...but which is whom?

Crazy for you - here's the scan to prove it: "Many neuroscientists warn that brain imaging technology cannot read people's minds and that something as complicated as love transcends simple computer graphics."

Writing in The Journal of Neurophysiology, the scientists from New York and New Jersey said romance was closer in its neural profile to drives such as hunger, thirst or drug craving than to excitement or affection.

However, as a relationship deepens, the neural activity alters slightly, and in some cases primes those areas involved in long-term attachment.

The research helps explain why love can make someone feel euphoria one minute then anger and anxiety the next, or prompt out-of-character behaviour, such as compulsive phone calling, serenades and yelling from the roof.

It also helps explain why someone can contemplate stalking, murder or suicide when they are rejected by their lover.

See also: my previous thoughts (if not posts -- too lazy to see if I wrote all this down online or off) on addiction to the new parts of relationships.

Although this does present me with two interesting thoughts. Yes, simultaneously. One in the left hemisphere, one in the right, if yo umust know...

one: I wonder if it might prove that people who carry out actions like suicide, stalking, etc., might be more prone to addictions like drinking, smoking, etc...

two: fuck. I went off in search of more information and forgot what thought two was. So create your own, think it, ponder it, dwell on it for a while.

Then read more here.

Everyone should do a thorough cleaning of their PC every six months or so.

It's been two years for me. I know... shame, shame, no biscuit.

But two years is over. All done. Reformatted, reinstalled, stripped down to the core again.

My computer is happy and faster already.

Now, if I could just reformat my brain to rid myself of the memory of five minutes of KEPT. Jerry Hall looking for a boytoy.

I take back everything I ever said about wanting a sugarmama. No more. Nope.

Ick.

Ah, Kurtz...

The Force is a Tool of Satan - Episode III ALERT!: "In this “Final Episode” of the Star Wars, EVIL triumphs using the Force - a greater force they claim than God! This is a Dangerous LIE! This is no mindless entertainment, but an attempt by DEMONS to distract you from your real 75 year mission on planet Earth, to give yourself to Jesus! Do not trust a Yodah puppet from Satan’s dream factory, trust in the Word of the Bible!"

Visible Human Browser

...still, I'd like to suggest, as a starting point of civility, a few pointers for participants in the O.S. war. Consider it one man's version of, "Can't we all just get along?"

1. Hate something for its failings, not for its success.
It's totally fine to criticize something because of its flaws--to hate Windows because it's bloated and cryptic, for example, or the iPod because it's too easily scratched.
But condemning something just because it's the dominant product is just sour grapes. Arguments along the lines of "I hate Bill Gates because he's rich" or "I hate the iPod because everyone has one" add nothing to the dialogue.

2. No condemning something until you've tried it.
If everyone abided by this idea, about 95 percent of all the Windows- Macintosh diatribes would evaporate overnight.
But here it is: If you haven't tried something, then you really have no basis to comment.

3. Execution matters.
I'm so tired of reading discussions like this:
Person A: "I love Mac OS X Tiger! That Spotlight thing is so cool:
press a keystroke, type a few letters, and get an instantaneous listing every file, folder and program containing that text."

Person B: "You pathetic loser! It's called hard-drive indexing, and Windows XP has had it from Day One."
Of course, the truth is that Windows Indexing Service is to Spotlight as Thomas the Tank Engine is to a bullet train. In Indexing Service, you can't search with a single keystroke, the speed is nothing like Spotlight's, you can't search for metadata (115 kinds of secondary information, like music genre, Photoshop layer names, camera settings in digital photos, etc.), the index isn't updated in real time as you create or delete documents, and so on.

It goes the other way, too. "I love how Windows XP lets me delete or rename files right in the Open or Save dialog boxes."

"What's the big deal? On the Mac, we just switch to the desktop and delete or rename things there."

Sorry, but that's just not as good as being able to do it within the dialog boxes.

The bottom line: How well something works and how elegantly it's been built is also relevant to the "which is better" discussion.

4. Don't make grandiose purchasing plans by guessing on technology's future.

This pointer is directed exclusively at Mac-bashers, particularly the ones on the nation's boards of education.
If you decide to standardize on Windows across all schools, fine. But make sure you have legitimate reasons like economics or the need to run some Windows-only software suite.

"We want the kids to learn what they'll one day use in the business world," however, is NOT a good reason. If you think you know what anyone will be using in 2020 (when today's first graders will graduate from college), you must have a heck of a magical crystal ball.

Truth is, by 2020, no operating system will look anything like it does today. By 2020, we may well be using holography or tablets or glorified cellphones instead of computers. Claiming to know what company's operating system today's kids will be using when they graduate college, or how that software will work, is nonsense.

5. Consider that they may have a point.
Neither side's members should be allowed to cover their ears and sing "Blah blah blah!" at the top of their lungs when they hear an argument that could rock their worldview. As long as the points are factual, fair and substantive, you should consider them.

Remember: Apple and Microsoft routinely play O.S. leapfrog and regularly adopt each other's feature ideas; eventually, aficionados in both camps will enjoy similar enhancements to the computing experience. As we carry on the never-ending debate, try to generate more light and less heat. Only then can we discover what aspects of system software are truly valuable, and thereby usher them into existence for everyone to enjoy.

[more here]

This is our last goodbye
I hate to feel the love between us die
But it's over
Just hear this and then I'll go :
you gave me more to live for,
more than you'll ever know.

This is our last embrace,
must I dream and always see your face
Why can't we overcome this wall
Baby, maybe it is just because I didn't know you at all.

Kiss me, please,
Kiss me
But kiss me out of desire, babe, and not consolation
You know,
it makes me so angry 'cause I know that in time
I'll only make you cry, this is our last goodbye.

Did you say "no, this can't happen to me,"
and did you rush to the phone to call?
Was there a voice unkind in the back of your mind saying,
"maybe... you didn't know him at all."

Well, the bells out in the church tower chime
Burning clues into this heart of mine
Thinking so hard on her soft eyes and the memory
Of her sighs that, "it's over... it's over..."

(Jeff Buckley, LAST GOODBYE)

A while back -- a long while back -- I was introduced to various bits of ambient music: Harold Budd, Brian Eno, etc. Daniel's doing.

Over the years, I've found bits and pieces here and there. Some Daniel Lanois, some random pieces from soundtracks. But the stuff that I really fall into is non-commercially viable. Not nearly enough people drive around at sunset and turn their stereos up to illegal volumes with wandering indie-film noodling in the CD player.

