dream journal entry:
Monday, September 12, 2011 12:17 pm
Moving back into a building at Yale. Had difficulty finding the room. Then, the box I had slept on the first night was gone, along with the rest of my stuff. I tried to explain this to someone, he said, “so it was just a pervert thing then?” Flustered, I said, “I don’t know who it was, but it’s gone.”
I wandered around, forgetting even what room number it was. I heard someone working on their computer in room 17 (best guess). I said, “this isn’t my room, is it?” and a really attractive girl said, “no, you need it like once a week.” huh? I kept exploring. One door led to the far end of Commons, the huge dining hall. I glanced in. It was dark. I continued wardering. Aimless, but content, and completely alone.
that’s the first dream I’ve remembered since 4/23/2010.
i asked him if he was leaving. he said he had an appointment ½ hour away. i said, “I assume you’re not taking your trailer full of files to your appointment.” only then did he say, yeah, i’m leaving from there. he always does this. as little information as he can tell, delivered as slowly as possible. I get to mow the lawn again.
bike parts are here. that’s good news. we’ll be back on the road bike by later this afternoon. replacing a brake cable shouldn’t take that long.
“oh, i shoulda said double-edged pen.” –me, just now (2:51 pm)
“find a point that rests a couple of feet above your head, try to see if i can find a way to help you reach it.” – slug. ß that link has lyrics. this has better sound. that kid grew up to be a regional godfather. the gods of word will never be blessed by that machine. constant evolution is life. i got nothin’ but love for ya. (all)
i almost edited a tweet in fear of hurting a fellow human’s feelings. but then i caught myself and hit tweet. pure artesian love pulls no punches, even if it occasionally spastically smacks those it loves like brothers. it’s what happens in a pit, yo.
i have more to say on this, probably. but i have to get out in this beautiful air on my beautiful bike propelled (and fixed) by my beautiful body. did i say most? comparisons are unnecessary. also, it is only through understanding the extent of your competitiveness that you will allow yourself to not be. who writes any of it? got me.
logs off (3:16 pm)
hey (8:41 pm) watching bashar.
the mattress is on the floor. i have a more direct connection to the house and therefore, to mother earth. oum. OM. umm…
when all the food systems of the world are poisoned, philosophically and actually, skinniness is a pretty good gauge of physical attractiveness. ‘course, physical attractiveness only goes so far.
a gaggle of honkers just flew overhead, which started the neighbors’ daily loud-talking-out-of-doors session. my family does that, too. why do we not all have free open source self-powered data communication devices already? oh right, profit.
pretty girl, why am i not getting baked with you? and, ya know, fucking your lovely little body every way you want.
no days off, son. too much to learn. they’re not terrified. their kids will catch them. look, heart liquefaction/liquefication leads to invincibility. i will help you reassemble it. i told you what i thought about that thing you did. i hold no grudges. hell, i wouldn’t even remember my own life if it weren’t for this log. this is why y’all are private about all this stuff, huh. why are you so embarrassed for? what good does that do anyone? zero good, it just makes you non-responsive. respond. would you like to go somewhere? yes, i need more coffee, and then i should probably take a shower.
went on tumblr this morning. oh, that. how can i help? back soon (11:11 AM)
12:29 pm. I can’t even believe how fucking shitty YouTube’s playlist editing/sorting feature has gotten. holy fuck, big evil. you are worthless than nothing. anti-googleplex. dark matter fucking piece of shit for profit. fuck you and all your fannerds.
new bio time (mis-pronounced “noob oh” thyme)
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8:47 pm. bread will be done in ~2 hours, 55 minutes. I finished making the stew, then went for a bike ride, then came home to the smell of freshly made dinner, and decided to make some more yummy smells. After eating, jarring up this week’s stew, and eating some more, I cleaned my bread machine well and made some bread. Unlike the last loaf, I put the correct number of ounces of water into this one. I probably made it worse by adding another cup of flour (i thought i had forgotten one. derp), but it gave me an excuse to shine up the guts of my loyal little machine. if there are food particles stuck to the surface that heats up, that’s not good. it’s much happier now. that’s a good little bread bot. i should make a bread video, huh. holy yum, fresh bread is good. half whole wheat, half all purpose flour. it’s what we had here. i add to my carbon footprint to drive a half-hour to buy organic flour and beans and rice because there are no local producers of those things that i can afford. brokie mcBrokester, there’s nothing you can afford. touché.
