Tall Writings from Certain Genius

"My Morning Mocha," or "The Curious Case of the Coffee Craze"

2011-05-16T10:38:00.001-07:00

I was debating whether or not to get a mocha this morning, but then I suddenly got the feeling of "Heck with it, I'm getting a mocha!" So I walked over to the bottleshop at 9:37 in order to get a mocha. I checked the time to see how long it would take for me to get back to my office; I wanted it to be under 5 minutes.

As I entered the bottleshop, the smell of freshly ground espresso beans wafted into my nostrils, exciting me all the more, for my tongue would soon touch these tasty molecules.The break room with the espresso machine is right near the bottleshop's conference room, so I walked through that room to get there, and noticed the projector was on and the screen said "Shutting Down." I figured someone had just finished a meeting, and went to fill my mug. I put a squirt of the chocolate sauce into my mug, making sure that I pushed the nozzle all the way down, to get the full ounce of flavor. I then nuzzled my cup under the spout and began to wonder if I actually wanted a cappucino. I read the cappucino instructions, and realized that it does not have chocolate sauce, so I decided I had better go with my original plan, and chose mocha. While I calmly waited for the coffee machine to fill my cold cup with caffeine caliente, Cory came in and we made conversation about how cool the capable machine could be.

After my mocha was finished we both walked through the conference room again, when he mentioned "It's done this twice now," regarding the conference computer shutting down. I said "Oh yeah, this latest batch of updates had all the computers rebooting a couple of times. On Thursday, mine was taking a while, so I just came to get some coffee. I can wait, though, to make sure it goes through." We talked about his broken laptop, and what might be the best method of fixing or replacing it. He wasn't sure if netbooks have CD drives, so I mentioned that even if they don't, there is software that can mimic a CD drive if needed. José walks through, complaining that his mocha will undo the work of biking in today.

The conference computer booted, and Cory logged in. He opened up a video file that he planned on playing at his meeting, starting at 10:00. The file opened, a moving image appeared on-screen, and the cacophony of crashing bottles that is ever-present in the bottleshop blared through the conference speakers. Then, nothing. Black. What happened? Had he stopped the video because it was so loud? Someone walks by, headed to the espresso machine.

Then the Dell logo flashed into focus. The computer had rebooted. "Good thing I'm here," I joked. We let the OS boot again, and he mentioned that the only program that seemed to work with those files is Quicktime, and WMP always plays the video sideways. Since time was ticking down 'til his meeting started, I decided I had better install Quicktime posthaste. Hunter and Al mosey on through, talking about how nice it is to take a break to walk out to the bottleshop for an espresso.

Quickly I opened the relevant website and clicked the Download link. 350 KB/s. Really? It was going to take two minutes to download a few MB file? So be it. Ken uses the side door, and informs people that this machine makes Americano as well.

Finally, the file was downloaded! I typed in my administrator password so that it could install. Someone accidentally cuts in line, arousing a flurry of complaints from the caffeine-starved office workers.

It looked like it was working, then it asked for my password again. Abnormal, but nothing to worry about. Another minute, and it's done! Tyler mentions that the machine went through eight gallons of milk before 1:00 last week.

Quicktime had installed. The video worked, and wasn't sideways when it played. It's a good thing, too, because several people had already showed up for the meeting. "Alright, Cory, looks like it's working, so I'll see you later." "Thanks, Doug." I look down at my mug, and it's empty.

And then...

2009-08-14T19:40:00.000-07:00

For the ninth time that day, the doorbell rang, bringing with it the expectations that always accompany a visitor to the asylum. But no one, oh yes none, knew its extent.

Escape

2009-04-19T14:19:00.000-07:00

The truth is that the little animals couldn't run fast enough to escape their own minds, however weak they really were in comparison. They sprinted, O yes, they sprinted, and even jumped up trees, then from branch to branch, tree to tree, deftly dodging thought and idea as they tried to plan an escape but couldn't, their thoughts already occupied with attackers. Instead their only escape was through instinct; they were reduced to mere shadows of what they had become, and their abilities were now useless and all they could do was run.

Someone Wasn't Listening

2009-01-18T10:40:00.000-08:00

As you can see, the children who have been betrayed are oblivious to the glory which has been produced by this betrayal, and though it is difficult to not pity them, I feel such a great remorse that I believe it to be not true, but artificially created for the sake of promoting their well-being, even in the present circumstance in which I know them not.

What Would Life Be Worth

2008-09-23T23:55:00.001-07:00

if you didn't die a little every day?

Life's Tricks

2008-09-06T12:55:00.001-07:00

Surreal as it was, he knew he had to go. Waking up on a stranger's couch is something that either reminds you of the night before, or of your own mortality. It really depends on what you drank before finding yourself there. But he found his keys, found the bathroom, then found his car. Work. At 10. That's why he left this house at 8, waving to the stranger at the top of the stairs as he left. On his way home, he realized that, not knowing when he fell asleep, he might still be too affected to drive. But it didn't feel like it. He'd be fine. He thought he should feel tired, as he usually did, but he was alert, if not refreshed. From there, his day transformed into what could be considered normal, although, once in a while, he would look down at himself and realize that he was never really there.

Premature Exit

2008-09-04T07:31:00.000-07:00

As he stood with a look of nonchalance carved into his face, they began to realize he was serious. Some members of the audience began to smile; some began to despair. Most stood up and left, until less than a dozen remained to see the spectacle. He knew they would love it, but perhaps everyone would have, if only they had opened themselves up to it. As I left the building, I heard him calling out to them one by one to come up onto the stage. I suppose my cab driver was no better then he could have been.

He Will Play Chess.

2008-09-02T22:19:00.000-07:00

His ringtone was the Imperial March, and it will forever play in my head, even now that he is so far away in the land of his home, where he learned the alphabet and how to climb and how to fall. This stuff made him happy and he wanted to do these many things at once, but it is only so much that one mind can handle, and one body is less capable still. Please forgive his mortality.

Well, it's Tomato!

2008-08-06T23:43:00.000-07:00

For seventeen long years his salads had been filled with tomatoes, and yet when he saw them his heart felt a longing the likes of which he had never felt before, and it stretched from his knees to his elbows because he is symmetric like that, and the redness of the fruit caused him pains of the throat, but his death came swiftly and with no regret.

Stars and Trucks

2008-07-27T12:34:00.000-07:00

Looking up from the bed of the pickup, he could see Cassiopeia. Even in his drunken state, she shone brightly in the sky. He tried to tell his fellow truck bed passengers but they would have none of it. He was smashed up against the cab, finding out with every bump that he wasn't as limber as he used to be. Suddenly, in a flash of sobriety, he realized what he was doing. He felt exposed and vulnerable. His friend said that he could see people watching them as they rode by. These people didn't care, but what if they did? They could be arrested, couldn't they? Riding through downtown crouched in the bed of a pickup must have consequences. But then they arrived at home, free and clear, with only the memory.

It started at the end.

2008-06-02T20:06:00.000-07:00

There was once a rare genius, with one severe physical defect: a lack of appendages. This was the worst in a long line of abnormalities present in his ancestors. The savant decided to have children despite the risk of them having deficiencies. The prodigy admittedly exacerbated the phylogeny of his progeny.