Go find either disc by Aurore Rien -- TELESTHESIA or SEDATIVE FRO THE CELESTIAL BLUE. Follow with a healthy dose of Mono's WALKING CLOUDS AND DEEP RED SKY, FLAG FLUTTERED AND THE SUN SHINED. Cap it off with TELEGRAPHS IN NEGATIVE - MOUTHS TRAPPED IN STATIC by Set Fire To Flames.

Enhance with a lovely 20 mg (adjust to taste) of your favorite pain killer.

If you haven't imagined twenty perfect short films about nothing by the time you're through, there's no place for you on the festival circuit.

-

I think the best kind of history is that which is closed off to you. No going back. No fixing your wrongs. Point of no return. Death.

It's certainly not the easiest history to deal with, to accept. It hurts like hell if it's worth anything. You would give anything and everything to change things back to the way they were, to the way they could have been, to the way things should be.

But you can't, and so you're forced to learn. Two options: figure it out and don't take that path again, should you be so lucky ever to have that option; or relive the pain, over and over.

Roll that rock, Sisyphus.

-

If the joys of the world don't inspire you to move forward and reach out with everything you possess to gain what you desire, then you have no business ever having anything at all.

The only option for those who refuse to live is death -- and what a waste is that?

Sometimes divining purpose and meaning is purpose and meaning enough, n'est ce pas?

Thirty - Eight Ways to Win an Argument, by Schopenhauer: "36: You may also puzzle and bewilder your opponent by mere bombast.
If your opponent is weak or does not wish to appear as if he has no idea what your are talking about, you can easily impose upon him some argument that sounds very deep or learned, or that sounds indisputable."

How to Save the World: "So how can we learn to broaden our thinking, to think differently? This is not just a matter of critical thinking, creative thinking, 'outside the box' thinking. It is about opening up our minds to the world and all its possibilities. This is one of the essences of the Four Practices of Open Space, (opening, inviting, making room, acting/realizing). But it is not at all easy. Our brain structures are actually formed as we grow, to reflect and accommodate the analytical and 'one right answer' thinking that constitutes most of what we are taught when we are young. Broadening our thinking therefore requires us to consciously will ourselves to think about things, and think in ways, that we are not comfortable or familiar with. It is counter-cultural, more of an unlearning than a learning process. It is kind of like the agony that runners who do not regularly do 'loosening up' exercises must go through to stretch the muscles that have tightened (shortened, atrophied) in response to the running routine."

http://www.legrady.hu/sc.html

Screen Cleaner. Go and be horrified.

That means you, Wade.

And the world may be long for you, but he'll
never belong to you. But on a motorbike, when
all the city lights blind your eyes tonight, are you
feeling better now?

-The Decemberists, Grace Cathedral Hill

And so the question today is whether the fact that you have to accept some things as being true means that you have to be okay with them.

And I think the answer, the natural real truth, is that you don't.

Wired News: "Because his Jango Fett outfit is no fun to sit in, Michael Koenig won't wear it to the May 19 Revenge of the Sith premiere. And then there are the social concerns: 'I don't like going out in my costume alone,' said Koenig, who is a member of the 501st Legion. 'I feel like a nerd.'"

Why do people get drunk when they feel down?

Why do people get drunk when they get lonely?

Me, getting drunk just makes those two things worse, amplified.

Sleep. And then extraction. Whee.

1300 or so words into it.

45,000 - 150,000 defines the novel.

The final tally will be what it will be.

This is how things start to unfold: exactly as they should.

Another dream, and you're there, along with Jamaica Pete. A street festival, some small town in the South, but here the fire-and-brimstone preachers dance through the streets with ladies of the evening, string ties and glasses and fishnet hose doing some sort of offshoot of the Can Can to the tune of Camptown Races on banjo and splintered guitar. Men and women and children line the streets in a pulsating mass, screaming and smiling, excited but not pushing dangerously.

Yet.

You sense it, though, the adrenaline rush that starts riots. It's strongest in the eyes of the young, but those flames dance madly in the eyes of every person here.

"'Ey, mon," and you can't help but roll your eyes and grin at the white man with dreadlocks and a filthy daishiki. "'Ey, look - sometings comin." Gary Oldman was much more convincing.

But you follow his skeletal finger, trace the path from a yellowed and chipped fingernail through the ballroom ministers and their Babylon whores, past the clowns with their running colors and beyond the all-Negro marching band, almost to the horizon, and you see it.

You see her.

The distance is playing tricks, tendrils of fog coming up off the dirt road the parade travels. There's a silence pushing through the bluegrass ragtime banjo and horns, like a Klieg light shining through a pinhole. Her blond hair blows in a wind that exists only for her. Her eyes, green as absinthe, and the rest of the world around her starts to desaturate, leaving the dreamworld of Oz.

There's only enough color in the world for her. Only enough music for her. Only enough air for her.

Only enough you.

You're suddenly and violently aware that you're about to be trampled under foot by the oncoming parade, squashed like a grape by redneck clowns and dancing Baptists, and you grab for Jamaica Pete to head for higher ground. Pete shrugs, pencil arms amazingly strong, and you suddenly realize that, just like him, the crowd has stopped, the hookers have stopped, the band has stopped. No one moves, not an inch, good ol' Walt Disney would be amazed and jealous at the suspended animation. Everyone in the world, everyone in this world, locked and trapped in her beauty.

Like flies in amber. Like dinosaurs in tar.

And she's right on top of you, fifteen yeards, then ten, then five. And she never stops smiling, never stops looking directly at you, until she's nose-to-nose with you. Her skin smells like vanilla, her breath like fresh strawberries, her hair like lavender. Her dress, silk and translucent red, brushes against you in her breeze, caressing your arm. You open your mouth to say something, say anything, but her finger, gently as a lover, presses against your lips, the heat of a million stars just at the edge of your tongue.

"Shh." One syllable, a thousand seconds of aural bliss. And you hear her voice, echoing and distorting and whispering and shifting phase, singing to you an eternity of chords in undiscovered tones, her lips never moving, never twitching, never breaking that beautiful smile that captures and immobilizes. The happiness on her lips is multiplied in her eyes, and you feel yourself drowning in a sticky hallucination that burns your throat and blurs your world.

"We all unfold as we should."

