Arbitors and Abbatoirs

Well well. Pushing for a record in the month, as well as a century in the year. Plus, there's more of you all of a sudden (chatty motherfuckers too, aren't they?) and I'm compelled to mark the holiday.

So...nope, I got nothing. Which is not to say my days are smaller than normal-rather, they're markedly harder to describe. I might, for example, relate to you the story of my acquisition of a sort 0f creche-blanket, complete with a Negative Zone face. Or a short dialog betwixt myself and my favorite solipsist, or the brief bright moments I spent with some of my fairer coworkers today. Or something about vicodin. I might wax poetic about fucking vicodin. But to tell you the truth, I'm all worded out for the moment.

...

All Saints tomorrow, All Souls the next day. Come Saturday, I might need some looking after.

Good Karma

Lots of practice lately, perfecting my dance with the world. With the rest of you. And I should let you know, I am the Dean of Nomenclature. Also, President of Twelve Minutes from Now. Newly bespangled, spangled with the Word. And negative Jesus. So, updated for your nametag pleasure.

Spookypants Mcfavors
Chestnut McWhiskeyskirt
Captain Lowjack
Nice Marmot Camino
Silverback Danny
Poisonfinger Pickles
Noodles Pasta, the Hobo Ninja
Mr. Chartreuse
Living Language Aaron
Skeetster Latefee
Tiny Toast

Dear Diary

That's a nod to someone newly first-level in the green-grocery. This is a stopgap blog, a placeholder. A week is far too long to go sans posts. So here we are, you and I, one writing just to fill the white space and one reading, after, what is essentially filler. So thanks for your attention to my sawdust and packing peanuts-there will be more later.

By way of apology-an epistolary tradition too long gone by the wayside-let me say that my recent history has been peppered with the drama and pathos of others, and it is to those circumstances that my keen eye and verbal acumen has turned. Gazing at the navels of others, rather than my own. Sort of. So that's my excuse/toot-my-own-horn. And...my own adventures, while advancing at a steady rate, haven't seemed to warrant comment as of late. It might be the drugs I'm taking, it might be the terrible and constant pain. It might be something else entirely. Whatever, however, whoever...I'll be back later.

Toyotomi's Japan

Today is the 407th anniversary of the Battle of Sekigahara. We would be living in a very different world today if it were Toyotomi Hideyoshi's Japan, rather than Tokugawa Iyesu's. Not exactly relevant, but close and distant in a way I find comforting right now. Good night to you all.

Gibbering and Gibberish

Mine's getting worse. Less loquacious, less lucid. More skin-crawlingly awful. My head itches, my mind reflects my body more as both collapse in on themselves. I've got a candle, and I've long since learned "only one wick at a time", but christ I seem to be burning a third-even a fourth(!) I didn't know I had. Maybe if I didn't have to look them(you*) in the eye so regular, it wouldn't be so hard.

That's a lie, not even prettily told. That's how bad it's gotten.

I wasn't sure if the vicodin was amping my angst...and I considered that, as I am unhappy in a novel new way today. Not that I'm unprepared to dance w/ my unhappiness. But I decided that it's not the bad that's up, it's the good that's down. I didn't laugh for all of my AM today, and that's terrifying, to tell you the truth. If I can't find it in myself to slough it off through it's (everything's) absurdity...I don't know what I'm going to do. It's awful to have been sobered by something that's left me in every other possible way fucked up.

I feel like my choices are few-pain and discomfort at an intolerable level, or this ugly, dirty, frightening pharmeceutical phugue. And part of me embraces it as a kind of self-destruction I've not faced before, and I can almost see the beauty in it. Almost.






*There's several of you. Try and guess which ones you are.

God's Turing Test

God may be in everything, even in your eyeball, but He/She/It ain't on MySpace, of that I am quite sure. Like Lister says, I'm a pantheist, but I'm not a frying pantheist. Submit your questions now, oh marvelous clade of/for which I am the nexus, submit what questions you have that would detect the Divine on the other end of the keyboard. The sooner we have Neuromancer, the sooner we get Wintermute.

Note: those of you who catch any of the the above references get nerd cred. And Aaron cred. The two's Venn Diagram gets less circular all the time.

Can't talk, eating fajitas.

AHA!

Oh dear. A touch, I fear, a touch. And..."little"? Please.

...

Cross the continent, still toe to toe. Well met, Enita.

Acknowledgements

Top 5 Things I Glean From The Internet, In Descending Order of Value.

#5-Recipes
#4-Topical Information (News, Opinion, etc.)
#3-Personal/Perennial Information (Blogs, Email, Media)
#2-Shit That's Funny
#1-New Ways of Making A Nuisance of Myself (Watch Out!)

The bloated revivified corpse of Taft in '08!

Lest we forget, Taft was the only man in US history to be both President and Chief Justice of the Motherfucking Supreme Court. No, not at the same time. Only one guy big enough for both jobs. So I'm writing this to keep my wonk card current. Can't be letting oblique romance and verbose angst overtake this blog. Well-rounded, I am, like a D10. Politics and undead weirdness all in one post. And how the fuck is "undead" misspelled? My computer's spellcheck knows me not at all. Sad to be obscure even to one's well-used appliances.

The brood mother of 1.4 of my favorite people (Risa I don't know enough to count more than that 0.4, but I can extrapolate her greatness from her file and her genetic proximity) has come out, at least a little, for Hillary. I like Hillary, been liking her since '93 and her Health Care Harbinger-y. But I gotta tell you, I can't get past her A. voting for the war B. seemingly surrendering to the bloated, jowly white establishment of The Other Side of America (geographically, I mean. Seriously, fuck all you non-Pacificans at this point). The money and mercurial moral machinations of her recent senate stint leave me...disinterested, if nothing else. Don't get me wrong, come what may, I'll vote for her over any of the Republican zombies hungry for brains in November '08...'less it's Ron Paul. I'm just batshit crazy enough to qualify for voting for Ron Paul.

BUT...in the interests of actually trying to change the course my accidental country's taken, rather than turning down the current inertia-of-evil...I'm all for Edwards, Kucinich, Obama at this point. And sunsetter squads, I'm also for sunsetter squads.

Remeniscent of Something

So many bits down by the wayside, fallen away. Sloughed off for no reason better than entropy of the imagination. Better that than the alternative, I suppose.

There's all kinds of smart, but only one kind of stupid-failure of imagination. Aaron's pithy sayings #11.

Green Grocery.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

Man, I don't want to know the things that I know, seen the things that I've seen. Too many facts in my head-I'd like to take a drill to it, drain this shit out. Woke up in pain this morning, and where the physical has places to go, I got no Tylenol for the emotional.

Wow, no blog for a while, huh?

So yeah, here I sit, hours previous to my job (guacamole and mango salsa this week. I know, I'm a fucking magician) wary of what's lurking in the next few hours. Herman's driving me up the wall, like there's blood running down my leg. And still, the things in my head that I'd like out. On the plus side, none of it's mine. I'm just who everybody decides to talk to. Don't know how that happened.