men and their bodies...or is it just their bodies? What about their emotions? Do men sacrifice their bodies because they have already sacrificed their emotions, or...
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Friday, August 1, 2008
Inverse Butterfly
Still, it was hard to tell if they were the two voices talking, two people talking, or merely two thoughts that, upon contact, thought the other thought up. That is, it is hard for us, the objective audience and omnipotent author to tell the difference. It is probably not too difficult for the voices, thoughts, or people to tell which is whom. The all dislike the other, and claim victory for themselves.
It was such a brief conversation that both Tadd and Rob were to forget that they had it almost immediately before boarding the airplane. Tadd and Rob did not sit in the same sections of the plane. Tadd sat within the passenger section, and Rob got into the cockpit.
Privately, alone in the cockpit, Rob opened the eyes in the back of his head. He put his hands on his lap. "I have arrived," he proclaimed to himself, his skin softly reflecting the illuminated technology surrounding him, bathing him lightly with kisses of reassuring red, green, and amber. Rob finally felt at home. He closed the shades of the cockpit, sheathing himself in a twilit chrysalis spin in silicon, plastic, and LEDs.
"This is your captain," intoned Rob.
"I am proud to pilot you this evening," he explained.
"I am proud to see how you all," he paused, "have grown."
"I am proud of our airlines," he obliged. "I am proud of what human hands have made."
"Give us this day our daily bread. Give us a break in our daily bread. Give us this day. Give us yesterday again."
Rob plugged himself into the airplane.
"This is your captain. Say hello to your captain," invited Rob. "Say hello."
I know how this one ends, he thought from the air. I knew it all along.
We all gotta grow up someday.
It was such a brief conversation that both Tadd and Rob were to forget that they had it almost immediately before boarding the airplane. Tadd and Rob did not sit in the same sections of the plane. Tadd sat within the passenger section, and Rob got into the cockpit.
Privately, alone in the cockpit, Rob opened the eyes in the back of his head. He put his hands on his lap. "I have arrived," he proclaimed to himself, his skin softly reflecting the illuminated technology surrounding him, bathing him lightly with kisses of reassuring red, green, and amber. Rob finally felt at home. He closed the shades of the cockpit, sheathing himself in a twilit chrysalis spin in silicon, plastic, and LEDs.
"This is your captain," intoned Rob.
"I am proud to pilot you this evening," he explained.
"I am proud to see how you all," he paused, "have grown."
"I am proud of our airlines," he obliged. "I am proud of what human hands have made."
"Give us this day our daily bread. Give us a break in our daily bread. Give us this day. Give us yesterday again."
Rob plugged himself into the airplane.
"This is your captain. Say hello to your captain," invited Rob. "Say hello."
I know how this one ends, he thought from the air. I knew it all along.
We all gotta grow up someday.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Even the odds can seem strange
This is the time, and this is the novel of the time. This is the novelty of the time. Time cannot be parted - this exists without time. It neither always was, yet it is now without cause. Yet this exists also without chaos. Yes, he affirmed. He arrived. He sat down at the station. All he had to say was yes. All he had to give was the ticket, and he was there, he did arrive. It did not occur in passive voice - it did occur in a passive vocoding. He could not speak without a carrier. He could not speak without a modulator. Neither can you. You could operate a ski lift and wear a ski mask and lose your modulation. That option remains available to all: "Mmmm, mmmmm, mmmmmm..." you would say. Or: "Aahhh, aaaaaaah a-a-a-a-a..."
The pitch went up. The modulation tightened. "Hello," said Rob. The pitch dipped. The modulation squirmed. "My name isz Rob," he added helpfully. You didn't need him to tell you that. He spoke to somebody else, not to you. That was a person sitting next to Rob. The person was sitting there in the station, in the - port, in the - air station, in the - air...port. The air whistled through the person's mouth, carried its words into the station to fly out, to fly away. "Oh," said the person's voice. "Tadd. Tadd Harkington."