Awakedness

2008-05-23T05:18:00.000-07:00

It was his thirst that first drew him upright in his bed, leading him to the kitchen. But once awake, his body no longer could accept the warm hug of slumber and instead lay motionless and alert above his blankets. He couldn't recall ever feeling this way before. He had only first gone to bed a few short hours ago, but here he was, in pitch dark, unable to return to that stress free land of fantasy that he could always count on before. He gazed about his obscured room, wishing he could at least admire the pictures on the wall, but it was in vain. He instead imagined them where they ought to be, since he had once stared at them for so many eternities as to memorize every detail they thought couldn't be seen.

His mind was like that, when alert. He had a heightened sense of the things around him, and he liked to think that it was a rare and important trait. Sometimes he memorized numbers for fun. Sometimes if he heard a phone number he would just store it away, even if he knew he would never use it. He could imagine that everything around him was not there, that it was all a number in his own mind, telling him what it should be, but what it really wasn't.

The pictures gradually came into view along his walls as the sun slowly kindled through his closed blinds. He imagined it like driving toward a castle; as you pass over one hill you can see the tallest tower, and then each hill you cross as you approach lets you see more and more of its walls, its buttresses, its gardens, its moat. Finally you reach the tourist parking lot and you are at the base of a castle, looking up, and are unable to see but what is directly in front of you.

This is how he looked at the pictures. Now that the sun was bright enough for him to confirm the details that he knew he remembered perfectly, he was reminded that he was awake. He once again rose from his bed into the lukewarm morning and set off for the water closet.

The mirror shocked him. His eye was much worse than he thought it would be. Eyelid, rather. Pink, swollen, inflamed, painful, ugly, dramatic, unexplainable, useless, watery, and somehow mongoloid. These are some of the more descriptive words that ran through his mind as he stared at it from every available angle. He never imagined it would get this bad. He would have to see a doctor. Maybe. First he would talk to his mother, because although she never had any medical training, she was more reliable than any doctor he had been to, especially since she knew when she was out of her league. She had seen it all in her many years as a socially participating human being, and had the experience to know what was an allergy and what was a spider bite.

But he could put that off until later. For now, there are papers to be written. He left the water closet and turned back into his room, illuminating it further with artificial light as he entered. He turned on his computer. It should have just been asleep, but apparently it had decided to take a different route in its path to unuse last night, and had shut itself down. He sat, silently cursing as it started from nothing. A thousand worlds could be created and blinked out of existence in the time it took for his machine to get from A to B.

He looked at his bulletin board and was reminded that his frozen yogurt coupon would soon expire. Why did he keep things like that? He would never use it, he knew. How embarrassing to go to a frozen yogurt shop alone and order two servings, just because the second one is free. Imagine the looks he would receive! He could already hear other customers whispering to each other as they sit with their dates, mutually enjoying their single serving fudge peanut butter swirl. He could feel his neck burn red as the man behind the counter overtly sneered. So vivid was the image in his mind that tears started to build in his left eye. He jerked his head away from the coupon, forcing himself to think about happier times.

The computer prompted for a password, but he knew he wasn't going to write now. How could he, with so much grief in the world? How could he complete another meaningless assignment put forth by the institute of higher learning, meant to form his mind in a way that they feel will benefit society? Who are they to know what is right for society, and more importantly, what is right for him? He wished his thoughts were revolutionary, but their haphazard argument is simply a patchwork of what other people have said and published. He is a collection of other minds. For all his effort in trying to be himself, he gains nothing. "Himself" changes with his proximity to different people. He wonders if it's the same for everyone.

Sitting in his chair in front of a blank screen six hours into the day is not how most of his mornings started. Today could be different; it could be the first day of the rest of his life. Or the differences could end when he gets in the shower. He looks down at his nearly nude body and wonders if he'll ever start the exercise plan he had laid out for himself. It was the beginning of summer, and he wanted to wake up every morning and ride his bicycle for at least an hour, burning away yesterday so he could start fresh every time the sun rose. Today wasn't the day, and after today was the weekend, so maybe he could get started next week. He knew he would never run out of excuses.

He spun his chair around. When did it lose the effect of making him the happiest child on earth? Maybe it was when people stopped spinning the chair for him. But maybe it was because this chair didn't have arms to hold on to. In any case, his dreary mood was not alleviated. He turned around, typed in his password, and began the rest of his day.

Three Flavors, Together but with Identity.

2008-05-09T09:40:00.000-07:00

My roommate has soft serve hair. It comes in chocolate, vanilla, or swirl. Each flavor has its own curl from whence it pours, flowing like so much soft soft tasty treat of softy goodness and happy flavor, in its own type of beauty which is closer to standard than that of its frosty relative.

Ugh

2008-05-01T03:09:00.000-07:00

The difficulties of this vida cannot cause me to succumb, for throughout, there will always be one light, and sometimes many, for my film is sensitive and detects the faintest happiness, the slimmest chance, the dying torch, causing me always to look forward instead of back, to know the future instead of remembering the past, and to feel the love instead of knowing the hate which has burned so deep, hidden so far down within that it cannot come up again without provocation; so far down that even my film cannot detect its light without being first admonished by the present.

Ask and Ye Shall Receive.

2008-04-29T18:29:00.000-07:00

Q: "LOL!

This is so bizarre, and slightly disturbing. Where do you come up with these ideas? Jasson says you must be smoking something."

A: Well, I don't know, I just sit for a second and start with a word that's usually a preposition. By the time the word is typed onto the page, that sentence is already written in air, I just have to grab it and throw it onto the page. And then it's like I'm reading a story, just predicting the next line each time, and I'm usually right. Once in a while I have to backspace, but I really don't like to do that. In that fashion, a bizarre and slightly disturbing idea is come up with.

Once in a while I get an idea when I'm away from the computer. At that point, I run slash bike to a computer quickly so that my airy ideas can become pixelated and spread themselves onto your air.

Smoking is not involved :)

Lactic Acid

2008-04-26T17:52:00.000-07:00

Since her arm was weaker than his, she let him hold the door open for more than mere minutes, extending his willing chivalry on into the night; and such a special night it was, for there was about to be a ceremony to crown the new president of the group of students (who refused to call themselves a club) that like to create and learn, adding to and expounding upon the cultures that already existed in their domain; and yes, his arm would weaken and ache, but he would not flinch in his duty, even if it was an arbitrary one, for that is the law of propriety.

