Storm's a-brewin'... Spring cleaning in the mental attic.

I've been cycling through my mind in high-gear lately... sorting out the attic, so to speak, when suddenly it strikes me that I have not yielded a definitive product of imagination for ages! It would be unfair of me to say I've been doing nothing at all, as I've been accumulating much knowledge of many topics, as well as passively chipping away at certain projects...

 I have this horrendous habit of stacking on new ideas and barely getting around to any of them... My enthusiasm for a broad range of knowledge has suddenly left me questioning just whether or not I actually KNOW anything at all. A thought will come suddenly which breaks me completely off the rails of whatever train of thought was carrying me before... and yet despite this imperfection I can still see my indecisive nature as a boon, and not a curse(as it is considered by those without patience). I am slow when I am aware that the reasons for acting are not clear, or I am becoming familiar with the instructions. But when I act, I am ready to act, and I perform my actions in modest form without injury. I realize that mistakes are part of the learning process, and so I allow my imagination to follow through with theories before I physically test them... thus avoiding some embarrassment.

Well... as I've said, I simple am not content with my output lately... I don't wish to make things to brag, but I wish to verify that I am contributing to a more promising future for those of us who are destined to live through tomorrow.

I have a mental "inbox" of poetic musings which are demanding to be transcribed into a format I may share... Songs to be sung. Insights to be read aloud. Stories to be acted out.

I have begun carving as a hobby and need to finish my first project.

I'm beginning to study horticulture hands-on, and I would like to start logging what I'm up to.

One thing I am absolutely in need of is a big fat life changing victory... I need to put away any excuses and just DO a serious fitness program that will change me dramatically with 3 months worth of dedication... I believe I may need to actually DO a routine again. As much as I enjoy spontaneity, it seems that leaving myself to do what I want all of the time makes me a slave to my least attractive habits(sleeping in and getting creative in the kitchen are only good activities when partners are involved... so until my imaginary friends grow flesh...) I have done it before; A serious fitness routine. I accomplished about 2/3rds of my goal before spraining my ankle. After that it wasn't so much about giving up as it was about following my heart and hitchhiking to Rainbowland. Three years of awkward truces with reality later, here I am. Freshly survived the end of the world and ready to dig my toes into this new earth.

I don't intend to follow one course religiously, but I do intend to blend elements of everything I've considered thus far and SERIOUSLY chart and measure results. Now where's the scale...

Why not?

Okay. Here's a tiny sampling from what I'm working on... Offered humbly for your respectfully equal constructive criticism and/or de-constructive witticism. I'm somewhat, if not all ways keenly aware of my errors. 

...and now for something not nigh-completely different

We haven't left the topic of “dietary considerations” in this chapter of “religion” at any point. Connection: the dogma of fear under the banner of “old glory” is a religion that unites the industrial militarist states of Amerigo Vespucci. Connection(speculative): children are dying from all causes within the borders of Gaza at a rate more highly concentrated than anywhere else on the globe... There are no coincidences. This is the tithe you pay for the religion of “he who has the gold makes the rules”, “money is power, and might makes right”. A religion based on fear of honest questions. A religion based on unyielding faith in the “ever-beneficent” wizard(s) behind the DARPA-engineered fiber optic media curtain(eat your heart out, soviet Russia). This is the US-American (anti-)religion. This is the melting pot, turned into a powder-keg after sitting on the burner precisely 1 century past the last drop of steam to escape. The federal reserve begat the military industrial complex. The military industrial complex begat corporate heads of state. The corporate heads of state begat repressive resent-atives(repress-anti-tives?). The resent-atives begat puppet shows. And your political scene took on the intellectual theme of “Telletubbies”. Your current master of puppets has risen to notoriety under the catchphrase “yes we can”(record that phrase and play it in reverse for a laugh sometime), echoed under purely Utopian(fancy and artfully masterful) banners of “hope” and “change”. The public continues to seem enamored by this giggling black baby, serving his (hopefully ONLY) 8 years as the sun of your united ignorance... Yes, I pointed out that he's black. It's “progressive” of the producers to cast a “minority”. The grown-ups know how market demographics operate, and you're the biggest sucker in the universe if you thought that Mitt wasn't just the catcher in the rye who lost the game without even playing. McCain, or his next comic book villain equivalent will be back again to play bogeyman in the next chapter. Those awkward boners just seem to pop up every reap year for the big gay sword fight your country terms “erections”. Excuse me, I lapsed into the voice of an old Chinese business man for a moment there, I meant “elections”. Hopefully you'll forgive me. I'm also informed that “gay” means something more than just “happy”. My cultural advisor in AIPAC will be dragged offstage and shot by other payroll minions for your appeasement. C'est la vie. All's fair in love and business, eh? Hey, let's catch the back 9 and knock back some brews before our Builder-bob meeting... I need to be real mellow before they start throwing around words like “austerity” that I just can't be made to give a shit about.

