“I am a very bad scientist. I will do anything to make a human being feel better, even if it’s unscientific. No scientist worthy of the name could say such a thing.” p 180
YoungCastlecalled me “Scoop.” “Good morning, Scoop. What’s new in the word game?”
“I might ask the same of you, “ I replied.
“I’m thinking of calling a general strike of all writers until mankind finally comes to its senses. Would you support it?”
“Do writers have a right to strike? That would be like the police or the firemen walking out.”
“Or the college professors.”
“Or the college professors,” I agreed. I shook my head, “No, I don’t think my conscience would let me support a strike like that. When a man becomes a writer, I think he takes on a sacred obligation to produce beauty and enlightenment and comfort at top speed.”
I turned to Castle the elder. “Sir, how does a man die when he’s deprived of the consolations of literature?”
“In one of two ways,” he said, “putrescence of the heart or atrophy of the nervous system.”
“Neither one very pleasant, I expect,” I suggested.
“No,” said Castle the elder. “For the love of God, both of you, please keep writing!”
(original emphasis) </Chapter103>
my dad told me about how his grandma, who spoke better Croatian than English, used to call him and his brothers, “Mikey, Danny, Stevie, botthh of ‘em.” did that sound like a slavic granny? it was supposed ta. anywhoozer. by leftward and rightward spin. all y’all is what i mean. cripes.
Vonnegut is a writer’s writer. That’s just a nice thing to say in a book. As many authors, writers, and eWriters have realized, words are quite powerful. highly magical, aaand, reconfigurabbble all kinds of nutty. that’s how they’s so fun!
Law-yuhhers! La-ooooiiiirrrrr-zzz! *whistles and pats thighs to invite playfully* come here, buddy! we gots works to dooze.
i get the feeling that the planet is divided between people who want me deported, and people who want me running everything. i’m one of the former. what? free vacation! i’m sure i could find a much more appropriate fit in just about any other country on this planet. that’s a fucking retarded thing to say. this whole paragraph sucks. delete it. no. my people need to know the truth. you don’t have any people, you asshole. stray dogs that show up because you somehow only hang out with frighteningly beautiful people. i don’t know how that even exists as a thing, except maybe for that tv commercial, “don’t hate me because i’m beautiful.” don’t cross those concepts with lips all up in my face. i mean, more, more, MORE! you don’t know what you want. i want everything. you can’t ask for that. why not? i just did. it can be done, and if the head of the meta-design team doesn’t know it, you have a shitty head of your meta-design team. we’re not into titles. you’re not into talking to the smartest person in the room with the most complete conception of how this thing is going to be. your designs add work for all of us. is this thing not a means of supporting yourself? don’t you know like a million people who need “jobs” and “food”??? green team leader, GO! we’ll teach you how to teach, teach. and we’ll give you the confidence to project. your voice. your work ethic. your expertise. yes, each and every time you lead a team, you transfer every last bit of knowledge that you have. your role in this thing, as the internet should clearly show, is not to be a storehouse of static data. of knowledge frozen at the moment you “learned” it from your mentor back when you were a kid. nor should you rely on book-learnin’ from a for-profit institution, or the sole opinion of the guy who works at the place that sells you all the shit made by for-profit institutions. yes, this matters. there are people on planet earth who make MacGyver look like a spastic know-it-all. a good tool is a tool. a good multi-function tool has most of its functions sitting idle most of the time.
what a monster. are you talking about your paragraphs again. that’s kind of a sign that you’re not writing about anything. again with the deprecation. you’re hurting your brand. my brand? that metal thing that scalded my skin in such beautiful raised designs? like the cow that i am? i am here to destroy all brands. do not allow an intermediary between you and your experience of life. experience the real thing directly.