And then you are awake, back in your quarantined hotel room, condemned walls barely covering condemned wiring and condemned pipes, you on a mattress that puts fire hazards to shame. Your left arm heavy and tingling, pinned beneath your head, your shoulder pinching the sensation away from it's inferiors.

"Welcome back, mon."

Does that bastard bathe in Patchouli or something?

Stendhal syndrome or Stendhal's syndrome is a psychosomatic illness that causes rapid heartbeat, dizziness, confusion and even hallucinations when the individual is exposed to an overdose of beautiful art, paintings and artistic masterpieces.

I read about it in DIARY this weekend -- yet another brilliant work from Chuck Palahniuk, the author so nice you try to spell his name twice. It sticks with you.

The syndrome, not the name. That totally escapes me.

"Still, this is different than the usual glee felt when, say, Tara Reid's boob flops out of her dress or when Lindsay Lohan goes on some ridiculous slutbag spree. There's a special joy in watching the reaper scythe of fate swoop down on the talentless and sleazy. With Dave Chappelle, it's different. Not only is he uniquely talented, he's also honest about his failings. And it's impossible now not to assume that his parodic portrayals of mentally disturbed loners are so dead accurate because he obviously knows the subject all too well."

[more]

Howstuffworks "How Lightsabers Work": "Chances are that you have seen a lightsaber at one time or another, whether on the evening news or down at the local cantina. Therefore you know that a lightsaber is an amazing and versatile device that is able to cut through nearly anything in a matter of milliseconds.

Have you ever wondered how these remarkable weapons work? Where does the energy come from, and how are they able to contain that energy in a rod-like column of glowing power?"

Internet Explorer share slips below 90 percent - May 13, 2005: "Microsoft Corp.'s share of the U.S. browser market has slipped below 90 percent as the Firefox browser continues to grow in popularity, according to independent tracking by WebSideStory."

Whales 'led astray by magnetism': "Increased solar activity causing disturbances in the Earth's magnetic field may cause whales to run aground in the North Sea, say researchers."

Trying to understand the system of Life
Trying to understand myself
I created the world to be an image of myself, of my mind

All of these thoughts, all of these doubts and hopes
Inside
I took out to form a new breed
A new way to be
And now I am many, so many

So much larger than ever I were
Yet, at the same time
So much smaller and more vulnarable

They all carry shards of the whole
Together they become me
I see them interact, develop
I see them take different sides
As were they different minds
Believers of different ways, and different gods

I think they will teach me something

Richard Bach, eat your heart out. Gildenlow sets it all to music, beeyatch!

No deeper meaning -- just gorgeous vocal harmonies and a very simple and beautiful instrumentation. One of the best songs I've heard in a long, long time, in the category of "pop".

Sorry (Jenna's Song)

Didn’t say you were the last
I didn’t say I was the best
And when I watched you go
I sucked up my chest
Feel as though I owe
Owe you something more
But I can’t snuff the glow
Which you left in my core

You go put on your coat and turn and walk away
Yes this is the sight that haunts me everyday
I’ll make up my face I’ll mask it even more
I’ll even keep composed when you walk through the door

I feel sorry
Feel quite upset about it all
I feel helpless
Hopeless to think
This is my fault.
Is this my fault?
This is not my fault.
This is all my fault.

So here I sit meanwhile
Sit and sort it out
What am I doing here?
What’s this all about?
Something spurs me on
To look for something more
But it seems I’ve lost my breath
My body’s feeling sore

Are you sorry?
Do you feel upset about it all?
I felt helpless
Hopelessness held me in its palm.
Is this my fault?
This is all my fault.
This is not my fault.

© ASCAP 2000: Lyrics and Music by Mike Christensen / Passenger

A little Living Colour for you, late at night and into the morning hours...

I find myself at a loss for words.

Is honesty too much to ask, especially when honesty may be what we're given?

How can the skeptical know when to stop asking questions and simply accept that the answer is what it is? How can we ever really know that the answer is being given?

In another world, in another life, things are so much simpler. And sometimes, in my weaker moments, I crave that other world, where ignorance is bliss, and I am blissful.

Right now, I go to dream of bliss.

BBC NEWS | Europe | Impotent husband must pay damages: "An Italian man who married without telling his bride he was impotent must pay damages for abusing her 'right to sexuality', a top court has ruled."

Anyone else still think that premarital sex is totally without merit?

BBC NEWS | Science/Nature | US robot builds copies of itself: "US researchers have devised a simple robot that can make copies of itself from spare parts."

So. Freaking. Kewl.

T-800, here we come!

UPDATE:

OHMYGAWDTHISISTOOFUCKINGCOOL!

BBC NEWS Rare Spain lynx cub dies in fight: "One of three lynx cubs born in captivity in Spain in March has died after a fight with one of its siblings."

Any time I'm reading an article like this, I'm reminded of LIFE OF PI. And if you're not reminded of the same, then you need to go read the book, too. Look, I've even included a helpful Amazon.com link - you have no excuse.

Maybe it's time to stop swimming
Maybe it's time to find out where I'm at
What I should do, where I should be
No one will give me a map...

BBC NEWS | Personal stereo 'deafness fears': "Listening to personal stereos at high volumes could lead to hearing problems, a leading health specialist has warned."

Cause we didn't hear this tweny five years ago...

Passed on to me by someone who shall remain unnamed. Because I want all the attention of scary government agents, all to myself:

Three Texas surgeons were playing golf together and discussing surgeries they had performed. One of them said, "I'm the best surgeon in Texas. A concert pianist lost 7 fingers in an accident. I reattached them, and 8 months later he perfomed a private concert for the Queen of England." One of the others said, "That's nothing. A young man lost both arms and legs in an accident. I reattached them, and 2 years later he won a gold medal in field events at the olympics."

The third surgeon said, "You guys are amateurs. Several years ago, a cowboy, who was high on cocaine and alcohol, rode a horse head-on into a train traveling 80 miles an hour. All I had left to work with was the horse's ass and a cowboy hat. Now, he's President of the United States."

I always want to take off running when I make eye contact with approaching policemen. The goal, of course, is to run for the nearest building -- public, private, whatever. Then, when approached (under extreme suspicion, presumably) by the police from whom you just fled, you calmly explain that, while in college, you were given a post-hypnotic suggestion that eye contact with authority figures gives you intense and brutal diarrhea.

I wonder if that would fly ,and how long it would take your friends to completely desert you?

I feel like there was a bitchin' rave in my abdomen last night while I slept, and my head was used as a parking deck.

