loyalties.  Just because I ran into you in this skid mark of a lifetime doesn’t mean I inherently like you any better than anybody else.  They got the same shit over there they got over here.  Fuck.  I want to go somewhere I can.  With you.  There’s a multitude of rules, regulations, and laws, written and unwritten, which prevent me from human contact.  I am a participant in this.  I recognize that.  I can’t see places I’m not.  Where do I want to be, and how soon can I get there.

My car can tow 1,000 lbs.  That, or we strip it down, beef up the suspension, maybe stretch the wheelbase.  Fuck.  Maybe we find the drivetrain from a hybrid.  It’s multi-fuel, so woodgas, hydrogen/water, biomass collector, solar, kinetic/human.  Main drive motors will be electric.  Batteries will be key, but human input needs more r&d.  I’m thinking leather belt and wood transmission with stone flywheel that a team of 12 can take zero to sixty in 15 seconds.  Fuck what you think is possible.  I know things.

Ok, use cables, whatever we don’t have to pay for.  Go hit up the community recycling center.  They got bins of screws, nails, bike parts, car parts, computer parts, lamp parts, furniture parts, appliance parts, tool parts, plumbing parts and electrical parts.  Yeah, anybody can take anything for free, or use the space to work.  They have a full shop.  Woodwork, metalwork, small and large engine work is right there, too.  Those crazy hippies have been known to put wood parts on cars, I’m not even kidding.

I need more coffee.  It’s 12:37 pm and all is whey-yull. (Dinsixe Bobbin Rood, yep, yep yep yep.) ok. Brb

God, I’m an intolerable asshole.  The people who didn’t put me out of my misery ever deserve like a medal or something.  What the fuck do I have to do to get sex or dead with you people!?  I’m tired of being cold and lonely and isolated and left out and ignored and yelled at and discriminated against.  Your tolerance is horrible.  I mean, it’s nice that you’re so upfront about your fear and hate, but fuck.  Die alone, then, terrified little rat.

If you need to spew, spew into this.

It’s so sweet, you think you know how crazy I am.

I just took a break from research/writing/typing/surfing to get some lunch.  Reheated garlic mash potatoes with a pat of butter made me flail wildly about the kitchen in music-relevant ecstasy after I stirred that bugger.  Yummy.

This is by far the prettiest spoon I’ve ever seen in my life.  I’ve just been fondling it just now, checking for major mistakes.  Other than the glue on one side and a few lumps inside the bowl and the handle arc isn’t what I initially drew (funny that, it’s more like what I cut. Weird.).  Yeah, so the flat-bottom drill bit is responsible for fuck-ups in both pieces.  Oh well.  It did some good work, too.  Don’t get me wrong.  These are museum quality.  They will either go for millions at auction or remain under the protection of my progeny for generations.  When I am stranded on a desert island, I’ll finish it perfect with my bare hands, ocean water, and fine sand.  It’ll give me something to do.

I didn’t do tines in the spork-foon.  Not sure if I will.  It’s more like a mini cutting spatula on one end.  Sharp edges.  That’s more what I used a fork for most of the time anyway.  Out of my favorite wooden bowl, it will work like a charm.  Trees give me everything I need once I use electricity and steel and abrasives and compressed air and walnut oil to make them do my bidding.  Good trees.

“Fire safety begins in your brain.” Dur.

If you download this zipped TrueType font, via and here, you can copy it into your fonts folder (Win/fonts in windows, prolly in the system folder onna mac.), you can read this.

Supposedly.  It didn’t work.  I went to Control Panels: Regional and Language Options (makes me want to set up the keyboard as Dvorak, too.) and clicked on Text Services and input languages <details…> under the Language tab.  This is also where you can enable “supplemental language support” for windows so you can see the languages on Wikipedia, for example, rather than boxes or other error placeholders.

I checked “extend support of advanced text services to all programs” under the advanced tab.  Now it’s asking me to restart.  Wish me luck! (2:45 pm)

Ok, it didn’t work.  Now I got this and I don’t know why I just installed it.  I better go finish my matter work while it’s still daylight.

Laters, perhaps.


~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-02-11 (Friday).

One Response to “sleep2dream”

  1. that’s some list. holy wiki!

    one of my favorite classes in art school was woodshop. it’s not much of a story, but it was very comforting. glad you’re making stuffs.

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