- goddesses of the blog’o’severe
- goddesses of the microblog
- goddesses of the wet dreams
this was the start of a late #FF (follow friday, it’s a twitter tag to recommend tweeters to followers, or anyone who clicks on a #FF tag in twitter). learn to use middle click or right click and open in new tab if you’re new to it. it will keep your timeline intact. i suppose if you have a fast enough computer/connection, it probably doesn’t matter. i work with dinosaurs. old code. i’ve stripped the operating system down to its bare essentials, but it still requires a format and re-install. go gentoo, you lazy fuck! stop swearing at me. i want to work that out at the computer lab. did you even mention that the co-op has a computer classroom/lab? no, but MATC will be right across the street, or through the tunnel or over the bridge. tunnel. you better fucking tell them about the heated connecting tunnel between the MATC complex and the greenhouses. it has a set of train-track rails for transporting stuff back and forth, too. oh, stop it. it does not. look, if you let me build shit, there will be underground train track rails all over the fucking place. the roofs of everything will be gardens and forests, and we will cooperate with the root structures of the trees while simultaneously taking advantage of the latest nano-technology materials in finishing off our uber-natural surroundings. well, that’s a little better. damn skippy.
I took a class during college called “Daily Themes” in which we were required to hand in one “theme” per day. most of them weren’t very long. i’ve always had a difficult time writing as much as is required by an assignment. brevity. succinctness. red-tape-cutting, straight-to-the-point-ness. these are things i aspire to as a writer, which is why i have so many fans. we don’t have any fans. we are all of our fans. hey, that’s a lot. touché.
i fancy myself a technical writer, but i suspect others do not see me as this. no, they do, but they’re not going to give up their paid hours to you so you can do all their work in half the time. *sigh* why can’t the world see that i’m already doing the tasks that nobody else is able or willing to do. there are plenty more doing what you do, and they can support themselves on top of it SEE! that’s exactly why i should be getting paid for this. no, because i throw myself into it wholeheartedly. my body is upon the gears of the machine. it is grinding to a halt as it crushes my bones to bloody mush. that’s good eats. well, compost it at least. yes, we compost our dead. well, funny thing is that when you let one type of organism eat them and let another organism live off of that poop, and then that organism creates plant matter that another organism eats and poops out, and then that poop has the fuel extracted from it and goes to the roots of other organisms which produce food that we’re eating, yes, we eat our dead. just because the process goes through other intermediate-organism eating/pooping cycles does not mean we don’t eat it. which also means we’re eating the basic components of clean, fresh, shit, all the time. you better fucking believe that you can life on poop, but it tastes like strawberries and peaches and apples and figs and nuts and eggs and free-range beef and raw whole milk and bacon. shit is fucking delicious.
why does Nathalie Merchant remind me of an extremely sexy woman who delights in turning me on but has zero interest in doing anything other than driving me crazy. hey, if you can be driven. can you get fucked? ‘cuz that’s what i think you should do. that doesn’t help anyone? are you kidding? i love this song. shut up. i’ve never seen the video. you think that of every girl, asshole. i know, and then they just start saying competitive and awful things to me until i go away. keep wanting something of me i can’t deliver, and “i” will keep disappointing you. only, i don’t disappoint myself. i do that which i know to be necessary.
i wanna go tweet. we should eat something first. last of the coffee? yeah, i suppose. ok, brb. 3:39 PM
- Robert Anton Wilson, from the playlist “Read.”
- i think we need neutral ground. tabula rasa.
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epenthesis cool.
to that, i say: “it’s better when a girl loves you than when a guy loves you because girls get everyone else to love you.” i think that’s contrapositive. dunno.
whoa. hours and hours on twitter, and i got 9 stars on 8 tweets. i tweet a lot.
p.s. 2:16 PM the next day. i finished the book, not ten minutes ago. laughed at the last line. pretty fucking [the] shit.
“Beware of the man who works hard to learn something, learns it, and finds himself no wiser than before,” Bokonon tells us. “He is full of murderous resentment of people who are ignorant without having come by their ignorance the hard way.” –a few pages from the end. (how’s that for a citation?!)
holy fucking beautiful, that book is/was. should that be [i]/[wa]/s. no. definitely no. that’s a nonsense generator. it can be interpreted correctly. sure, but it can lead to misinterpretation. can’t anything? misinterpretation is a creation of the mind. if you plan to fail, generate the thoughtforms that represent failure, then that will happen. if you generate the thoughtforms that are success, happiness, health and wealth, those will occur. yes, it works on the individual level, as it does on the universal.