you stubbornly cling to your pathetic little scripted impossibility “view” of science. if you believe in science, when one “branch” of science “proves” something, not liking the truth and not acknowledging its existence are two very different things. your silence will not save you. once these technologies are known, to not implement them is negligent, criminal, a war-like act. this war has been waged far too long. let us end it.
i have had a recurring idea, which i was going to log today. it continues to escape me. ooh. i got it. check this shit out:
it decided to completely bypass the whole “foodie” shenanigans. it started going after the upper-crust dog food market, with free complimentary dog walking service, delivery, and dog socialization so you can bring your well-behaved dog around other dogs at public events. hey, dogs are people, too. we’ll get to the kitties.
cut to the end. basically, it developed an infrastructure to make canned stews, which it called “dog food” but were actually perfectly cooked and canned meals for human or animal consumption. no refrigeration is required. a variety of input ingredients can go into them. meats, cheeses, and all manner of plants. you’d be surprised how close the dogs’ taste is to ours. regardless, turns out it was easier to sell people on “dog” food than it was to convince them that they themselves should eat healthfully. fucking self-loathing tv addicted hate-mongers. how dramatic. are we gonna find us a 3D application or designer tonight? yeah, eventually. start a new paragraph, will ya. what? i can’t heckle my own blog? how fast can all of you think, together? i’m like four times faster than that. four? yuh. yuh? like plo, i don’t surrendo.
oh yeah. that was another thought we had. so, in “western” heh “society”, see also “progress” and “health”, you are either Christian or jewish. yuh huh. if you want to not get bombed, you are. ok, fine, a squadron of elite forces overthrows your otherwise peaceful system, which ironically stood for so long because it was a non-competitive system, that mysterious thing which can’t possibly exist because it has to be one thing or one other. your fucking religions are as stupid as your science. get me the fuck off this dumbass rock.
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i’m sleepy. g’night. (1:54 am, Wednesday, September 14, 2011)
10:40 am. feeling disconnected. I had another dream last night, but didn’t remember.
i got listed as someone’s grandson on fb, so i logged on: thanks, fb!
i never stop pushing. i can’t. i won’t. quit pushing back. you’ve been running me backwards towards the cliff, and since i know i’m allowed to more forward, i must push. with all my might, with all my heart, with all my soul. be gone, foul demons. humanity has got this. let us repair this planet for all of us.
John Dillinger, a farm boy, escaped from jail once brandishing a wooden pistol he had whittled from a broken washtub slat. He blackened it with shoe polish! He was so entertaining. While on the run, robbing banks and vanishing into the boondocks, Dillinger wrote Henry Ford a fan letter. He thanked the old anti-Semite for making such fast and agile getaway cars!
It was possible to get away from the police back then if you were a better driver with a better car. Talk about fair play! Talk about what we say we want for everyone in America: a level playing field! And Dillinger robbed only the rich and strong, banks with armed guards, and in person.
Dillinger wasn’t a simpering, sly swindler. He was an athlete.
there’s a guy on the internet who’s wrapping a “rodin” coil, a modified toroid wrapped in basket-weaven wire. i’m highly impressed with the project. nice work, dude.
update has my computer crawling. that, and it’s severely underpowered for the likes of modern ad-driven media. whoa. keeping bugs out of here is a full time job, and i know i suck at it. know how i know? i suck at most everything, ‘cuz most everything sucks at me. “Obliterate the following items from the beginning of time” – Iron/Chrome yup.