I now officially have so many projects started and pending approval from various departments that I can't remember what's where anymore. Even with the help of a Texas-sized whiteboard.

Fuck.

And that's just at work...

Started actually producing some new work last night. I've got the foundation, musically, for a new song; now, once I figure out how to get my computer to record (read: get a new computer so my $200 sound card will work properly), I can build that up and begin playing with arrangements. Lyrics are off to a start, as well, but these feel different -- unlike the usual arrangement I have with my muse, these didn't come to me in a flash. I have a few lines, one half of a verse (maybe a bridge), and that's where I'm stuck. Here, I'll share:

Empathic? Empathetic? Turns out it's all the same on Friday night
But what if all the feelings that I'm reading pass like shadows in the light?

Been listening to a lot of the Decemberists the past few days, so that's already affecting the content -- and is probably a good explanation for the slow pace.

And I've put more thought into the overall multimedia ... thing ... that I've been considering. Who knows what will end up happening with that? I'm worried that it will either fall by the wayside out of necessity -- I suddenly find myself with other ideas, for songs and a novel -- or that the other ideas will be forced aside in order to work on the epic ... thing ...

Unfortunately, the ... thing ... and the other ideas are not compatible. I would simply absorb the ideas if that were the case.

Back to feeling nauseous. With power, even.

The Hacker's Diet

Read it and vomit.

(That's another good way to keep the pounds off, by the way)

What separates man from animal?

· Emotion: Nope. Dogs display it (perhaps not the same as humans, but nonetheless, it's there), as well as empathy, which is tied to emotion.

Thought for another time: empathy = sense?

· Creativity: This requires a little more division. I think that survival of species would require some form of creativity in the form of adaptation. You can apply this term to a new solution to a problem. So again, no. However...

· Fiction: Do animals possess the capacity for fiction -- both creation of and the differentiation from reality? This would seem to apply to the ability to lie, as well (and perhaps even the need to lie). Do animals have need or capacity for entertainment that doesn't serve a greater purpose in their survival? Sure, domesiticated animals might "play" -- but watching my cats "play" (and I use the term VERY loosely the second time around, since it verges on domestic terrorism) looks a lot to me like preparing for defense. Call it a survival instinct.

AH!

· INSTINCT: This one goes in all caps. Not that there's a possession of instinct by on and not the other; obviously, instinct is necessary to survive. It's like a computer without a bootstrap -- instinct tells you to eat and breathe and swallow when you're too young to understand the necessity.

But animals are almost purely instinct driven. There's no over-analysis of a situation, no seeking a solution that will expend less energy. They go with their gut. We people don't do so well with that -- perhaps this is a Western thing, or maybe it's just an extension of civilization, but we seem to be bred away from instinct.

And some of us take that WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY too far. But that's another story.

· Concept of future: Related to instinct? Brought to a higher level on an intellectual basis? Animals obviously have some sort of inborn concept of future -- thus, the built-in urge to procreate and carry on the species / DNA line / whatever.

Everything about this point has just been erased by Blogger. Thanks, Easter Blogger. Bock Bock.

More later.

Also to consider: people without the distinctions, or people who lose those distinctions...

Influences are important, not just to creatives, but to everyone. You're a businessman? Donald Trump. A mathematician? Newton. A teacher, plumber, construction worker? Someone before you inspired you to be the best you can be or to just get by; shaped your way of thinking and approaching this bitch called life.

There are a lot of works that inspired me, individually. BE -- both the CD and the performance DVD -- by Pain of Salvation. L.A. STORY by Steve Martin. CHOKE by Chuck Pahlaniuk. King's DARK TOWER cycle. But artists in their fields that have inspired me, both through their works and their lives and thoughts -- very few. Count 'em on one hand, I can. Steve Vai. Devin Townsend. Both of them in music... In film, it's more moments or stories or unique performances, though Johnny Depp in recent years has started to have more and more of those.

But as authors go, there's but one write who seems to ceaselessly inspire me, both on a creative level as well as in life. If you need a good place to start, track down a copy of Available Light.

Warrenellis.com » Stories, Drinking And The World: "I sit down every day to tell myself a story. Usually full of either stimulants or depressants, playing some kind of soundtrack to the experience of writing, aware of my environment, sitting in my own little writer’s movie and telling myself a story. Anyone who tells you they write to an audience is either an idiot or a fake. You write for yourself. If the story doesn’t affect you in some way, it won’t affect anybody else. I don’t write for the trunk. I’m well aware that someone else is going to read this. But if I don’t respond in some honest, gut way to whatever I’m writing, you’ll never get to see it." [much more in link]

Wired News: Game, Set, Film: "As in the cult cooking show, teams were given a short list of must-have ingredients for their movies: a close-up of a street sign, the words 'spirit world' in conversation and someone stepping on something.

Teams then had a few short hours to channel adrenaline and cinema skills to write a script, scout locations, find music, shoot scenes and edit the piece into a 3 1/2-minute movie."

Having done this, I'm trying to imagine doing it in less than 48 hours. And it hurts.

Thanks, Bruce Sterling. You owe me a new brain.

You must see this full size -- click the link below. And ignoring the snapping in your frontal lobe. It only hurts for a second.

http://www.strangecosmos.com/images/content/11668.jpg

I would love to spend a year in Barrow, if only to experience the Midnight sun and the inverse. I've had many a dream about similar phenomena, and the feeling fascinates me.

And now I'll have to go home and watch Insomnia again.

Jesus Christ in legal battle to get license: "Described by his attorney as a white-haired businessman in his mid-50s, Christ is moving to West Virginia to enjoy a slower lifestyle. He bought property near Lost River, about 100 miles west of Washington, and has a U.S. passport, Social Security card and Washington driver's license bearing the name Jesus Christ."

Art is the answer to insanity.

Maybe I can't get all of this out of me in any way that will mean anything to anyone else. Not in straight words, at least.

But perhaps this is what all my life's experiences have been leading to. I've always wondered why I'm so many things instead of just one -- I'm a writer, a musician, a filmmaker. Not great at any, but good at all. And maybe it would have been nice to have been the best at one thing, but I'm not, and I can't chagne that now.

So maybe I start thinking across boundaries.

Maybe all of this -- thought -- comes out in media. Words, pictures, sounds. Motion, light, dynamics.

Something has to give.

Tackle a problem. Seek a truth. Try desperately to grasp patterns, to make sense of unconnected things. Use all your resources to channel what you've learned, gather knowledge, put the pieces together, form the greater picture.