can we elevate this Vonnegut kid to god status now, that he’s, you know “dead.” heh. speakers of words so immortal never die. their seeds wait on shelves of libraries long forgotten, only to fall into rich soil and sprout thoughtful writers who truly believe that the pen is mightier than the sword, the smallest tree is mightier than the mightiest tractor, and that certain substances are so powerful that they immediately change the entire planet. i’m probably done stroking kurt now, for a while. until i find another of his books to quote or retweet him on twitter. good day to you, sir! the ancient masters are right by my side, often taking the first wave. reincarnations are all we do, and until all infrastructure of the good mother is lovingly supported by nano-meatbots-are-we, she operates by luck of the draw, and we flounder not having the things we really need, because they have not been shown to us over the proper channels. the imposition of authority and claim of the tone without first-person testimony, is the typical form of this tyranny. i’m thinking of tv news anchors, and “impartial” journalists forced into pigeon-holes by the only employers there are for their particular craft. no, the good ones survive selling books. the infrastructure ought to support all of our survival so that every single one of us is free to write and contribute to the whole. that’s kind of the point.
coffee break. 2:48 PM
so dictator tells us we’ve really only been a writer this whole time. only. a broke, starving, alchol-fueled writer. that’s redundant, ain’t it? fuck it, ee cummings. i use punctuation. i borrow signaled informality. look at the code i write. capitalization and everything. i really have to get my college and law school papers up somewhere. maybe you could publish those as a collection. yeah, we’ve already established my connection to capital and its ism. past performance, yo. like you said/planned, it all has to happen simultaneously. not at all. any one party could kick it off.
what? you want to implement an already-done design, but without including the essential details. a non-fully-inclusive system will not be sustainable! how many different ways must we understand this. ok, in the second-to-most recent mother earth news, there’s an article about predator species. read that. here’s another one on similar findings from probably the least credible paper on planet earth. the glossy magazines are equally incredible. the foundations of our understandings are so flawed, we must dig them up by the roots. this is the findings of the banished/uprooted/expelled crowd. if you don’t work every personality type into an ongoing part in the process, it’s not a communal process. yes, i’m talking activities for drunks or night owls, past normal business hours. i really ran out of anything to say a long time ago. that doesn’t matter. the title warns them.
nobody needs protecting. we protect each other. we are each other. those who mistreat have their freedoms restricted to bare essentials and those who can stand to be around their particular form of violence. as of my current designed plan, there is a physical core of my property, however etheric that may be, where these violent souls may only enter under close supervision. they demand it. babysitters. prove that you never inflict pain any more. yeah, you might receive some. you will be amazed at the mercy of your captors. it’s a treacherous master, this dictator. i thought dictator was male. dictator wanted you to think that. great. i’m learning as i go. this plot is stagnant. yeah, we kind of wrote ourselves into a dead end, didn’t we? no, the pace has just worn down. this isn’t a period of rest? no, the road will be restful. this is grueling. what, is that because you eat a lot of gruel? i don’t even know what gruel is. well, now ya do. why are fat people who eat oatmeal and milk so insistent that it’s healthy for them? do you see how that shit congeals when it cools down? how does that not occur in yo belly? ick. no, i will go without food before i eat oatmeal, thanks. i don’t really eat tofu either. again, if there were a verified local source and processor that i could witness and gain trust in their processes and procedures, i might be convinced. i’ll stick to beans and rice until there’s a complete loss of the dietary regiment of the leave it to beaver generation. you are poisoned cattle, and everything you think you know about food, along with every morsel of food that comes packaged in plastic or in shiny colored packaging at the grocery store… (sigh) you know it’s not as bad as all that. why do i feel like i have to personally inspect each of these processes and have a multitude of diversely-trained scientists determine the healthfulness of all of these products. not some industry-imposed “nutrition facts” which pick nearly irrelevant “nutrition” because it’s the only substances that the industrial food producers can actually see, test, or include in their monoculture grown, uber-poisoned “product.” real food has life in it.
i was thinking about voluntary suicide, mostly because of this book i just read. i think the co-op should provide that. a legal team to tie up any and all loose ends, and a database of poisonous plants one could consume to voluntarily end one’s time here. how dare you look down upon anyone’s chosen end. especially if they have taken care of those necessities which polite society deems necessary. many of the past tyrants of this society are in an unforgivable position, and seeing this, it is simply cruel and inhumane treatment to disallow such a course of action. now you’re completely talking out of your ass. i want a do-over. i want to start over from which parents i have to what i learn in school to how i treat other human beings. no you don’t. or, you get that every second you’re here. life is always a choice, and you provide the opportunity.
