Death Ray

Carried here by the wind, I find the spot on the wall that was waiting for me to cover it, and I flower, secretly. A vertical garden watches the world chase the sun.

I drink in the shade before tumbling away.

I've been this way before, and I'll be this way again.

Haha.

My other place on the net is frequently read by a person I know in real life.

She knows she shouldn't be reading it, and she's not very tech savvy. She has no idea that I know that she's read it practically every single day for years.

We have never discussed my blog. She got the link from another in real life acquaintence of mine who I eventually cut myself off from because of his lack of discretion.

You might ask why I passively allow this other acquaintence read it. Good question.

I'm in control of what goes on there. I use what i wouldn't want her to know as my judge of what I shouldn't write. She serves a purpose to me.

Anyway, last week we were talking about the internet and I mentioned a site that I had linked to from my blog (again, I didn't mention the blog), and she said that she tried the link and it didn't work...

The first link that I had posted was a bad one.

I watched her face turn red, and I watched her backpeddle and lie, making up an extended story about a friend who had sent her the link, blah blah blah.

I was laughing so hard on the inside, but I kept it together and I'm pretty sure I convinced her that I bought the lie.

It's all pretty gratifying for me.

Long ago, she explained to me the importance of privacy and truthfulness and all of that stuff. This was because I was a coniving bastard of a liar in those days.

In the thirteenth chapter of A Clockwork Orange, the protagonist, Alex, grew up and became a decent man just because it was time to do so.

The director of the movie didn't like that ending, so he let the credits roll after chapter twelve for his version.

She knew me right through chapter twelve. I've kept the best part for myself.

it's that time again when it can all turn inside out.

i nearly said that it's that time where it can all turn inside out, but i caught myself. i'm trying to not think of times as places, but it's a general disthenastesia, and i might have just made that word up. sorry.

if i had my own brain in a jar labeled with it's own x-ray of ray, that would be terrific, meaning terrible. how can those two words mean essentially the same thing, but have two different understood meanings? you earthlings are weirder than wyrd.

remember putting marbles up to our eyes and seeing the whole universe when we were kids? maybe that was just me. it was inside of something which fit in our hands. we were gods.

that was back when it was all outside in.

when i find my camera, my batteries, my charger, and my voice, i'll be right back. won't be long, this is the first time i've wanted to look for them for a long while.

i think that they're all piled up on the big orange chair that my big pink ass never sits in.

my shift starts in six minutes and this is the first time i've not dreaded it in a good long while.

my head is humming, not brimming with ideas. ideas are the things which i can claim after i randomly did something without thinking about it. maybe it's a summer cold.

three minutes to go and no dread. i'm looking forward to seeing the familiar strangers again.

i've gotta be sick.

just fixed a typo. i wrote "familia strangers".

appropriate.

"full stop," the bruised voice whispered in his ear, like the fuzzed out national anthem on his grandfather's old black and white at two in the a.m. on a july evening from his childhood, it was sleepy, and hot, and dark.

telegraphic delusion. seduction to hermitage, cloistered frustration.

there is no opposite.

---

is it better on mercury? he would relocate, but the heated nights would be intolerable. he dreamed of bright cold days, and the people who might enjoy them with him.

the philistines of the ball of dirt he was stuck on enjoyed the mushy, soft, smothering air, and gasped it in big mouthfuls like fish out of water feathering their gills.

a basic disconnection illustrated through petty unrelated fact.

---

they discussed the weather relentlessly without thinking about it. he was hyperfocused on the weather of nature, situation, social atmosphere, and circumstance to such a degree that he nearly filtered them out.

8 things i'll own up to....

Panasonicyouth speaks, we listen and comply.

Here are the rules:
1)   List 8 facts about yourself, but only list 8 facts.
2)   You must then list 8 TAGS at the end of the post -- you must name 8 people on Buzznet who now must do the same journal/blog posted to buzznet.
3)  Go comment on their profile and tell them to come read yours! Mark (panasonicyouth) has demanded participation (and he's a super awesome guy and a good hugger, so just play along, mkay?).