The person meant that he called himself Tadd Harkington.
Their hands embraced and this made their hands very happy. One hand could communicate with the other hand. If their hand's communication could be put into words, Rob's hand would have spoken, "Oh! Woorr-worr-worr-worr" and then Tadd's hand would have said "Oh! Gusha-husha-husha-husha" and they would have hugged. They would have been friends, if they weren't merely hands. So they were only briefly friends.
Tadd's face covered up a mild revulsion towards airplanes. Every 5 or 6 seconds or so, his face would twitch for about a 4th of a second. The muscles of his eyebrows expanded and tightened so that his eyebrows flicked upwards. The corners of his mouth similarly flicked as if they wanted some personal space on the opposite end of Tadd's moonlike face. Tadd did this all unconsciously. He didn't know, in the fore of his mind that he usually called "Tadd", that he was actually terrified of planes. He could understand how they could fly but something desperately primal inside his overweight pinstriped frame said that they couldn't fly, their wings did not move and they were far too heavy. Something just as instinctual inside Tadd's preconscious mind was at odds with the fear, the part of Tadd that made him Not Cause a Scene in Public, something that all humans at the time did indeed possess. One was stored in neural patterns in the middle of his brain, and the other resided in the front. His brain, and indeed no brain, especially in this record, no, novel of the time is united. Every brain, no, mind in this record, no, novel of the time is going to try like crazy to think and make other minds, no, brains think that each one actually is, and that nobody is actually ever at odds with himself, no, herself, no, itself, no...
Microexpression
O Superman
Brain Complexity
Complexity is size, metric and currency of information. Of mind. Of the soul.
You don't know me
but if You had ... (to)
would You refer ... (to me)
in the future tense
Please?
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...
The pitch went up. The modulation tightened. "Hello," said Rob. The pitch dipped. The modulation squirmed. "My name isz Rob," he added helpfully. You didn't need him to tell you that. He spoke to somebody else, not to you. That was a person sitting next to Rob. The person was sitting there in the station, in the - port, in the - air station, in the - air...port. The air whistled through the person's mouth, carried its words into the station to fly out, to fly away. "Oh," said the person's voice. "Tadd. Tadd Harkington."
The person meant that he called himself Tadd Harkington.
Their hands embraced and this made their hands very happy. One hand could communicate with the other hand. If their hand's communication could be put into words, Rob's hand would have spoken, "Oh! Woorr-worr-worr-worr" and then Tadd's hand would have said "Oh! Gusha-husha-husha-husha" and they would have hugged. They would have been friends, if they weren't merely hands. So they were only briefly friends.
Tadd's face covered up a mild revulsion towards airplanes. Every 5 or 6 seconds or so, his face would twitch for about a 4th of a second. The muscles of his eyebrows expanded and tightened so that his eyebrows flicked upwards. The corners of his mouth similarly flicked as if they wanted some personal space on the opposite end of Tadd's moonlike face. Tadd did this all unconsciously. He didn't know, in the fore of his mind that he usually called "Tadd", that he was actually terrified of planes. He could understand how they could fly but something desperately primal inside his overweight pinstriped frame said that they couldn't fly, their wings did not move and they were far too heavy. Something just as instinctual inside Tadd's preconscious mind was at odds with the fear, the part of Tadd that made him Not Cause a Scene in Public, something that all humans at the time did indeed possess. One was stored in neural patterns in the middle of his brain, and the other resided in the front. His brain, and indeed no brain, especially in this record, no, novel of the time is united. Every brain, no, mind in this record, no, novel of the time is going to try like crazy to think and make other minds, no, brains think that each one actually is, and that nobody is actually ever at odds with himself, no, herself, no, itself, no...
Microexpression
O Superman
Brain Complexity
Complexity is size, metric and currency of information. Of mind. Of the soul.
You don't know me
but if You had ... (to)
would You refer ... (to me)
in the future tense
Please?