Rocks are Ouch

2008-04-25T16:08:00.000-07:00

From his breast the badger flew, raving with the madness of a thousand wizards, the screams of a thousand kittens, and the valor of a thousand mighty ducks. Upon the badger's landing, the man saw that this is what he had produced in his desperate efforts for love and knew that it could not be continued, for what would he produce next? A lamprey of the spirit? A dragon that consumes souls? Even a devil that digests the very planets in his path? No. This would stop now, with the badger. And the man picked himself up off the rocks and ran toward it, loving it harder and harder with each step. Still dazed, the badger frantically ran in circles, learning to exist when it never had before. It was just beginning to leap from a rock when the man impaled himself upon its sharp skull. The badger's gullible body would have been crushed were it not for the love that absorbed it. Alas, the rock beneath it was not chaste, and had been hardened by years of unloving life. It pierced the man's heart, where the badger now once again lived and died. That day was the first of many such events, and also the greatest of them. For no man would ever again produce such a creature; and no creature would ever again produce such a man.

i am so young

2008-04-20T16:40:00.001-07:00

i just went to shave

and i looked at my face

my hair is mussed from sleeping and not showering

and i saw myself in my face

just as i have always been

and i missed me

i wished i was who i am

but that i can never be.

only time will tell

2008-04-20T16:09:00.000-07:00

i want to be famous

and have a famous girlfriend

and a famous marriage

and famous bebbies.

i don't know how to be famous
but i do want to be an actor
and a writer
and a director
and a producer
and a mathematician
and a physicist.

i would make movies about things i discovered in space
and about my life as a mathematician, alone only with my pencils and equations
and about the new theories and things that prove they are true
and maybe i would create a camera that could see the theories that are so small.

the world has much things

but it is so small in the universe
but it still is big for us and it has many careers
and toys
and methods
and widgets
and girls
and boys
and lives.

i want to scream
and laugh
and cry
and run
and sit still
and finish my coffee
but i'm pretty sure it causes these thoughts
which is on second thought why i should finish it.

there is too much to learn
and i dont know what to do when
so i follow the current path
and hope it will all get done one day.

Alliteration of the 23rd Variety

2008-04-17T18:17:00.001-07:00

Whiskey's wrath wraps around writhing wretches, warring with wild wheat and whittling women with wicked wisdom.

Meat is Murder. Tasty, Tasty Murder.

2008-04-11T11:59:00.000-07:00

A white boy wearing blue jeans with a pink shirt, on a yellow bike. Or a pink boy with yellow skin and green and brown eyes on a black road.

Both describe me today. They aren't contradictory. They aren't even contrary. It depends who you ask.

Until Next Time

2008-04-10T11:46:00.000-07:00

The last thing I remember is my last words to him, "see ya," ringing in my ears. Such words are used often, taken for nothing more than granted. They are always true, but what if they weren't? This time. What if it was like this time?

In my state of constant, pure remembrance, I will always know my folly. "See ya" was not to be fulfilled. I was such a ridiculous joker! For that blind corner is not a bicyclist's dream, with its sign free existence, but it may be his eternal nightmare. Coming toward it, you feel the relief of not having to slow down, knowing that someone else will. Except that they won't. They see nothing of your slender mode of locomotion, until it is scratching their paint and cracking their windshield.

I can't remember it, but it must have happened. I am here in the dark, and "see ya" still lives in my ears, pounding each time deeper into my brain, trying to force its way back onto my tongue so that I may once again taste my own idiocy. If I had a mouth I would concede. Until I find myself again, until I learn prudence, see ya.

Crazinski

2008-04-09T18:02:00.000-07:00

And he said unto the people below him, "Go toward the light, and become one with it, for in that way you may become closer to me, and we shall forever know the light that is knowledge."

Not my best piece

2008-04-05T13:29:00.000-07:00

From his satchel he pulled a large object, awkward enough to look like it could never have fit in such a small bag, and he placed it upon the pedestal near the queen's feet, where all gifts were customarily bestowed to either her or the king. She lowered her upturned nose just enough to notice the object, then thrust her snoot upward once more, even higher toward the heavens which she so longed to smell, so that she could think about what she had seen. The king had not moved throughout this theatrical glance. The boy kept his head down, for he did not want to be without it when she spoke. After all, his ears are on his head...

Murphy's Law

2008-03-23T00:37:00.000-07:00

I was watching a bunch of Atheist vs. Creationist videos today on YouTube (very reputable, no?), and I think that got my mind spinning in a religious direction, because when I was washing the dishes just now I thought up this idea for this blog. Oh and I just realized that it's Easter, so it's even more topical!

Ok, I believe in Murphy's Law, which, for those who don't know it, states quite generally "Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong" (Wikipedia). For example, if your band has been practicing a song for weeks and you finally get it right a few days before your first show, you expect that the show will go smoothly. Unfortunately when the day of that show arrives, your van gets a flat tire, and you were already late because of the lead guitarist running out of hair gel, and by the time you get there, other acts have gone in your place so they push you to the end of the show, but before you get a chance, one of the other bands gets sick of the crowd booing them and throws his guitar at a heckler who dodges it, and the guitar crashes into a main amp, exploding into a fiery spark show which causes much confusion and sadness. The rest of the show is unfortunately canceled, and you have missed your moment.

So then I applied Murphy's Law to Christian religion and I figured that the Rapture should probably be coming very very soon. This is because I am now more atheist than I have ever been, and if it turns out that the Christian God does exists and takes all His people back to Heaven with Him, then I will be quite stuck here on earth. Since right now (or I guess anytime in my future) would be a bad time for me, it is likely that this is when the Rapture will occur. Of course this is a most selfish way of looking at it. As if I had anything to do with God's decision. Of course, that second coming of Jesus probably doesn't rest solely upon when I decide to believe whatever I believe, but...I mean...maybe it does?

Vague Hymns

2008-03-16T02:48:00.000-07:00

Alas, his coat did not contain the warmth necessary to walk the distance. He was too tall and wiry to hold any heat himself; indeed, his mother always had accused him of being colder than the rooms in their abode as a young man. Not as a child, for he did remain quite plump until adolescence. It was on his thirteenth birthday that his grandmother realized how much he was beginning to look like his father. They had brought out the albums, showing him and telling stories about the man he had never known. The Great War had taken him, along with his brothers and led them to meet their maker, but everyone agreed that it was for the best. They did have to work harder, but this boy would grow up tall and maybe become a professional and never have to fight in a dreadful war like that.

But if he was to continue to make it to his classes, he would need a warmer coat. Perhaps something with down; that had always created the necessary effect when he slept through the cold nights of his youth. The comforter that he received on that birthday was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen: all white of course, for it was the finest cloth they could afford (the prices of dyes from Arabia really were quite outlandish) and it must have been half a dozen inches tall, stuffed with the soft feathers from uncountable geese, created as the absolute perfect complement to his thin bony frame which lost heat like the cabin they lived in.

Imagination < Life < Acting

2008-03-14T22:46:00.000-07:00

Reality's scorn can be created from the simplest of annotations, with its sad imperfections leading the way to dusty death and its uplifting moments creating refreshment stands along the path to righteousness, and either one can be the correct choice, for the life in which we portray ourselves is less than acting and more than imagination. Accept this offer of subordination and allow me to create within your body a wormhole into something grander, not that there can be anything grander than the universe in which we live, which is almost my point. We live here unknowingly, not looking from outside because our eyes are too close to our brains and our brains are too close to earth, therefore leading our souls to be attached to both and therefore all three. Please pretend that nothing is real. Please feel that you are the only thing that exists, and even so it's only your mind that exists, and then you will realize, if you can jump to that plane of thought, that whatever you do is more than imagination because it has unexpected results, and it is less than acting because you don't have to memorize anything, you can just let it flow. Like what you are reading now is just a thing that isn't really here, but it does exist, even in its sporadic process of coming to a point.

I have been wanting a steak...

2008-03-03T19:42:00.000-08:00

There should be 4 boxes in this comic strip. If you can't see all four, just click on it and you will see the whole thing.