-------------

My 8 Facts:

1) I hate internet memes, but I like dvl enough to give this a half-assed attempt, we'll see if I finish it.
2) I'm watching the Twilight Zone, and experiencing deja vu.
3) I don't know 8 people on buzznet well enough to tag, so I plan on copping out.
4) I've started four sentences in a row with the word "I", which bothers me.
5) I like to cook, but not for customers.
6) I'm horrible at smalltalk, and avoid it.
7) I'm glad I'm almost to 8, it's a fact!
8) I am awesome.

Tag yourselves.

Thanks.

Thank you.

I felt shitty today.

You cheered me up.

Later.

The universe is a series of tiny details which we mostly ignore in an effort to see the "big picture" which is too large for any of us to make out.



We confuse microscopes and telescopes in our lives.

Maybe that's just me.

And maybe I'm doing it again right now.

The hell with edgy. Especially edgy by design, edgy by commitee, and mass appeal to the most marketable demographic.

Warning to 18 to 34 year olds: the marketeers are happy that you believe them when they tell you how special you are... now have a look at this new shiny thing. You should look like these people. See this here? This is what an acceptable consumer looks like. You think that because we describe you as different than we describe your parents, that that means that we think you are different?

Nah. The rage could be people stuffing raisins up their noses. We don't care about that. We only care about that demographic detail. 18-34. Marketable. Yum.

You do look like you just woke up on the set of some little "indy" rock band's million dollar music video (which is only going on the director's cut of their tour dvd), don't you? You should! It's what being 18-34 is all about.

You believe that everyone else does, don't you? Take our word for it! We have your best interests at heart. People who wish to sell you things always believe in your individual spirit, Mr. 18-34 year old emo kid.

Not enough friends?

Well hell, we can't promise friends, but how about a 'friend' widget? See how high you can game the number! Go for a high score.

A couple of hours and you could have hundreds, maybe thousands of them. That will make you sleep better, we promise.

It works on myspace. We're totally not like myspace! We're about content. See all of that user created content on our front page? That's sticking it to the man!

(Yes, everyone has to make money. I don't deny that. But there just seems to be a disconnect here between what the place could be, and what it seems to be.)

Harriet.
Harry-ette.
Hard-hearted harbinger of haggis.
Beautiful, bemuse-ed, bellicose butcher

Un-trust...

ing
 
Un-know...

ing

Un-love...

ed?


"He wants you back," he screamed into the night air like a fireman going to a window that has no fire... except the passion of his heart.


I am lonely.

It's really hard.

This poem...

sucks.

If you've got more than fifty in your list, you should cull the herd.

Assuming that you don't really have fifty close friends.

I suggest starting with someone who hasn't updated in months.

Then you can delete that one that you only put in your friends list because they asked you to.

Then maybe the one that you only put in your list because you saw that you were in theirs.

Then the one that you've grown tired of.

Maybe the one with all the fake-bi kissy pics next.

Then me if you want.

It won't hurt me. I'd feel honored to be cut, if they were all cut too.

One love.

Maybe it was on purpose. Maybe it was because I was going on breakdown number 542 when I quit. A few dozen breakdowns later and here I am.

One of things I remember distinctly not appreciating about this place was the ever widening spread of widgitization across this site. Functionality, functionality I love.

Banality, not so much.

Every time I logged in, there were new unexplained widgets and shoutboxes and bulletins and it started to look like Ms Nelson's seventh grade web design class was spewing myspace 2.0 all over this previosly functional site. Hell, it looked like it was designed by commitee. Click anywhere you want on the page blindly and something was gonna come up. Probably a shoutbulletin reminder invite for your closest 100 friends.

Buzznet had lost all focus.

Bleh. I know that it went on without me. That's good. That's community.

But right then, I couldn't look at that unfocused design.

Today when I logged in, it looked a little better than I remembered it. It's probably more to do with state of mind than anything else.

Now I see there's an option to post to MySpace at the bottom of this post page.

The coders around here can't resist a widget, can they?

sometimes happy accidents happen in the lens. forget about photoshopping away the dirt face when you've been standing over the grill for four hours earning your pay for the week. forget editing yourself when you've worn the tape that you are so thin that one more try and you might snap.

sometimes the good stuff happens in the lens.

Someone went through my buzznet and added buzzwords today.

I suspect the Chinese.

Or Cheney.

Or maybe...