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Let JMS = OSX
I was trying to pass 8th grade so that I could finally graduate from UMKC, and I knew that I had a baby on the way...but we were at a friend's house and his mom came home with her new baby. The woman was tall and blonde, and she had large buck teeth that were wobbling to and fro. The baby looked fine, and the lady began to change a diaper.
She took the remains of the baby's stool and began to poke around in it. I could see mushy forms of banana, small chili pepper, and bits of ground beef. She told me it was a "green" way of reusing food, since baby's don't digest everything they need, you know. I didn't say anything. I didn't want to offend her. My wife didn't say anything, she just stood there, and looked sick. I began to ruminate to myself that this is what happens when you don't give people enough to do, when you aren't smart enough to let yourself do what you'd like to do...you start feeding your baby its own shit. I went over to the living room, far from the microwave where the baby shit was heading. The baby just laid there, on the counter, next to the sink.
I went to music class. There was the same teacher that was there in another dream about junior high - it's a person I've never met but if I did meet them in real life I would guess that he's one of those annoying clerks who try to make conversation with you as if you were a human, as if they were a human, as if we weren't in some kind of mechanical device, as if I could just reach in there into his chest and touch his heart, as if the money I would pass him regardless of his opinion of the weather had a magic power to disengage the conversation...
We didn't learn a thing. I didn't need to. It was 8th grade.
Last night, I tried to install OS X onto my brain. I couldn't see anything, I felt everything. I saw the packages unpacking, decompressing, matricies expanding organically up from my stomach, up through my spine, into my neck, webs of information coming in, operating, 3...2...1
I could see. I could finally see what was going on. I needed to configure my video drivers. I was awake. I wanted to make love to my wife.
P.S. - thanks.
thanks for all-ll the donuts.
If I ever live again
I want another slice
of donut just like you.
She took the remains of the baby's stool and began to poke around in it. I could see mushy forms of banana, small chili pepper, and bits of ground beef. She told me it was a "green" way of reusing food, since baby's don't digest everything they need, you know. I didn't say anything. I didn't want to offend her. My wife didn't say anything, she just stood there, and looked sick. I began to ruminate to myself that this is what happens when you don't give people enough to do, when you aren't smart enough to let yourself do what you'd like to do...you start feeding your baby its own shit. I went over to the living room, far from the microwave where the baby shit was heading. The baby just laid there, on the counter, next to the sink.
I went to music class. There was the same teacher that was there in another dream about junior high - it's a person I've never met but if I did meet them in real life I would guess that he's one of those annoying clerks who try to make conversation with you as if you were a human, as if they were a human, as if we weren't in some kind of mechanical device, as if I could just reach in there into his chest and touch his heart, as if the money I would pass him regardless of his opinion of the weather had a magic power to disengage the conversation...
We didn't learn a thing. I didn't need to. It was 8th grade.
Last night, I tried to install OS X onto my brain. I couldn't see anything, I felt everything. I saw the packages unpacking, decompressing, matricies expanding organically up from my stomach, up through my spine, into my neck, webs of information coming in, operating, 3...2...1
I could see. I could finally see what was going on. I needed to configure my video drivers. I was awake. I wanted to make love to my wife.
P.S. - thanks.
thanks for all-ll the donuts.
If I ever live again
I want another slice
of donut just like you.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Wedding Photos
Here are some wedding photos that I like, I will have more when I process more.
It was a really good wedding - I gotta finish that album!
Hooray for GIMPshop! Hopefully we can have less photoshop pirates and more GIMPshop users. Don't get me wrong, I like a good dose of piracy as much as the next guy, but, really, if you have OpenOffice, do you need to pirate Word? The way I see it, using Open Source Alternatives not only takes money from those stingy bastards you hate, but also helps develop the software to make it even better, even if you're just using it.
It was a really good wedding - I gotta finish that album!