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Science of Loneliness

2008-03-01T16:19:00.000-08:00

Twelve twelve twelve. 12 is a number. Twelve is a word. 12 is a dozen. Dozen's a word. Dozens of words. Words are 5 letters. Dozen is too. Dozen is 1 word. 1 word of 5 letters of 12 things. Dozens are 6, but are many, yet still 1. 1 is the loneliest number. 12 is twelve of 1. 12 is twelve lonely number 1s working synergistically to create 1 single dozen of non-lonely participants. This 1 dozen is, in itself, alone for there is only 1, until there come dozens. 5 can be lonely, 6 is less likely to be.

The Talent Lives in Her Hands

2008-02-27T20:06:00.000-08:00

So, Kelley drew this picture and put it in her blog! I am so amazed by it :D

A drawing of me.

Leave her great comments! She deserves them!

He Said "Rebuttals!"

2008-02-27T17:03:00.000-08:00

As spinning planets will tell you, my face tends to be more rational on a Tuesday quite nearly following election day, for that is the main reason of gravitational and rotational inertia, as is seen in the sad, sad atmosphere of Venus, with its clouds of sulfuric acid and anti-democratic embolisms. Please do not hold your responses in comparison to this, for none can be afforded which can even justify the reasons that this has been said, and as such are a waste of all resources that are required, including the finger energy, temporal allocations, and oxygenation to the phalangical and cognitive musculature necessary to create provocative and well-analyzed rebuttals.

Not all the Time, Just Forever.

2008-02-23T16:33:00.000-08:00

When forever occurs, I'll be there. Through my life I'll be always striving, never reaching forever. But one day when I grow old, I'll come closer, and then at the moment of my death, everything will slow down, until time is passing at an infinitely slow rate. It will be like what happens to light as it enters a black hole. Forever fading but never reaching complete darkness. That way I'll never be dead, never be gone. At least that is what it will seem like, since a person's parallax is relative. I will never realize my own death, therefore I will always think I am alive. Other people will see me, grieve, and move on, but I cannot grieve for myself. I know I will meet forever.

Power Hour: Try It Once

2008-02-15T10:27:00.000-08:00

With the music ringing in my ears, I have no hope of hearing the televisions which are strewn about the bar. As friends exhibit their determination to be heard, voices elevate until no one can hold a conversation. Yet people are still on cell phones. People sit at tables and chat. The bartenders still hear drink orders and can concentrate enough to produce correct change.

This is not my cup of tea. I am touched by many, but felt by none. Fellow students push their way toward the bathroom, or toward the exit. Ambidextrous girls somehow manage to carry four mixed drinks at a time to their friends, spilling very little along the way. A hand on my shoulder tells me to move forward, please.

Somehow I expected this place to smell like cigarettes, the unwelcome scent still lingering from years ago when people could still kill themselves slowly, with two methods at once. When the talented older men could puff a cigar in one corner of their mouth while sipping Jack with the other.

The strawberry lemonade, although girly, is good. I can't always taste the vodka, which is a plus. And making it taste even sweeter is the cost. Fifty cents for a mixed drink. I try a friend's drink, and it's also good. I like it better than mine, but I'm still satisfied.

No one is dancing. It's way too crowded here for that. But it doesn't matter to me, I'm not a dancer anyway. I never figured out how to get the right movements, when to lift my arms, when to bow and sway. There are no rules to modern dancing. Give me salsa, tango, something with a set pattern of steps. The lack of dancing does not contribute to stillness in this bar, the viscous masses of people constantly writhing, changing, trading positions, not giving your eyes enough time to focus.

Thank you power hour.

Her hair fell to her shoulders.

2008-02-03T16:43:00.000-08:00

Her legs crossed with much propriety, she sits alone. Her face betrays not her conscious mind, but what is below it: a deep somber fear of the days ahead. Now she ponders her decision, but that is past, and unchanging. Her truth has not yet been revealed. She stands up, and is gone.

Oh, God!

2008-02-02T11:11:00.000-08:00

This blog isn't meant to be offensive to any one person specifically, but I'm afraid it may be offensive to my Christian friends. Much of what I say comes from generalizations, and it isn't true for everyone, which I mention below.

Let's start here. You know I'm wrong. Well, I know you're wrong. I guess that makes us even. Why must you condescend? Why must you try to convince me that you are right? I won't do the same to you, because I know how insulting it is.

(I thought of this blog while in the shower, and all the words sounded amazing, but some time has passed since then and sadly I can't get quite the same rhetoric going as earlier. Time is a harsh mistress.)

I think that what I can't get my head around is how the Christian belief is that they are right, and so everyone else must be wrong. That was one of the main problems I had back when I was a Christian, for a number of years. How could I force my beliefs onto somebody? How could I walk up to my friend and say "Friend, you are sadly mistaken, and for that your soul shall be punished eternally and if you don't come to church with me tomorrow, I'm afraid there is nothing I can do to help you." I couldn't. You might say it's because I don't love them enough. If I loved them I would save them. No. I love people. I love people enough to know that I am no better than them, and that if they have made their own decision, that is the right decision. I have made my decision. God cannot exist for me.

A Christian will look into his heart and see God at work. I look into my heart and I see life, it's true. I see cells. Blood. Muscle. Electricity especially. Electricity is like God. God was thought up long before we realized that it's electricity that make our hearts beat, and that it's electricity that creates life where there was none. Electricity is invisible, and we can see only its effects. Just like God, right?

Ugh, my writing has become and impassable trench of thorns and lameness. Lately I just can't seem to finish passages with the finesse I used to have.

Ok. You believe in God. I don't. I won't try to convert you. Please don't try to convert me. I really appreciate my friends who are Christians that just live and let live. You know who you are. I love you.

And to my Christian friends and family who are saddened by my atheism, and wish that I would see the light: I appreciate where you are coming from. You love me and want me to live forever in Heaven with you. I do appreciate that fact, and I love you for loving me, but I have made my decision. You may think you deserve a reason. "But Doug, you have to have a reason for throwing your life away. You have to have a reason to think your beliefs are better than mine. What is it?" To be blunt, I don't have to have a reason. Also I don't think my belief is better than yours, just different. Everyone is special. And though I do have a reason, I don't have to tell you my reason. I probably will, because like I said before, I love you and appreciate your concern, but, when it comes right down to it, it has nothing to do with you. It's my choice and I have made it. If someday God comes down on his staircase from heaven and touches my soul and says "My son, come walk with me in the forest," I'll go with Him, because this guy obviously has some neat powers, and I might even waver a little in my stern beliefs. But until I see some heavenly escalator, please leave me alone.

Left You Hanging

2008-01-31T10:45:00.000-08:00

As I helped him with the simple math problems, I felt my status lowering. I knew she would see it, and wouldn't ignore the situation, and I'm not so naive as to think that popularity is proportional to intelligence. Soon enough she would talk to me, and it wouldn't be to invite me to a party, or out for coffee. It would be for help. Not that I mind helping; I love to help people, especially if they smell good. I didn't notice if she smelled good though, probably a bad sign.

But yes, my status was lowering. In their eyes I was becoming smarter and smarter. (If I dive further into this metaphor, God must be the ultimately unpopular kid, which is probably why so few young people go to church.) Soon their words would be laced with poison as they complain about their inability to understand things. They will resent me. They will feel like I am smug and snobbish, even if that's not the case.

Still I want to see them do well, and I want to do well, so I do the best that I can do.