so, yeah, we’re not posting yet. i don’t know where the pacing comes from, but it’s surely written by a crazy man or a genius. heh. nope, a retarded pothead drunk what calls itself dictator of LazyAssWasteoid, a word. a stupid, camel-case, made-up word. at that. puh! what? life will chew you up and spit you out. just run circles around it, skipping happily. from the strobe-like perspective of bystanders, you will appear to be going any variety of paces, verified only by what the viewer wants to see. has to see. you can only see back reflections of the same frequency as your own meatbot is capable of sending out in the first place. eh? seriously. photons fire from the optic nerve, and the sensor is in the same place. but with a satellite dish shape and beautiful automatic iris. you are a space-aged video camera, a stereo pair.
movie idea: underground group of scientists decide to robotically dismember themselves to form a huge super-human that they controlled from a set of brain vats, which reside in the heavily nano-armored head area of said bio-robotic beast. it’s like one of those transformer things that flies and goes fast on the ground and in water, but propelled by the very organs of the scientists. yup. they script into a computer actions like feeding, so it occasionally gets distracted at inopportune (and often, quite hilarious) times, ways, and situations. yeah, wait until you see what the pleasure induction hid of the thing. freak? what name? abomination? we’ll have to think about that.
but hey, we’re losing sunlight, and need a bike. only like always. probably going to need beer to get through another night of self-inflicted solitude. the line needed to be drawn.
i rode my bike around for a bit, made a small grilled cheese sandwich and bowl of bean/corn/rice stuff, and got another case of beer. a woman said hello behind me, but i don’t think she was talking to me. then, i was washing my windows when she came out of the gas station. i smiled at her briefly both times. she didn’t say anything. i don’t make it easy, because i am not easy. unless i am. which is most of the time. look, i don’t make these rules, i only follow them. or observe. I don’t know what determines whether i’m attracted to someone. well, yeah i do. if they’re physically capable and interested, then it’s a matter of speech. don’t start hating on me or my friends (read: all races, cultures, weirdness, and nature), and don’t force me to sit around in silence while you talk to someone about something i don’t care about. see. it’s not nearly as easy as it looks, but it’s a whole lot easier. if i have sex with you, we’re permanently attached. you can talk to me whenever you want, and i will respond. i will also want to have sex with you again, so be aware of that. it’s likely anyway. also, if you’re already attached to someone else, you best not let me get too attached to you before you let me know. that shit’s downright manipulative and mean. lying by omission is lying. now it’s a matter of being in the same place at the same time. all my thoughts are public knowledge. i would so much rather be fucking your brains out than typing this. if you can’t tell, i’m immobilized by my (former?) family, friends, co-workers, and acquaintances, primarily, i think, because i occasionally wear women’s clothes. when i wear boy clothes, they go into stupid smiley mode and treat me like most humans. my legs are fucking beautiful. you have to see them.
so, this is my blog. i’ve never liked the word blog. it’s a shortening of web log, which could have been electronic log or any other number of things, but no, it’s a blog. i often refer to it as my bLAWg, being that i am the sole proprietor of LazyAssWasteoid In.dous.trees, the global think tank of good happy success. we mainly ride the bicycle named dirt around in various squarely shaped pathways corresponding to the high-speed automobile-transport paths of blacktop, cement, gravel, sand, and dirt. We pick up or whatever shines in our eye. today, we got an 8mm deep socket, which is exactly the same size as the nut on our bike’s brakes whose cable snapped right across the road from where we found it (the socket). it was resting on a crack in the blacktop, as if placed there, pointing to the spot where my applied hand-brake pressure had broken the end off of the cable. i reversed direction there, to follow a short branch of the race path and a beautiful road that turns to gravel for a bit. it was cold and getting dark, and i saw two dogs and a moss-covered hill while i rode past the sound of wind chimes ringing out from the breeze off of the lake. then i caught blueberry road and J back into town. i found a pipe clamp on blueberry, also. directly across from it was a golden Cadillac, looking right at me. i also picked up two cigarette boxes (they’re all over the sides of roads. smokers, soda drinkers, and fast-food people are litterbugs), because i want to get the measurements to do wood inserts for them. all i think about are health-delivery infrastructures. since these don’t actually exist anywhere in real life, everyone thinks i’m crazy for thinking about that. or so they say. part of me knows they don’t really think that, but since nobody else will “endorse” any of my “ideas,” i continue to blog. it doesn’t make any sense to me, either.