ok, so our system will have sinks that are higher than toilets, so that this whole thing can be gravity fed. no pumping required anywhere. rainwater collected is held in tanks and water heaters above shower-height. sink and shower drain water is used for the toilet, but, to dilute the feces to the proper consistency for the methane digester. low-water toilets may do this anyway. it will be easier to add water, most likely, than take it away, but if we have a good desiccant that doubles as a heatsink (glauber’s salt), removing water using sunlight may be entirely possible, too.
look, this is me trying. i’ve been trying, doing, and producing as often as i can every single day of my life. being poor, i’m always the one who has to back down. i’m always put in the position of lesser information, lesser budget, and less respect. house pets are treated with greater dignity than poor people in this country/family. you people are despicable. i’m ranting at your parents, too. i’ve seen how they treat you. i’ve heard it. i see it all around me all the time, the cruel examples that the tv gives us, that we repeat over and over in our daily dramas. get fucking over yourselves. get over fucking and poop and kids being way fucking smarter than you will ever be. fucking deal with it. the resources that you keep amassed under your lawn and in the bank are the very means of our enslavement. scale matters not. my little privately owned RV is as much of a nobody-else-can-go-there-but-me place as all of your little chunks of real estate. it’s too bad that the rich and “authority-having” already disregard even the most basic legally accepted protections. you should be held in a public cage where anyone can put their hand in and touch your naked skin. what? it’s not like it’s a stockade where strangers could inject you with sweet loving without you even knowing who it was. what? you didn’t know our country had a public rape infrastructure at one point? as if it doesn’t still. brothers and sisters, if it were up to me, you would get the best land, the most luxurious houses, and as many humans as that place will allow, with freedom of movement to visit anyone and everyone. the fortune 500 board members will live in your cells, and the children they abused will be their prison guards. we expect the whole thunderstorm will dissipate in a few weeks and we’ll all be friends. i have my methods.
i’m so happy about the many ways that cat’s cradle ended. beautiful, throughout. nothing was saved. nobody was learned. extinction-level-event, executed with laughter. fucking. pretty.
so, yeah. read a fucking book when the internet is full of crybaby whiners that sap all your energy because their terrified energy sucks. recharge your mojo with some timeless words, and reflect them back into the void. usually, it gives you something pretty in return. usually always.
writing forces me to make myself not miserable any more, because i have to be honest with you. if i’m miserable, you’ll know it, and i don’t like that being what i send out to the universe. where do you think it comes from? commiseration? don’t look at it so negatively. you can’t ignore your pain without consequence, so explain it precisely until it is no longer pain, or until it goes away. my family is a black hole of money. i have no idea what we spend it on, other than booze and cheese. but that, alone, is enough. add in a few coke addicts (yes, both), gas addicts (them 2), and tv news/ad dicks. those fuckers all deserve the death penalty, or muzzles at least. can i chop their tongues off? or fork them? you want to increase their functionality? uhh, maybe? your global consensus system does that. how long do you think they’ll argue over the wording of a few irrelevant phrases while the useful among us work on the substance of the thing? the entire time, of course. they’ll keep doing that shit until we introduce it as a piece of legislation that includes their execution. then, we’ll pass it on a national consensus and carry out the sentence with honest military people and those who wish their lives to be taken in noble death. how is death not noble? having survived to adulthood on this cruel, harsh planet is no small feat, and amongst competitors shaped like family and countrymen alike, it’s no wonder the lot of us didn’t flip the loony bin inside out and lock up all the sane people and… oh.