Hooray for GIMPshop! Hopefully we can have less photoshop pirates and more GIMPshop users. Don't get me wrong, I like a good dose of piracy as much as the next guy, but, really, if you have OpenOffice, do you need to pirate Word? The way I see it, using Open Source Alternatives not only takes money from those stingy bastards you hate, but also helps develop the software to make it even better, even if you're just using it.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Flogging Jamndy
Well, I'm Blogging using this newfangled Flock Blog Editor, so that I don't have to log in anyplace, it does it all for me. I'm using my ancient Xanga and my new Blogger account - I don't think it supports MySpace because that site is afraid of newcomers developing neat software to use.
It looks like a nice text editor, and I can drag and drop pictures with ease. I may end up liking this experimental piece of whatsit. I'm using the Beta, by the way, since the regular version wouldn't log into Facebook for me. If you'd like, check out Flock yourself. It's free and open source, built on top of Firefox. I'm not replacing my regular browser, but when the Spirit Moves Me, I like to do the "social network" thing.
By the by, here is a picture of my embryo. That's not what became me - it is what will bear half of my wife and mine's wonderful, superior genes. That's right, thought I should just throw the truth out there. Superior.
Heee-eeere's Jamndy!
The blob on the right is the ridiculously large head. Within, billions of brain cells will grow. I personally cannot wait for the "Carrie" stage of the thing's development. We've all been there, right?
Well, expect more blogs from me, as they are now easy-to-do.
I've also created a pretty neat atheistic schema of How Things Work. Now, to make it funny...bwa hah hah hah hah!
That's why the Frum thing never worked out, except somewhat in practice. Part of it definitely was because of the whole TJ nonsense, where a friend of 17 years decided to throw everything away because of a cat and a girl. The other part was because, besides the act of actually worshipping the volcano Yasur, the Cult just wasn't funny enough on paper. I've got a great idea regarding the Emergence Cult, and I'm planning on tying it in with, what else, Atlantis. The background, secret information is all there, what the new initiates MUST KNOW without me or anybody actually telling them. The trick, the real trick is to sell the damn thing. And humor is the best bow to wrap anything in. Making it direly inconsequential is the key. How do I do that?! Your ideas welcome, a prize for the winner! (Souls! Lots and lots of SOULS, man!!)
It looks like a nice text editor, and I can drag and drop pictures with ease. I may end up liking this experimental piece of whatsit. I'm using the Beta, by the way, since the regular version wouldn't log into Facebook for me. If you'd like, check out Flock yourself. It's free and open source, built on top of Firefox. I'm not replacing my regular browser, but when the Spirit Moves Me, I like to do the "social network" thing.
By the by, here is a picture of my embryo. That's not what became me - it is what will bear half of my wife and mine's wonderful, superior genes. That's right, thought I should just throw the truth out there. Superior.
Heee-eeere's Jamndy!
The blob on the right is the ridiculously large head. Within, billions of brain cells will grow. I personally cannot wait for the "Carrie" stage of the thing's development. We've all been there, right?
Well, expect more blogs from me, as they are now easy-to-do.
I've also created a pretty neat atheistic schema of How Things Work. Now, to make it funny...bwa hah hah hah hah!
That's why the Frum thing never worked out, except somewhat in practice. Part of it definitely was because of the whole TJ nonsense, where a friend of 17 years decided to throw everything away because of a cat and a girl. The other part was because, besides the act of actually worshipping the volcano Yasur, the Cult just wasn't funny enough on paper. I've got a great idea regarding the Emergence Cult, and I'm planning on tying it in with, what else, Atlantis. The background, secret information is all there, what the new initiates MUST KNOW without me or anybody actually telling them. The trick, the real trick is to sell the damn thing. And humor is the best bow to wrap anything in. Making it direly inconsequential is the key. How do I do that?! Your ideas welcome, a prize for the winner! (Souls! Lots and lots of SOULS, man!!)
Blogged with the Flock Browser
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