I raised 2 to the -2 power. 0.25. The teacher says "Perfect!" in her all too excited voice. Too many simple feats are deemed Perfect by her, and it makes it seem like everything here is trivial. If she is so excited about this simple math, how much more excited could she get when it comes to the really interesting core of the course? This should be blasé, as it is for me.

I should be in a different group. Or I should be in this one. She wants me in this one, she sorted us by GPA. Some crazy psychoanalytical experiment she is performing on us while we are forced to perform menial tasks which aren't so menial to so many others.

I have been trying to get to a point, to some logical conclusion with a moral and a hint of understanding, but I can't find it.

Virginia Woolf

2008-01-30T18:12:00.000-08:00

Hi. I didn't write this, Virginia Woolf did. But I read it in class today and it was quite amazing, and it reminds me of how I write, so I thought you all would enjoy it. I hope to write as well as her someday. :)

THE DEATH OF THE MOTH

Moths that fly by day are not properly to be called moths; they do not excite that pleasant sense of dark autumn nights and ivy–blossom which the commonest yellow–underwing asleep in the shadow of the curtain never fails to rouse in us. They are hybrid creatures, neither gay like butterflies nor sombre like their own species. Nevertheless the present specimen, with his narrow hay–coloured wings, fringed with a tassel of the same colour, seemed to be content with life. It was a pleasant morning, mid–September, mild, benignant, yet with a keener breath than that of the summer months. The plough was already scoring the field opposite the window, and where the share had been, the earth was pressed flat and gleamed with moisture. Such vigour came rolling in from the fields and the down beyond that it was difficult to keep the eyes strictly turned upon the book. The rooks too were keeping one of their annual festivities; soaring round the tree tops until it looked as if a vast net with thousands of black knots in it had been cast up into the air; which, after a few moments sank slowly down upon the trees until every twig seemed to have a knot at the end of it. Then, suddenly, the net would be thrown into the air again in a wider circle this time, with the utmost clamour and vociferation, as though to be thrown into the air and settle slowly down upon the tree tops were a tremendously exciting experience.

The same energy which inspired the rooks, the ploughmen, the horses, and even, it seemed, the lean bare–backed downs, sent the moth fluttering from side to side of his square of the window–pane. One could not help watching him. One was, indeed, conscious of a queer feeling of pity for him. The possibilities of pleasure seemed that morning so enormous and so various that to have only a moth’s part in life, and a day moth’s at that, appeared a hard fate, and his zest in enjoying his meagre opportunities to the full, pathetic. He flew vigorously to one corner of his compartment, and, after waiting there a second, flew across to the other. What remained for him but to fly to a third corner and then to a fourth? That was all he could do, in spite of the size of the downs, the width of the sky, the far–off smoke of houses, and the romantic voice, now and then, of a steamer out at sea. What he could do he did. Watching him, it seemed as if a fibre, very thin but pure, of the enormous energy of the world had been thrust into his frail and diminutive body. As often as he crossed the pane, I could fancy that a thread of vital light became visible. He was little or nothing but life.

Yet, because he was so small, and so simple a form of the energy that was rolling in at the open window and driving its way through so many narrow and intricate corridors in my own brain and in those of other human beings, there was something marvellous as well as pathetic about him. It was as if someone had taken a tiny bead of pure life and decking it as lightly as possible with down and feathers, had set it dancing and zig–zagging to show us the true nature of life. Thus displayed one could not get over the strangeness of it. One is apt to forget all about life, seeing it humped and bossed and garnished and cumbered so that it has to move with the greatest circumspection and dignity. Again, the thought of all that life might have been had he been born in any other shape caused one to view his simple activities with a kind of pity.

After a time, tired by his dancing apparently, he settled on the window ledge in the sun, and, the queer spectacle being at an end, I forgot about him. Then, looking up, my eye was caught by him. He was trying to resume his dancing, but seemed either so stiff or so awkward that he could only flutter to the bottom of the window–pane; and when he tried to fly across it he failed. Being intent on other matters I watched these futile attempts for a time without thinking, unconsciously waiting for him to resume his flight, as one waits for a machine, that has stopped momentarily, to start again without considering the reason of its failure. After perhaps a seventh attempt he slipped from the wooden ledge and fell, fluttering his wings, on to his back on the window sill. The helplessness of his attitude roused me. It flashed upon me that he was in difficulties; he could no longer raise himself; his legs struggled vainly. But, as I stretched out a pencil, meaning to help him to right himself, it came over me that the failure and awkwardness were the approach of death. I laid the pencil down again.

The legs agitated themselves once more. I looked as if for the enemy against which he struggled. I looked out of doors. What had happened there? Presumably it was midday, and work in the fields had stopped. Stillness and quiet had replaced the previous animation. The birds had taken themselves off to feed in the brooks. The horses stood still. Yet the power was there all the same, massed outside indifferent, impersonal, not attending to anything in particular. Somehow it was opposed to the little hay–coloured moth. It was useless to try to do anything. One could only watch the extraordinary efforts made by those tiny legs against an oncoming doom which could, had it chosen, have submerged an entire city, not merely a city, but masses of human beings; nothing, I knew, had any chance against death. Nevertheless after a pause of exhaustion the legs fluttered again. It was superb this last protest, and so frantic that he succeeded at last in righting himself. One’s sympathies, of course, were all on the side of life. Also, when there was nobody to care or to know, this gigantic effort on the part of an insignificant little moth, against a power of such magnitude, to retain what no one else valued or desired to keep, moved one strangely. Again, somehow, one saw life, a pure bead. I lifted the pencil again, useless though I knew it to be. But even as I did so, the unmistakable tokens of death showed themselves. The body relaxed, and instantly grew stiff. The struggle was over. The insignificant little creature now knew death. As I looked at the dead moth, this minute wayside triumph of so great a force over so mean an antagonist filled me with wonder. Just as life had been strange a few minutes before, so death was now as strange. The moth having righted himself now lay most decently and uncomplainingly composed. O yes, he seemed to say, death is stronger than I am.

If You're in Missouri...

2008-01-29T17:40:00.000-08:00

You just might want to drop by the hotel with the big lights. You know the one I'm talking about, it's right near the coast of the river and you can't miss it if you're on your way to see the big fireworks show, just like the ones you used to go see with your daddy when he was around, before he found that harlot and gave her all your time, before he sold out and joined the rest of the world of broken homes and dysfunction, back when you knew he loved you without him having to say anything. The fireworks always made you remember how tall he was, because you could get on his shoulders and see above everyone else, like the show was just for you. Yeah, those were the days. But then you snap out of it and realize that the heat can sometimes do some crazy things to you, especially when it jumps around from 63 one day to 9 the next.

Well, now that you know what I'm talking about I can tell you why. Go there and dig like your heart never saw dirt, dig like you knew there was something good. In fact, there is something good. There is a message. A message buried at that hotel on the coast under the big lights near the explosions of glory. And the message is this: Go forth, my child, and dig.

Ah, L'Amour

2008-01-26T19:43:00.000-08:00

Oui, je suis en le universitat. No sé más francés. I will English you. I have become a new person today. Well, it's not really as bad as all that I suppose. I have moved to Chico. I have a place here in which I shall reside. My roommate likes to roller disco. I have a big screen TV at the foot of my bed, constantly hooked up to the Wii. My computer monitor is currently at 1050x1680, tall, and it displays an image of Samus Aran fanart. It was created by =transfuse, on DeviantArt.