And maybe you don't have what it takes. You've got it all there, finally, but can admit to yourself that you're too close, or too focused from a single perspective, or simply overwhelmed. Call in the troops. Assemble the wise and the trusted.

And then think for a moment how you will tell them what you know, how to present the puzzle pieces, how to verbalize what you think you've stumbled upon.

The world stops making sense, and words might as well be tinted chirpings of a wild bird. You can try all you want, but suddenly people are staring, pointing, eyebrows cocked and legs tensed to run away. And you know you're THIS CLOSE, and you realize that it doesn't really matter, and you just want it out of you, no matter how.

Maybe they're not so crazy after all.

It seems like it should be simple, to look. Just to look, to shift your eyes inside your head, aiming your gaze.

But then at some point the fear kicks in, an absolute gut-wrenching terror that comes from out of nowhere, no warning, no slow build that rises from your heart and courses through your arteries, following the path of the adrenaline swell. Your eyes come up from the ground and you think that maybe you've finally conquered it and you're almost there and your knees go limp your gut a knotted mass of flesh and blood and bile your brain screaming and pulsing...

As a child, you stared at the sun, directly into the blazing inferno, only for a second but long enough to make out the body beneath the corona. Blue spots for weeks and even now you are haunted by the dreams of a world ablaze, your corneas melting and the beauty of the fire blurring through waxy vision; but that one moment was worth it, because you saw a truth, an underlying foundation of the universe that has left you questioning. In that moment of clarity, wheels turned and tumblers clicked and the key seemed a little closer ot your young grasp.

And the wisdom that comes with age carries fear and hesitation with it. Never since have you dared another glance, because that would mean the chance of something bad, something horrible, something with embarassing questions and answers.

What if, at the exact moment of your death, you are granted the truth, the meaning behind life and living and the universe? You are presented with the underlying patterns and their meaning, the tapestry of the mysteries and an instant and utterly distinct understanding of it all. And perhaps this answer is the gift of death, the reward for accepting and letting go, releasing your spirit to whatever comes next.

And what if the answer to the ultimate mystery and death are inexorably intertwined? What if you can have the answers you want, but that's it, the end, no more for you you been here too long time to go now?

What if looking at her face means the same thing? What if nothing ever seems the same, what if your eyes are burned beyond use, what if beauty loses all meaning? What if hope dies?

And you wish you could travel back in time, become a child again, only for five minutes, long enough to look into her eyes and see the truth.

BBC NEWS | Health | Sunny May the month for suicides: "The extra sunshine, which helps combat depression, may also provide the people the energy they need to act on their suicidal feelings, they believe."

Now playing: a nice random assortment of insanity.

I've had plenty to think this weekend. Seriously -- read over the past eight or ten entries here, and you'll see evidence. Fine: I've had my thoughtful time, my time to ponder, my mental flexing.

Can we just make it stop now, just for a little while?

These voices in my head, the ones that sound like me only incessant? They're a little close to driving me nuts. Seriously. And I know that you can't be insane if you know that you are -- or maybe you can. Maybe I've got that backwards.

Fuck.

It's days like these that I can understand a breakfast cocktail.

Seriously. Please. Silence. Stop the noise. Just for a little bit?

"The Greeks didn't write obituaries. They asked one question after a man died: 'Did he have passion?'"
-Serendipity

There's a section of ILLUSIONS by Richard Bach that talks about turning randomly to a page of a book, and finding the words that are written there. That's the universe's way of speaking to you.

"Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass."
-Desiderata

Do I believe in the idea of a soulmate, one fated person for another? Are there many fish in the sea, or do all the prior experiences act as preparation for the one? Is life predestined -- does fate guide all? How do we avoid simply sitting back and waiting for fate to deliver us where we should be, if so?

And can be believe in fate without the believe in predestination?

"You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should."
-Desiderata

Sometimes I think that it is better to be at peace with life than to be happy. Trusting that things will work out as they should. Believing that everything will be the way that it will, and accepting that.

Perhaps that is my faith, the religion that I seek. Not a higher power that created us all in his image, or snakes that eat their tails, or Messiahs and fallen angels. Just that things are all right, in the unbiased view, from the non-perspective.

"So it goes."
-Kurt Vonnegut

Thanks, Paul Gilbert, for making me think of this more than I already do.

When Kevin and Liesl got married last fall, I asked Kevin if he wanted to come to the Sidewalk Scramble after-party for a bit. Their plane for the honeymoon left late enough the next day, and he had been involved in the Scramble entry, so he had mentioned that it might be doable, post-wedding. And what he said -- more specifically, the sincerity in his eyes that underlined the words -- will stick with me forever.

"No - I think I just want to go home and be alone with my wife for a while."

I have been loved a loot in my life. More than I deserve, certainly -- more than any one person should ever be loved in one lifetime, possibly.

I have loved a lot. Without confining it, perhaps it might be described as shallow love, infatuation, obsession with an idea. "Was it love / or was it the idea of being in love?" (Thanks, David Gilmour)

What I dream of is feeling what Kevin felt, long after the roller coaster has stopped.

Alternately titled: Most Unlike a Blackberry Souffle

THE DOVES: new york (acoustic)
COLDPLAY: speed of sound
DAVID WEST: goodbye blue sky (from PICKIN' ON PINK FLOYD: A BLUEGRASS TRIBUTE)
exit music (for a film) (from STRUNG ON ON OK COMPUTER: THE STRING QUARTET TRIBUTE TO RADIOHEAD)
XTC: your dictionary
EVERYTHING BUT THE GIRL: good cop/bad cop
CRASH TEST DUMMIES: a worm's life
SNAKE RIVER CONSPIRACY: how soon is now?
BUTCH WALKER: joan
HARVEY DANGER: problems and bigger ones
SUZANNE VEGA: queen and the soldier
CATHERINE WHEEL: delicious
JOSEPH ARTHUR: you are the dark
JEFF BUCKLEY: nightmares by the sea
EELS: restraining order blues
GOMEZ: tijuana lady
MASSIVE ATTACK: what your soul sings
TOM WAITS: the piano has been drinking (not me)

Burn it, build your own backstory, and hit the road in late afternoon. Feel like I feel. Thank me later.

