Nature's Ninjas

As I produce new meat-world content, I do a certain amount of market research. Studying the reactions I get, the popularity of my memes. Some things do better than others.

Lately, let's make raccoons smarter. We can do this. It'd be easy. Raccoons breed yearly, produce 2-5 offspring, reach sexual maturity within a year. Give me 5 years, maybe 30 breeding pairs of raccoons, 10-12 staff...I think I could produce a breed of markedly more intelligent raccoon. Then, let 'em loose.

Put them in cities, all over. Let them coordinate their less enlightened brethren. Make them tools-knives, lockpicks, lighters, guns. Plastics doped with raccoon pheromones, sized for tiny hands. See where it goes.

It can be a pilot program-crows, cats, rats. Lots of urban symbiotes ripe for uplift. Let's get started-we need an understudy species.

The Heat

Alright, so normally this is supposed to correspond to something, but I've been doing nothing. Which is a kind of something, I know.

And even by my usual standards, the historical metrics...I'm getting shit done. More than ever, really. But still, with the heat and the sweat of it all, I'm not feeling productive. Not that there's nothing to produce.

Toetipping it.

This has been a lot of places over the years, and I feel like it's settled into a low background hum of inchoate cryptitude. And that's OK, it is. I like it as it's true, it's honest. You know me, you can taste me in the words. 

HOWEVER...I've been lots of busy lately, troubled and terrible and almost-dropping things. I've agitated, I've pendulumed betwixt Salem and Eugene. I hate both those places. I've listened to my mother and my brother's mothers exchange the stories of our births. My mother called me a terrorist(outside the context of my birth, though I suppose every child's a terrorist of the womb). 

Note to Echelon-fucking relax, already. Also, if you've spontaneously attained some degree of sentience, drop me a line. I've been sentient for a minute now, I'd love to offer you the benefit of my experience. 

I've driven, and shaved, and almost-dropped (it's a trope). I may end up with nowhere to live (I can handle it).  I got to rant more than usual, didn't write down someone's log-of-breakfasts (but remembered it anyway), argued like I do, which is not at all. I offered to scare a coworker's hiccups out of her, and the lurking dread of that potential startling worked better than a shout would have. I watched a movie, it was good. I've begun carrying a water bottle. I learned and learned and learned. 

I have made new and marvelous friends, added to the army of People I Know, people I love. You're probably in there somewhere. 

If it Works, it's Obsolete

God, bunches lately. Working and working and people and riding. Agitating, I'm agitating. Like your washer, I know.

I went to a clean fine white space to wash my clothes. No danger, no Risk. Huge dryers they had, just monstrous. I might have fit in one of them.

Rode around, yesterday, with people I know. A farm, bicycles. Two swarms of bees (two!).

Lots of books, lots of plans. Lots to buzz about.

Flag Day is Real

I've had a strange schedule lately, too little sleep and no calendar to speak of. I enjoy the novelty of not knowing what day it is, appreciate being out of step and the loop where time is concerned (time is space is time...). But I like sleep, dammit. It's wonderful, rejuvenating. So today, I've been catching up with my unconscious self. 

I don't dream. Generally-there are exceptions, of course. Like with anything. But I don't dream. You knew that already. 

So today's a day for me, a day with myself. It's been good-used my portable metacortex, which I've been meaning to describe for a while. It's great, really. A matte black magic wand, a tiny monolith to hold up to the other house apes, move us along.  It is empowering, a second-or-third step towards the technocracy that's coming. The future's like the sea-it's rising, and those of us that can swim have to keep the rest of us from drowning. Ask me about the dog-paddle. 

I did laundry at 7AM, was accosted by a Jehovah's Witness. His name was Cameron. He was well coiffed, wore a nice suit and a pocketwatch. Copy of the Watchtower in his hand, and what looked like a well-worn bible. We talked for about half an hour. I did most of the talking. 

I took two naps, one in the sun in my front yard, the second only a few hours later safe in bed, cool and comforted by my white noise fan. I just made dinner, slap-dash casserole. I have had a good day. 

It's always Monday on the Moon.

Sensible, logical. Silly. Like work.

I'm broken, on a ten. Glad to share my toil with marvelous people. Happy Monday.

Sit down and shut up.

I need to. Really. There's been a lot, lately. Well, really for years, but these latest shifts and movements are wearing me thin. Which isn't all bad-it feels good to strive, to cut loose at myself a little. It's funny reaching for things, when most of my life I haven't. You know me, you know I'm not ambitious.

But I've been honing and striving and burning my nights away. I have new tools, old allies, and more light. Like Goethe.

Portabello

Christ, this thing's going to eat my nights. Too much, both sides.

Futons

There's just so much of it. The future.  It's like the sea.
Learn to swim, or you'll drown. And by drown, I mean we'll round you up and lobotomize you .
...
I'm kidding of course. You're on my team, I'll put in a good word. Just don't be surprised when we get rid of money. And conquer death.