random people on the internet acknowledge my existence and ideas. they also help keep them buried. they maintain a strict reaganistic inability to understand/remember. it’s a survival mechanism. it’s more pronounced in the indestructibility of your fb friends (the sensitive ones all muted you. thanks for reminding me, i know), and their utter inability to comment without attacking. you helped train them in that. i know. the responsibility weighs on me heavily. why do you think i’m still here. you know how many lives i’m required to save after all the lives my “thoughtless words” ruined. fragile, weak fucking, what? ok, there’s a few more. point is, we have to save them all. they don’t want to be saved. ok, well then we have to save as many as want to be saved. that’s a lot. is it? why are they fighting so hard? it’s all they’ve ever done. they’re actually fighting a lot less hard, and without really putting anything behind it. it’s almost like an old cliché of a joke now. violence. with loud noises? become resistant. turn your voices on, folks. use your words. create healthful thoughtforms, because that’s the best way to make things healthy. who cares if you don’t know the means yet. they will make themselves apparent to you when you’re ready to learn them. are you telling people what to do again? no, i’m explaining how advanced physics works, and that if people are actually interested in doing what they say they want to do, they have to do some things differently, and shift their focus rather significantly. rebuild the infrastructure on the home front. you’re too protected to have a huge devastating event tear down all your shit so you have to rebuild. how about you just pretend it was all shit in the first place (like it was), and just work with the resources and people and creativity that you have there already?
don’t listen to anything i say, ever. i make friends, and then i say i don’t have any, so that i piss them off and i really don’t, for a while. they sort of stick around, circling like an electron cloud, with no real location until we decide to look. looking is making contact. looking sends photons from out eyes, which bounce off of that which we see and are reflected back in ways that we sense as “seeing.” you’re living in the most advanced robotic technology that exists on this planet. some of the most mobile, agile, and multi-functional spacetime navigation suits ever grown. you are the space-aged technology, you self-loathing lardass. quit fueling your ship with the poison from the dark side.
any time i talk about anything substantive, they look at each other like there’s some secret that they can’t tell me and then they change the subject. i feel like if i were to push the issue, any issue, or ask for a hug every day, that i’d get the exhausted explosion of tears. or yelling. everyone has their pouts. whatever. i say what i need to say. i say what i want to say, in the means i want to say them. i am the teacher i always wished i had. i am the big brother, big sister, and best friend that i’ve always wished i had. i am a fully functioning, zero-contact human being. beat me, starve me, make up lies. i’ll fucking slaughter your sacred cows and talk about licking your thighs. my bike generator jambs have gonna gotta get a bike on todafternoon. in-yup.
we should take more pics, that avi sucks. no it doesn’t. it’s of lower quality than usual, but it will make them like the next good one even more. none of it makes anyone do anything! leads them to? i don’t know. i leave crumb trails. i follow crumb trails.
you realize we now crank out the daily equivalent of papers you took weeks to write in college. we didn’t take weeks to write them, we thought about them the entire time and wrote them in the last 24 hours before they were due. i’m going to have to bike before i get instructions. yes. that will probably be ok. don’t discount your ability to help. why, everyone else does? look, it’s a small world, and all of the relevant parties have made it clear that they will not give up a chunk of their capitalist share to support even the creation of this whole. do they realize that they have? do they realize anything closely related to how much power and decision-making ability they actually have in real-life relative to what “their” fucking idiot box tells them they have? stop wording those rhetorical questions so cruelly. stop being so cruel to people who propose seemingly radical ideas. they’re not that radical at all. once you scale up, it makes sense. it has to make sense on the smallest scales, too. perhaps your marketing plan should target the 4-year-olds (4:44 PM). perhaps. if they could explain it, parents would surely understand. well, the parents who encourage the communication with the imaginaries, anyway. are there any of those? you’d be surprised. every shattered soul has protected their offspring of the type of their parents, yet simultaneously trained them in their methods. we are becoming a species of infinite immediate reactions. what you thought before this very moment has zero bearing on the facts as you see them at this moment and what you do at this very moment. fuck consistency. consistency is doing that which makes most sense at any given time, and to impose the ideas of the past in the name of “consistency” is an outright lie. flip flopper. flips and flops are appropriate in a given context. if you don’t adjust your conception of reality to what you see with your very eyes, your approach is not very scientific, not faithful in the strength and wisdom of the creator.
this magnet is increasing in intensity, and whizzing past empty shells at increasing circular velocity. you say it like you’re running circles around them. it’s the only way to get them to rotate far enough to see all 360 degrees. each of these massive flyweights need only be turned once by me/us, and then it will continue of its own animal magnetism and re-orientation to this beautiful spaceship of spaceships.