Entertainment Weekly's EW.com | Movie Review: Crash: "Role for role, the acting is superb, and the cinematography is strong, with a stylistic emphasis on blur and confusion interrupted by knife-carved incidents of prejudice and consequence (aurally stitched by Mark Isham's anxious electronic score)"

Quite possibly one of the strongest movies that I've ever seen. Perhaps largely because this one came out of nowhere -- there was no hype that I was aware of, and going in I had very little idea what the movie was about -- but it completely and utterly exceded anything I had hoped for in a Saturday afternoon showing.

There was nothing wrong with this film. More importantly, the acting, editing, score, and cinematography -- oh, man, the cinematography -- were fucking BRILLIANT. Paul Haggis inspired me today, showing that a truly great film across all levels can still be made and find and audience.

Drive down the road from the theater toward the steakhouse, an old CD playing too loudly on the soon-to-be-replaced stereo. The sun is at the perfect place in the sky, behind me and to the left, not so low as to be in a mirror, casting a cool light over the late afternoon. Almost sunset, May, unseasonably cool, exactly how I wish for it, and I feel like I'm in another town, far away,

The movie was wonderful, a perfect beginning to my Saturday, a perfect extension of a beautiful Friday leading to a Sunday with potential. And this is the perfect moment, find the center and snapshot for later nostalgia.

Regarding the past few days and weeks and months; regarding the last thirty-odd years:

I am confused, and perplexed, and intrigued, and just as unsurprised to find that theories about the way the universe works have more evidence to substanitate them.

I am hopeful, perhaps too much so given past hopes and moments of excitement, that perhaps I was wrong about so many important things, important to me, not wrong as much as wrong to doubt.

I am in awe of the paths that the universe lays out, and how they cross.

I wonder if we find evidence to fit our theories, ignoring that which doesn't -- the theory in question being that the universe unfolds as it will, and that everything happens in its own time, for reason -- or if I just question too much, if I am too skeptical for my own good. It's difficult for me to take things at face value.

I was told last night that I am one of the smartest people that she's knows, and that's quite the compliment. It didn't quite click last night, but this afternoon it really struck me. And it falls into place given another conversation snippet, regarding context. A statement that the sentiment of a compliment given is not necessarily equal to the sentiment of a compliment received, and from my perspective, it's so important and relevant to consider the source of the compliment.

I am told that the greatest gift you can ever give a woman is the jealousy of her friends.

I believe in kindred spirits, and a right and just universe, and breaking promises of self, and that perspective defines good and bad.

"The people who love only once in their lives are really the shallow people. What they call their loyalty, and their fidelity, I call either the lethargy of custom or their lack of imagination. Faithfulness is to the emotional life what consistency is to the life of the intellect - simply a confession of failures."

-Oscar Wilde

My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Sibling Nail Gun of Desirable Mindfulness.

Get yours.

Ces Marculiano is a brilliant cartoonist. His blog is great, his comics are funny, and he's a really good guy married to a really great gal.

Go. Read. Laugh until you vomit.

Shameless stolen from Warrenellis.com: "A newly discovered fragment of the oldest surviving copy of the New Testament indicates that, as far as the Antichrist goes, theologians, scholars, heavy metal groups, and television evangelists have got the wrong number. Instead of 666, it’s actually the far less ominous 616.

The new fragment from the Book of Revelation, written in ancient Greek and dating from the late third century, is part of a hoard of previously unintelligible manuscripts discovered in historic dumps outside Oxyrhynchus in Egypt. Now a team of expert classicists, using new photographic techniques, are finally deciphering the original writing.

Professor David Parker, Professor of New Testament Textual Criticism and Paleography at the University of Birmingham, thinks that 616, although less memorable than 666, is the original. He said: “This is an example of gematria, where numbers are based on the numerical values of letters in people’s names. Early Christians would use numbers to hide the identity of people who they were attacking: 616 refers to the Emperor Caligula.”

…satanists responded coolly to the new “Revelation'. Peter Gilmore, High Priest of the Church of Satan, based in New York, said: “By using 666 we’re using something that the Christians fear. Mind you, if they do switch to 616 being the number of the beast then we’ll start using that.”"

(Stolen from Warren since the source is not opensource)

(Does anyone hear the sound of air escaping slowly from a pinprick in a billion Christian conspiracy theories?)

It's Xbox. It's an RPG. It's set in the East. It's made by Bioware, makers of the best RPG engine and games EVER.

Why haven't I bought it yet? Good question. Damned fine question.

Oh, and the website is incredibly well put together. The best use of Flash technology that I've yet seen -- unobtrusive and not unnecessarily blingy.

"Let's not ruin the fun of debauchery with romance."

-Neely Harris

One small misstep and that phrase becomes "martial bliss." That's funny to me.

Because really, there's such a thin line between love and war.

The ceremony, I imagine, was beautiful. I was in meetings until 6 PM, so I wouldn't have any way of knowing for sure -- though brides and grooms all seemed incredibly happy about where they were, and that's all that matters.

Glad that it happened for all four involved. Four really good people who all deserve each other -- in their respective pairings, I should say. Double weddings required careful semantics...

And the after-party reception was nice. Got to see a lot of people that I don't see often enough, a few more that I haven't seen in what may be years, and only a few that I was hoping had been hit by trucks and eradicated from the planet.

All in all, the best wedding that I've been to in quite some time.

You know, I keep trying to type "wedding" as "weeding." I wonder what that says?

I'm not sure whether PostSecret was set up as an art concept or something more scientific or philosophical. Whatever, it's an extremely moving experience. Keeping in mind that some of this is art, surely -- and therefore expressly created with an emotionally manipulative component. That said, there's some stuff on here that is pretty powerful, even with a grain of salt.

[thanks to OuterNet]

CNN.com - Texas House to cheerleaders: Don't shake it - May 5, 2005: "Texas lawmakers sent a message to the state's high school cheerleaders Wednesday: no more booty-shaking at the game."

You can pummel yourselves into oblivion on the football field, but don't you dare turn anyone on while cheering them on.

Something is backwards here....

Oh, yeah. Texas. America. Never mind. I remember now.

Even consequences have consequences.

In other news, my finger appears to be slowly dissolving, as though I were dipping it into the acid well I keep in the back yard each night.

Hey, the bodies have to go somewhere...

Q: What do you call a black guy flying a plane?

A: A pilot, you fucking racist.

The bridal 'grab and run' : printer friendly version: "'Every good marriage begins in tears,' a Kyrgyz saying goes."

Hell, at least if they begin that way, the ending's no big surprise, right?