I hope to one day own the poster.

My clothes are in a...bureau? cabinet? something with doors and a drawer, inside the closet. That was my ingenious idea. My keyboard is behind me. (But how do you type, good Sir Doug?) It is a musical keyboard. Black and white. My bed is not yet sheeted. soon, my bebbies, soon. I will now go explore what might be my backyard, using a flashlight!

Donate Your Clothes

2008-01-07T14:20:00.000-08:00

Today while I was driving I realized the magnitude of the amount of things that pass through my vision without me seeing them. I am sure it is the same for most humans. There are literally thousands of things that I could see if I wanted to, but none of them are important enough to register.

While moving at sixty-five miles per hour down the main thoroughfare, dozens of yellow reflectors pass through my range of vision every second. I don't notice any of them, but they are the most important things on the road. Their presence is known, even if not acknowledged. I feel the yellow line. It is an invisible barrier - not because I can't see it, but because I choose not to.

We recognize the collection of yellow, forming a line hundreds of miles long, but we do not distinguish individual reflectors. They are like soldiers in a stalemate, each one only important as a member of a team, never winning or losing, never going home, only existing for the sake of existence. Occupation. Authority.

If we paid attention, we would see their patterns, these self-sacrificing dots of trafficky malevolence. Sometimes they come at us one at a time. Sometimes two at a time. Often it's one, two, one, two. Each pattern with its own meaning. If you're on the 880, north of San Jose, you might be lucky enough to see some dots off on the shoulder, forming their own faction. Three, two, one, blank, blank, three, two, one. They march to a different beat. ~~Maybe they are the Salvation Army?~~ They are an example we should all follow, even if their purpose is unknown to us.

Creation

2007-12-20T02:44:00.000-08:00

I have the sudden, violent urge to create. I want it to be great, to be looked upon as beautiful, or at least different. But I haven't the tools, nor the talent to create this thing.

Part 1

2007-12-19T12:53:00.001-08:00

They soon realized that they had no chance of surviving on the surface for any length of time. Those first three brave souls would prove that point with their lives. Or were they brave? Perhaps they were simply stupid. Suicidal. Ignoring obvious risk to find hope for us all. The coming generations would see them as heroes anyway, for the stories that were told portrayed them as such.

At any rate, those three souls only showed us the danger, demonstrated our helplessness. We were lost. In our underground room, our cellar, we had barely the food to last a few weeks, and no protective equipment. None that would have any effect on the "trihelix". That horrible man-made virus that attacks human DNA, ripping it open and then adding another strand. An incompatible strand that our bodies don't understand. Its effect is amazingly rapid, like cancer spreading. If cancer knew all our weaknesses. If cancer was intelligent.

The three souls who had left the cellar to find life in the despair of the blizzard couldn't walk ten yards in the deep snow without their bodies attacking themselves, beginning at the lungs and finding its way to the rest of the body in under a minute. Once they felt it, they barely had time to turn around before collapsing, unable to move because all their blood oxygen had been compromised. Our only hope was some kind of mask, an oxygen tank, something to protect us from breathing the putrid air that was laced with our destruction.

That hope could be thirty yards away. We must be some of the luckiest humans on this planet, to have found our cellar in time, and also to be so near to "Scuba Pete's" scuba shop. No one knew what had happened to Scuba Pete, he had disappeared days before anyone heard about the attack. But perhaps we could honor him in some way, if we were able to make it to his store and survive. But even if we make it to the store, it's surely locked. Would anyone have enough strength to break a window after making the journey through our diseased environment? Would anyone be alive?

The obvious obstacle is the snow. It covers the ground so thick that mailboxes are almost hidden. How tall is that? It must be three, four feet? Insane. Impossible. It never snows here, that's why it's a year round resort. Yet somehow, with our minimal knowledge of this frozen white powder, we have to get past it; or rather, get over it. Obviously we aren't equipped for snowshoes, and few of us even have warm clothes other than wetsuits, and those are all back in our houses, surely filled with disease by now. Still we must somehow make our way past thirty yards of snow while holding our breath.

What are our resources? Some cases of canned food, several gallon jugs of water, chemical packets to keep warm for a few hours, the gas in our heater, and the radio and television, both constantly scanning the channels, playing for us everything they find. Playing for us nothing. Who had built this place? Hadn't it always been here, since we were all children? I remember playing nearby on the beach, my mother talking about how it was ridiculous for it to be so near to a tourist hot spot, this shack, this target for graffiti, this grey symbol of despair and ugliness. Oh mother, how wrong you were. This is now my home, until we break free.

Maybe the tin cans could be used to fashion some sort of snowshoe. Green beans under the toes, peaches under the heel, cans ripped apart as if the trihelix itself had invaded. A few strips of precious clothing, a now useless sarong, covering the sharp edges and attaching the cans to a pair of sneakers.

Useless. All in vain. These new "fruit shoes" as they were lovingly called, were almost as bad as regular sneakers in the snow. We barely pulled him back in before he lost his held breath, gasping for life. And every time we open the door, we let a little more of the infection in. Luckily this strain thrives in the cold, so if we gather around the heater it might die before reaching us. No one is sick yet.

How did the weather turn so cold? It is a fruitless question, one we cannot possibly hope to answer. And even if we knew the answer through some divine stroke of genius, we have no way of changing it. We are but a few people, who have lived the cushy lives reserved for the rich, near a beach, always in the sun, never having to survive, only to live.

Of course! Why didn't we see it before? The cardboard cases that hold all these cans of food. They are nice and flat. They could be laid upon the snow. There are certainly plenty of them to make a path from here to Scuba Pete's. But how? How could anyone possibly hold their breath long enough to lay cardboard down all the way to our salvation?

Self

2007-12-15T13:05:00.000-08:00

For when our ancestors left us this place, they knew it would bring both fortune and famine, and with that they gave us the only advice they thought would matter: Love thyself.

Crank

2007-12-14T13:34:00.000-08:00

Well, as I sat down to my computer today I realized that there was much caffeine inside of me, like the feeling of happiness that surrounds a child on his birthday. I realize also that I made this child a boy, when it would have served the same purpose to make this child a female. I am sorry to all of you females that read this that I did not make the birthday child a female. I know it must add to your sorrow of the current modern world in how the society downplays your roles to that of a mere accessory. I assure you that I do not feel this way. It is simply the result of my existence in this society that I would place the masculinity into an unknown persona, for that is how many languages do it. I understand that this may not be an acceptable excuse, but it is all I have. So yeah, as I was saying. The caffeine is like a birthday. But I don't need presents, for the caffeine is its own present. I love it at this moment, but I know that soon, I will feel nearly sick. It will take its toll on my metabolism by using all my energy in a fashion which is non-productive. I will need to eat. I will need to sit down. But I am already sitting. This is my paradox. It is like I went to the bathroom but found no toilet, so I wander, without direction, into a bar. The barkeep says that they got no bathrooms unless I am thirsty as well. I wander back out.