Literary train wreck.

Is what I would call a paragraph that begins with “we” and ends in a sarcastic, semi-fictional “I”... and the rest of this emerging seemingly irreverent cat's-ass-trophy. I'll say this in defense of my book: It's no hairball, but it's got some harbles. Books are inherently escapist, even when they delve into the abstractions of technicality under the heading of “non-fiction”. You are now and forever right here, right now. If you're learning, you're passing into the future of your own imagining. If you're regressing, you're charging headfirst to an early grave. Either way, you are moving your eyes over these symbols in order to experience something which you are not inherently perceiving in your relative “now”. If you're seeing this sentence, you have validated my existence as a writer, and I am feeling finer than Dostoevsky ever did in his day. Thank you.

duuuuuuuump

"I'm just sitting here, wasting time..."
Hello again, everyone. I've been feeding myself a heavy dose of "don't fuck with this" as a prescription to my incessant facebook status updates... The laptop has been in "airport mode" entirely as I go further down the rabbit hole of what I have to consider my own imagining. I don't fully believe anything is MINE per-say, as everything in my mind is the result of outside information, passing through the hall of mirrors, so to speak. They're my mirrors, but they're a blank slate without my own history for reference.

The reason for this blog post is, well... I need a break from the limited music selection I have offline. Normally, I would be listening to Tom Waits, No More Kings, Jamiroquai, Regina Spektor, Refused, The World/Inferno Friendship Society, and/or The (international) Noise Conspiracy. This comes along with booting up my computer with my Linux-based operating system "Ubuntu". The problem with Ubuntu is that I'm hooked on Spotify and intimidated by the beta version for Linux as it stands, owing to my own neophyte status with command prompts.

My favorite program, among many neat program that come with Ubuntu, is LibreOffice. I have been compiling a literary train wreak of madly loving thoughts which I aspire to shape into a publishable work of print. The inspiration for this comes from the inherent prettiness of Ubuntu's graphic user interface. The default font is called "Liberation", and it looks just-right when the alignment is set to "Justified". I'm contained by the walls of a nifty apartment at the end of civilization... How could I resist the urge to pretend I'm a writer?

I doubt I'll ever be a Steven King or John Grisham, but I could see myself becoming a sort of cheery version of PKD(Philip K Dick) over time. Having no one but myself for a critic is both liberating and eternally frustrating... I am free to go mad with my words, but constantly pressing "backspace" two times for every letter I type... This blog is the most "stream of consciousness" I've done in a while, and even now I am contemplating just not sending it out... Good thing I'm nothing if not stubborn, and I told myself to pinch off some brain nuggets for the interweb this afternoon.

Information wants to be free... and this book is begging me to finish it. Enjoying Spotify as I am is yielding a fair amount of guilt for neglecting my project, and yet... it seems a reasonable break. I do want to run a press when I'm through with this, but I'm not going to bother shopping it around. I'll publish it as a .pdf with a suggested donation, and/or find an indy press that does small order, sustainably-sourced printings(hemp paper, soy ink... I'm not comfortable producing any more books from trees. It's just inferior in every sense.)

My best wish for the finished result is that I will be flooded with letters from distressed english teachers. That will be my personal hallmark of success; an audience of people who think they know better. ( lol @ Vonnegut ;) )

So what the fuck am I rambling about today, here and now? *shrugs* I'unno... Nothin'... What does it matter? if it's not fun to read, well... sorry you bothered. This isn't my book, and I'm not begging for you to look... but since you're here... how about I put a bit more effort into it... Would you like a poem(or "pome" *chortle*)?

There once was a boy from maine,
who thought you all did look the same.
He wanted to say,
in his own special(-ed.) way,
That maine in no way can make rhyme with "lame"!

Like it? That's an "ABCCB"-style limerick... Did I blow your AABBA mind? ...I'm not impressed... and this is getting rather silly.

I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.


...I'm NOT sorry!

Let's see... How about some sound advice?

Be sure to catch a sunbeam every day you can... and keep a happy picture on hand at all times... or a bag of weed... unless you're a grower, in which case, throw that plant in a juicer and let the cannabinoids massage your grown up brain into second-childhood... Now that I think of it... "marijuana" is a smoke-able "drug"... Is it even against the law to have raw juice from the plant(with cranberry-orange, perhaps)?

I'm off to google search... That's all for today. *hugs* I love you people. Thanks for putting up with my shit :)