Time : "Thusly, introverted people often measure large periods of time happening in very short periods of time, in relation to the measurements which might be derived if one were to focus on the outside world as a means of time measurement. Because of this, introverted people are prone to 'losing track of time', as they may perceive that, on a general basis, large amounts of time pass between events in 'reality' which most people would consider to be temporally significant but which they themselves would not find any significance, relative to their own perception of the passage of time. Therefore, introverted people are more likely to spend ages thinking about 'something else' and to not realize when a large amount of time has actually passed in terms of a system of temporal measurement they have no interest in maintaining. If a large amount of time spent thinking is equal to a short amount of time in 'outside reality', then it becomes difficult to distinguish at which point a large amount of time has transpired in 'reality' without counting, equating and making differences with the apparent time-frame of outside reality. However, no experiments confirm or discount this hypothesis so far."

[Wikipedia scares me. You can follow links forever and still keep going on to new things. My head hurts.]

What exactly is the heat death of the universe and where can I find out more?: "The 'heat-death' of the universe is when the universe has reached a state of maximum entropy. This happens when all available energy (such as from a hot source) has moved to places of less energy (such as a colder source). Once this has happened, no more work can be extracted from the universe. Since heat ceases to flow, no more work can be acquired from heat transfer. This same kind of equilibrium state will also happen with all other forms of energy (mechanical, electrical, etc.). Since no more work can be extracted from the universe at that point, it is effectively dead, especially for the purposes of humankind. "

[more in link]

Hey you. Long time, no chat. But that's largely because you seem to have dropped off the face of the universe.

You're not dead, are you? I'm pretty sure I would have felt a disturbance in the Force if you were. So let's proceed as though you are still alive -- me writing, you reading, and perhaps, at some point, you writing back... Maybe just a smoke signal to say that you're still breathing.

Last we spoke, things had taken a turn for the worse -- that's why I ask. I don't want to pry, so if I am, tell me and I'll quit.

Ah! Yes, I was trying to trick you into telling me something... Anything...

Oh, and I wanted to let you know that I traced the source of that leak. It's exactly what I thought it was. Totally out of my hands and irreparable. Oh, well. The best I can do is never use that sink again. And I'm really sorry that you got wet because of it, but -- well, that's the way leaks work, eh? You don't see them happening until you get wet.

Been thinking about what happens from here, and I think I've figured it out. That is, I figure that you've probably got to stay away, maybe for good. If you're where I think you are, at least. And I can't be honest and say that I agree with it, or that I'm happy about it, but I understand; really, I do. Do whatever you need to do to find peace -- I don't think that you're looking in the right place, but what do I know? I'm not you. And I also have a tendency to ignore advice from others, so why am I offering it?

Hah.

There was a shooting star in the general direction of your house last night. In fact, it was falling directly toward you, now that I think about it. And I'm not one to make wishes, but I did. I wished for you to find your happiness, to be able smile (and mean it) again.

I hope you're well. Even if you're not, I think you will be.

And by "problem", I mean: she was on Full House, and had to put up with Dave Coulier for who knows how long.



(mercilessly stolen from The Outernet)

I had forgotten how miserable it is to build a movie in Flash.

Seriously. It seems like it would be easy, what with layers, and timelines, and a very mostly usable interface.

And then you try to apply motion through tweens, working with text, adjusting alpha layers for fades, and things start to crosswire in the midst of a project, and it hits you:

This would be much easier in Premiere.

Especially since Flash will import a Quicktime file, and so the end user will never know the difference.

Yay, me.

Boo, Flash.

The Time Traveler Convention - May 7, 2005: "Technically, you would only need one time traveler convention. Time travelers from all eras could meet at a specific place at a specific time, and they could make as many repeat visits as they wanted. We are hosting the first and only Time Traveler Convention at MIT in one week, and WE NEED YOUR HELP!"

Convenience stores aim to remake their image - Food, Inc. - MSNBC.com: "Slim Jims are making way for sushi as convenience stores transform themselves with upscale eats and shed their image as junk food pit stops."

Burger war grows with new 15 pounder - Food, Inc. - MSNBC.com: "'It's like trying to eat half a cow.'"

• Using passwords based on the present is a bad idea, because in the future, the past will remind you of itself. Usually unexpectedly.
  
  
• There's nothing quite so fun as having a mouth full of airplane glue for an hour.
  
  
• Still toying with the idea of taking this blog over to insomniactive.com and incorporating it over there, if only to be able to use some stat tracking scripts I've been writing. But then, that means going to wordpress... wait. Maybe it doesn't.
  
  I think I know how to make this work.
  
  Did any of you hear the lightbulb go off? Cause I think it set my hair aflame.
  
  
• My life is filled with hurry-up-and-wait. And I'm currently in the waiting stage, and my patience is wearing.

Or a ton of 'em, even.

It's not change that makes me apprehensive. In fact, I crave change. It's the unknown -- that part of change that leaves you in the dark, waiting for the reality.

A ponderous day ahead, I think.

Human evolution at the crossroads - - MSNBC.com: "In the book 'Future Evolution,' University of Washington paleontologist Peter Ward argues that we are making ourselves virtually extinction-proof by bending Earth's flora and fauna to our will. And assuming that the human species will be hanging around for at least another 500 million years, Ward and others believe there are a few most likely scenarios for the future, based on a reading of past evolutionary episodes and current trends."

Oh -- that's R*u*ffles, isn't it?

In volunteering to do more for Sidewalk, my favorite group of people in town, I've apparently signed up to help sell raffle tickets.

I'm not a salesman. Used to be; would rather die choking on someone's hair than go back. But it's a good cause -- the money raised is split evenly between Sidewalk and Artwalk (another fine group of folks, raising cultural awareness by nearly double in this town).

So here's the deal:

• The raffle tickets are a mere $5 apiece.
  
  
• The raffle is for a 1971 Vintage Vespa (that's a scooter, for those of you in the wonder -- and a rather sexy one at that).
  
  
• You don't have to be present to win. Though, the Vespa's being awarded at the Sidewalk Film Festival award ceremony, so you might be there anyway, right?
  
  
• If I sell enough boxes of Girl Scout Vespas, I get neat prizes.
  
  (I'm thirteen, all over again, only without the cracking voice and acne breakout)
  

Contact me at kenn at insomniactive dot com if you're interested.

Hey, even if the Vespa's not your thing, you're supporting local film and art, and that's nothing but a good thing. Spread the word, and send 'em my way.