David says that caffeine is best with a cigarette. Too bad I don't smoke, and I think smoking is a waste of money and a waste of life. My alveoli would never forgive me if I began to smoke. But would this relieve my need of a bathroom? Once again I have no answer. Please forgive me, harsh world, for I am but a simple organism. Organisms will never know all, but can only strive for more. This is the way of life and living, and this is the way of death and dying. For the more we know, the closer we come to death, and the more meaningful our lives become. One day I will know all that I can, and hopefully that instead of beginning a downhill trek on that day, I die at the top. One of the biggest fears in life is its gradual decline, I think. I would rather death be quick and catch me off guard. But also I hope that I would be at peace. This is is my quagmire. To fulfill my own wish is to expect death. But in that situation it cannot be a surprise. Is this the way everyone feels? Of course I cannot say, for I am one boy in a land of many people of both genders equally. And this does not sadden me, for I know that I am me, and they will be themselves for many years to come. Unless something happens where all those years cease, and we are sucked into a black hole of no happiness or life or death or sadness, only a singularity in which we are one.

Coffee and cigarettes indeed.

I like

2007-11-24T15:13:00.000-08:00

Cold and dark

I left this as a comment to someone early this year.

2007-11-21T12:46:00.000-08:00

As one walked into the tall building, there was a shot from below, showing how he thinks of himself as tall as well, comparing him to the building and showing from the angle that there is not much difference, metaphorically demonstrating the thought in his mind. Upon entering through the revolving door, he feels immediately smaller in the tall domed interior of this gargantuan edifice. It is ironic how from outside looking in, one can see something huge and call it small, but from inside a situation, the magnitude of any action is immense. He climbs the stairs to look at the directory, representing the heartbreaking fact that when you're at the bottom, you can't even gain direction without knowing where to go and pulling yourself closer toward the unknown future and risk getting to the top and falling all the way back down before getting a chance to learn anything. The only difference here is that all large buildings will have a directory, and a man of his apparent stature will know that, and in the life of the fallen, that man may not know of the directory and the life-changing information it keeps.

It Amazes Me

2007-11-20T14:49:00.000-08:00

It has been over a month since I moved out of my house in Union City. Over a month since I have seen this guy. And yet, somehow, over 200 miles away, he still manages to disrupt my life and my bank accounts. Why does this happen? Why me? Why him? Can't he just be a normal human being that fits into normal society like everyone else? Sure, be your own person. But do it in a way that doesn't seem like you're an ass to everyone else.

Soooo Angly.

Physics

2007-11-11T16:25:00.000-08:00

The inclined plane of my heart has been twisted into a screw so severe that it has punctured itself, and the love which once inhabited it now flows in a great rush onto the ground, into the dirt, and through the roots and leaves of the many plants which surround me, forcing its way into the atmosphere before returning through any number of paths and unwinding my tense body into a life giving fortress once more.

I dunno...

2007-11-11T16:22:00.000-08:00

For the last time, I am telling you that without this piece of machinery, our doomsday device can never be completed in the fashion which was laid out hundreds of years ago in the prophecy of Goh-Nan, which we have followed so closely for these millenia, and which we shall continue to follow through all eternity, even in death learning and pleasing the book which has brought us all our success and wisdom.

The Flies!!!

2007-11-05T14:38:00.000-08:00

For the love of all that is holy, the FLIES!!! They buzz around and around, like little fighter pilots, dodging my swift hand as though bred for it, laying their eggs every five seconds, eating my food and drinking my water, tickling my nose and blocking my vision, being pests to the core, selling their souls for that tiny scrap of meat on which to birth their vile spawn, those white maggots which haunt so many nightmares, which ruin so many appetites, which will someday take over and become the dominant species. I hit one! In the air, then against a wall, but my hand was not fierce enough, and it was not dazed for even a moment. Flying away like nothing happened, taking my meaning with it.

Toilets

2007-11-04T11:40:00.000-08:00

For throughout the white plastic pipe of life, there are many elbow joints, sometimes two in a row so that you double back upon yourself, and sometimes there is a u-turn which is affected by gravity, such as in the back of a toilet, so that you will keep building your life up and up, becoming more and more successful, until one day it gets too full, you lose grip of it all, and as you grasp for one thing another runs away, so you let go and go after it, but it was already gone, and by the time you come back for the rest of it, your bowl is empty, letting you see the stains on the side, undistorted by the water, unmagnified by your mind, just simple failures which made you who you are. And after you stop crying, you will realize that it was the best day of your life.

21

2007-11-03T21:48:00.000-07:00

Is it normal for people to all get married at the same time, when they are 21? Or earlier? I don't want to be married right now. I'm 21.

Twenty-one.

That is a young number. Why not figure yourself out? Become a successful person?

I guess it's a personal choice that I shouldn't question.

Generously Music

2007-10-24T19:12:00.000-07:00

For the seventh year running, 9 times out of 10 is the most used statistic, by 65%, with the next leading being 4 out of 5, at a rate of 22%. Fortunately for the farmers of our country, these are also relevant in their occupation, leading to intensely rock 'n roll lifestyles and a larger meal portion for those of the lesser gender, which is in each household arguable, for the leading family member is not always of a certain persuasion, as is more popularly prevalent in this modern society of forward thinking mobility for all members. As in life, music will often play too loud for the ears of many, but it is not the many that matter, it is the lovers of the music who play it, that spread the love to the ears of many, which I mentioned earlier. Now please bear with me as I listen to this jukebox of my heart and it plays oldies older then I have ever known to be old, including folk songs, country lore, and good old 50s era rock, created by those legends whose names are known to all, old and young, though their music is not so loved or applauded. It makes it easy to give, listening to this lovely conversation a man had with his heart, then spread to the world, because his words are generous and so deeply pierce my soul's mind that I cannot help but be as generous as he has been, giving himself in the only way he knows how, to make the world a better place.

Geography Lessons

2007-10-22T19:56:00.000-07:00

Cincinnati is not in Missouri. Please help our youth learn this. Send $1 - $999 to me, PayPal address cooldug000@gmail.com.

Thank you.

P.S.: Murder am bad.

A song

2007-10-13T02:59:00.001-07:00

Slip diddly slip slip doo wop bop. Dibby dibby doo wim sim dim wam. Nib nop dibby dop diddy doody doodle dam, fib sib hibbity bib dib dib dib.

Or...

2007-10-09T15:53:00.000-07:00

Dumbledore is naked. This is due to the innate lack of clothes surrounding his body. Please continue this train of thought in passengar car B, for that is the one which is less than destroyed. At the end of the road, if we cannot guarantee your lifeless body a seat on the next train, we will discard it posthaste and no further action shall be taken. In the event of an emergency airbag deployment, please unfasten your seatbelt and jump out of the way before the airbag has time to hit you in the face, because this is a dangerous circumstance which may indeed endanger your life and the lives of those around you.

Now that we have completed the first paragraph, you can see that I have started a second paragraph, including at least one line of text, whether that line is a complete thought or

After I Watched Journeyman

2007-10-02T01:12:00.000-07:00

Imagine if you went back in time ten years, or fifteen. It depends on your age I guess. Imagine you went back in time to a time when your life was doing something important. Like you were about to turn down a job offer or you were going to spell a word wrong in a spelling bee. Now what if you weren't able to affect your old life, because you were too far away, or didn't know where you were? You can help other people but not yourself.

Of course as you walk around you would notice that everything is the same as when you were younger, but you would notice it all, more than you did the first time around. It's hard to describe it all with my limited vocabulary.