9:31 pm. back from a hard crash. lost a paragraph. few sentences, perhaps. maybe it was a half a page. it doesn’t really matter. dude named jeff from Wasteoid died. he was in manslaughterer, too. their fb page posted a link to a show on 89.3 kzum ofLincoln,NE. it’s very good. grindyy powerviolence. uh, uh. RIP, brother.
an old poker buddy (they just liked taking my money. i have no delusions of actual friendship, don’t worry) told me i should put this song i did up on youtube. i totally douchified your song, didn’t i. fuck. sorry about that. my dad used to call this the reverse midas touch. that’s where everything you touch turns to shit. it’s a family disease. yeah, that’s about as happy as most of what i hear around family. i don’t know. you hear fucked up shit, you kinda get desensitized to it. you’re really not gonna let me eat because of that? Fuck. that.
the aspects of my personality that relate to jobs are not good people. they’re not good people in any of us, yo. why do they hit me so hard? what do you think being “a sensitive” means? for you and those like you, not only is none of this a surprise, it’s a welcome shift in perception of everyone else.
yo, it’s 12:51 pm on Thursday, September 15, 2011. I’m coming down off of a coffee addiction, and a hangover. i turned the furnace up to 69 degrees because it was 65 in here.
this is great. i commercial for a bunch of shit getting smashed. so, being a “woman” means destroying the material things. hey, she’s genderalizing. I am only pointing it out. “see, that’s why i don’t get in the water. I look fine from the side-line.” Trina is beautiful. I love her voice, and she’s one of the meanest rappers i’ve ever heard. brutal. brutiful. Tweet is fine, too. This missy’s work, huh? If i knew eve, i’d ask for help with all my videos, too. so i was thinking about law school, and a trip i took with NLG down toNew Orleans. I learned how to gut a house. like i didn’t already know how to gut a house. i have a bunch of pictures from that. you should post those. yeah. anyway, i was also thinking about the vagina monologues. i saw it inMadison, with nearly ever woman of color in attendance at the law school. I laughed, a lot. during the show. a friend, (i tend to over-“friend” my irl acquaintances. sue me) told me after the show that i had laughed in all the right places. she seemed quite sincere. i kept tagging along with the group for a while, but eventually, either they didn’t want me around any more, or i didn’t want to be there. yeah, i probably over-stayed my welcome. i had a fantastic night, though. the retarded bumb hanging out with a flock of goddesses. I was gonna say, you have no idea how many of you i fell in love with that night, but you each probably had a pretty good idea. i’m learning not to apologize for that. i can’t help it, why the fuck should i feel bad about it? so i don’t. i really miss being around people of color. white people are terrified little rats. i know this because i am one, according to the reflective layer. if you could see the whole, you’d wonder about that whole “race” thing, too.
so, yuh, the tall white man is “claiming” to be a disfigured, transsexual, dark-skinned, short person? no. it merely reflects the all, is as controlled and safe an environment as it knows how. i’ve owned every room i’ve ever stepped into. in many of them, nobody else is even there. out of doors, i spend most of my time at the tree canopy, of playing in the clouds. tweet.
a general contractor i went to high school with, a good friend from high school, may have work for me. roofing. construction. good work. it depends on me. i would like to be able to legally rent or purchase (ha.) property upon which to live. no job manipulating anything other than letters will get you that. oh, you’re so sure? i have no idea what’s going to happen. my wishes are already codified. i do help them along as much as i am able. i didn’t get a callback even, for any of those jobs. this is why i don’t apply. now i won’t be able to consider that kind of thing for like 10 years. that’s how packrats work, with hurt feelings and whatnot. they cling to those, too. it’s the last memory i have since <slap> hey, there’s stuff to be doing in the real world.
we gotta go mow a lawn, then go burn some dinosaurs to buy some food. this post has now expanded beyond any sensible length, past any coherent structure of narrative. no it hasn’t. shut up, you haven’t even read it. what’sa fourth wall? and why the hell does wordpress remove spaces around proper names. assholes. you’re fucking up my system, man! dude, your system is fucking up everything else. oh. good.
be well, wordahaulicks.
i love you,