CNN.com - Youth pleads not guilty in baseball bat killing - May 2, 2005: "A 13-year-old California boy pleaded not guilty to murder charges Monday in the killing of a friend with a baseball bat after a youth league game last month."

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

is sometimes -- quite often, actually, and inexplicably -- read by my eyes and brain as

SOMETHING WICKER THIS WAY COMES

which is frankly more horrifying than anything by Bradbury.

It's especially funny when a death metal band records a song with the former title and I interpret it as the latter.

\m/ FURNITURE FOR THE DEVIL! \m/

When I find the astrologer who will not bother using her predictive powers for the forces of good, but rather just tell the damn truth, I'll start paying her very good money.

For instance: I'm tired of the generic "This is a good month for love."

It's ALWAYS a good month for love. What about ME?

"Wealth is on your mind, and you'll find yourself surprised."

Wealth is often on my mind, yes -- much like the rest of America. And I usually do manage to find myself surprised at least once in the day, but it usually has nothing to do with money.

What I'm waiting for is this:

"You've got death and destruction on your mind, and why not? People suck, and you know it. If there's ever a time to stop thinking and just act, this is it; the stars are on your side, and for the next twelve hours, you might even get away with murder."

See, this shows up in my email, and I'm automatically thinking that they love to use cliched phrases like "get away with murder." Nostradamus meets Hallmark. Predictions for the cleverness impaired.

But damn, if they really menat it?

Nancy Reagan would have NOTHING on me.

Secret Service probes missing Time Warner employee data - May. 2, 2005: "Time Warner Inc. said Monday that data on 600,000 current and former employees stored on computer backup tapes was lost by an outside storage company and that the Secret Service is now investigating."

That goofy looking army girl -- England, right? -- she's guilty. Duh.

That girl who ran away from her wedding? She's gonna be a criminal. Let this be a lesson, kids, that you should NEVER imitate Julia Roberts in her home state.

North Korea's testing missiles, Iran's threatening nuclear testing, and more soldiers die in Iraq every day we stay. You go, Shrub! Well done.

And writing documentation for a product in a constant state of flux: fun.

If you define fun as something entirely different, that is.

By now everyone with an interest in science or computers has stared in wonder at pictorial representations of the amazing fractal called the Mandelbrot set. If you are one of the few remaining holdouts, then do yourself a favor and explore the full color illustrations of this infinite mathematical labyrinth (one readily available source is James Gleick's popular book Chaos). These images, depicting seemingly endless layers of complexity and geometric inventiveness, strike deep intellectual and emotional chords. A large part of the magic is due to the fact that as you plunge deeper into the Mandelbrot set you encounter ever-more-tiny copies of itself within the riot of detail. This "worlds within worlds" aspect, or self-similarity, calls to mind the famous poem of William Blake:

"To see a World in a Grain of Sand...
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the Palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour."

A truly remarkable thing about the Mandelbrot set is that it is not generated by long strings of incomprehensible equations, but rather by a simple recursive algorithm that can be embodied in a few lines of computer code. So the seemingly infinite complexity of the Mandelbrot set has a simple underlying order. Here one is reminded of Coleridge and his "unity in variety." Using this fractal as an archetype, one can say that two hallmarks of fractal systems are: (1) inherent hierarchical organization, and (2) self-similarity, i.e., the copies within copies within...motif...

[more can be found here]

I wish I had learned earlier than I did that excitement and drama are not necessarily the same thing. I crave a life filled with excitement; I also cravea life empty and devoid of drama.

Fortunately, over the past few years, I've managed to avoid people who will bring drama to me. Mostly, I should say... And again mostly, I've managed to avoid behaviors on my part that will do the same. I'm learning to recognize the signs of people that crave Springer-esque moments, and trying to keep them at arm's length (at worst).

There are certain behaviors that I just can't understand, and those people tend to display them with utter disregard for the world around them. And I wonder if there's something deeper that they are gaining from their actions, something more meaningful than creating their own little soap opera. There must be, right?

I know, I'm totally mistaken.

Perhaps it's an issue of misery loving company. Or maybe excitement and drama are more equitable to some.

Yuck.

And then there's the thought, crossing my mind at this moment, that the only true way to avoid this sort of thing is to move to a log cabin in the deep woods somewhere, and hermitize oneself. But that idea, while occasionally appealing, is overall not a part of what I want for myself.

The other answer is to live with no regrets and no secrets. God knows I've done enough stupid shit in my life that I probably should have kept quiet, but I didn't. I learned a long time ago that actions have reactions (even reactions have reactions), that a butterfly in Nebraska is causing a hurricane in the Atlantic. And I've learned to take no action that I am not willing to deal with any reactions. Any secrets I have belong to me and me alone, because lips flap. Photographic evidence is already something I'm aware of.

Babbling. Rambling like no one's bidness.

The solutions to life are found not from a distance but immersed in the heart of the question.

Or maybe by spending an equal time between the two?

There is no reset button in life. But perhaps the key to getting what you want is starting every day as if it were your first? Not ignoring the past or things you've hopefully learned, but opening yourself up to constant re-evaluation and redefinition. Change is not easy, but it is necessary and a fact of life; less resistance and a more fluid defense might be the key.

Locks and keys. What opens when you find the right one?

There's a numerical basis underlying all of this, patterns in the ivy.

Eric and Chance can now get married happily.

The bachelor party went better than anyone could have reasonably hoped. Mnay people showed up to send Eric and Chance off. Mnay drinks were consumed. No one was arrested. Eric made it home by 2:30, as drunk as I've ever seen him and smiling like a loon. Chance was spotted heading to his house around 5:30, so I assume he made it to Marty's for his desired cheeseburger. And an ex-stripper just happened to be in Bailey's last night, and was kind (drunk) enough to put on a little show for Eric and Chance.

Right place, weird time. Love it.

Congratulations, boys. Now go get married, and hurry back. We've got music to make.

No. That's all. No matter what the story you hear, I am still, at 33 and with all the encouragement in the world, a complete puss.

On the other hand... I'm ready to kill. There is no need for such drama, and honestly, at the moment, I'm not entirely sure to whom I should be directing my anger toward. It's entirely possible that that person is me.... But no.

I've got better things to worry about.

"What a tangled web we weave
When first we practice to deceive."

Fuck all.

{note: I was drunk enough when I wrote this that I'm not what I meant by most of this. I might have an inkling of an idea, but nothing solid. And that amuses me to no end at all }