But then I realized that it could happen ten years from now. I could come back to today. That means that my future self could already be out there trying to change my life, when I am sitting here trying to live it. I realized that if we change it the first time, everything will be how it is supposed to be. If we don't change it the first time, everything will be how it is supposed to be. Seems like there is some great revelation behind these words that I'm not getting to...

Know

2007-09-27T01:57:00.000-07:00

Seems like life is flying by, and not leaving time for mistakes. Good thing mistakes are just a part of life, eh?

But my point is, it isn't stopping. And that means I need to get as close as I can to the people I know, because what if I love them? Someone I say hi to all the time might be my best friend if I talked to them more. I wish I wasn't so shy and introverted, because I want to meet a lot of people and get to know them. I want to be popular, to always have someone to talk to, and to love many. I want people to know that I am there, that they can talk to me. How do I make myself known without seeming arrogant or...retarded?

Maybe people read me differently because I give off such weird signals. I can see it when I watch myself on video camera. I am a strange duck. Someone told me that, and I didn't really believe I was that different, until I tried to suppress it all. I don't know how long it would take for me to be able to do that, because it is really hard. I'm gonna need to just keep being the strangest guy I know, and take the risk of annoying some important people in order to remain myself.

It's all so hard. Social Living. I dont' want to find someone the same as me, because I wouldn't be able to stand that much of myself, but I wonder if I could find someone that will be able to live with all the weirdness? Of course, I would have to be able to live with them too. It just seems hopeless. I'm really not feeling down right now, I am just looking at it all from a stepped back point of view.

Seems like every second I let pass alone is a mistake, a wasted second that I'll never have back, when I could have been learning something new about someone beautiful. They don't have to be a girl or guy (well, one or the other would be nice) I'm just feeling the need for knowing. Knowledge? Social Interaction? Yes please.

But I want to know what it's like to be normal. I'm afraid I'll never know. I know I should be myself, but I still want to know.

Calm

2007-09-26T12:01:00.000-07:00

Silence beats down the doors as the music fades from my memory. Darkness enchants my mind, giving false hope of lonesomeness. But I am surrounded, their dark silence clogging my lungs, so that my breath grows deeper, scared, panicked. I whisper solace, but I cannot hear it. How do I know I am here when I cannot see myself? The weight of their bodies holds me flat; I cannot feel myself. Only my thoughts exist, and they are fading, becoming as lifeless as the pillow beneath them. *Drop by drop, life trickles from my eyes until, finally, I perish.

*Using slight paraphrasing from Alan Rickman's character in Perfume.

meaning

2007-09-19T19:54:00.001-07:00

Look at a thing.
Now look past it. Look through it.
Now look at it again.
Imagine all the possible uses of it.
Look at it.
Think about it.

Now stab it through your chest, into your heart.
Don't cry, just do it.
You have to.

Now look at the thing.
It has new meaning.

5 Cat Termites of the Metal Poo Variety.

2007-09-15T13:02:00.000-07:00

Ha! I win, title!

The most shocking of all the varieties of cat termite are those of the metal poo varitey. It is horrifying for a loving pet owner to come home one day and find the body of their cherished house mammal lying on the lawn, blood oozing from tiny holes in their side as air seeps in slowly, bloating their body nearly as much as the gases produced inside.

Cake.

2007-09-11T01:51:00.000-07:00

From the mouths of Cake there shall be words which flow into the ambience and lighten the mood with their poetic symbolism and flirty lyrics. Cake is the soul I never had, the soap that cleans the bad out of my ears, and the drink that gets the dirty taste of life out of my mouth. The muscular cyborg German dudes dance with sexy French Canadians. Now due to a construct in my mind that makes their falling and their flight symbolic of my entire existence, it becomes important for me to get up and see their last second curves for flight. My love shall not die for them, even with the years ahead that can change my life from one of simple learning to that of teaching, nurturing, and sacrifice. Love can only grow.

My Thousand Words

2007-09-08T00:02:00.001-07:00

So my friend put up this picture on MySpace, and it has a caption "that picture is worth a thousand words" aaaand so I felt the urge to write a thousand words.

November 7, 2006 9:01 PM
Well sir, if you say it is worth a thousand words, then I guess it must be. And I know you aren’t going to write a thousand words to describe a trees, because I’m pretty sure you mojies don’t know a thousand words in English. Tal vez (two words) debo decir algo en español para ustedes. Ok, this is a picture of un arbol, y tiene hojas rojas porque ya it is autumn, where the leaves change color and fall off the tree and photosynthesis is no longer performed. The tree is quite tall, and if a kitten climbed it, the firemen would have to use one of the tallest ladders to get it down, because the kitten’s owner was an old lady who is going crazy and she doesn’t realize that cats are able to climb in two directions: up and down. Anyway, once they get the ladder, they are going to have to be very careful because there is a power line right there, I thnk you can see it, it is near the bottom of the picture, it is metal and has wires. Perot al vez es para telefonos. Anyway, it could hurt someone. And nobody wants that. Luckily the tree is not very wide and heavy, so if it falls over during a storm, it probably will not destroy any houses. But if a kid was standing under it dressed in a lion suit, next to his dad who pulled down his pants to moon their neighbor, those people could be knocked over by it, though not seriously hurt. I just want you to know that the end of this sentence marks two hundred eighty-one (281) words. Back to the pic. In the bottom right corner there is the date the picture was taken. October 29, 2006. However, I happen to know that you were in VIETNAM on that date. You know what this means. I am Isaac’s daddy. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. Above the date is a black bar. Who knows what this is? No on in the world could ever know this. Lucky for you I am not in the world and therefore know exactly what it Is and how it came to be and why it exists. It is the handle of a weapon known as the TRX-920 semi-automatic cooled plasma rifle, manufactured only on the sixth moon of Jupiter: Europa. It is there that these are made, due to the low temperatures on the moons surface, but relative closeness to earth. I created them to give to humans to defend against those that wish us harm, but I have not yet created enough, as there was an accident causing all the handles to burn. That is why it is black. It used to be hot pink, to frighten aliens. I’m sure you are wondering why the TRX-920 is in your picture, so I will have to explain myself. I was following you that day in VIETNAM, when you saw the arbol de hojas rojas, and I heard you say “La de roja, me la coja” or something similar, and I thought you were trying to say that aliens were attacking, so I got out my rifle as quickly as I could, and it slipped out of my hand and into your view right as you clicked the button. I later erased your memory because no other human can know of this technology, but I didn’t realize that this evidence existed, and I am now forced to disclose my secrets to all humanity. Even those from VIETNAM. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Now, the trunk of that arbol de hojas rojas is made of a brown substance very similar to wood. In fact, it is wood. That is why it tasted like wood when I was interrogating it later in my bunker, twenty floors below sea level. The sky behind the tree is calm, like the ocean before a storm, and cloudless, like and empty cotton bag. When I peer into this picture, it stares back at me, deep into my soul, making me feel all the feelings I thought I would never feel again, such as love...jealousy...and my sense of smell. Although this pictures reminds me so fondly of a love I once had, I cannot go back to that place in my mind, for it is there that I keep the explosives, and one wrong move could trigger and emotion explosion, and then the picture would get all messy. Although, if it were a real explosion inside my head, the red bits of me might just look like more hojas rojas on tal arbol. What I’m trying to say is, This picture is worth a thousand words, and every person in the world will come up with a different thousand, because no matter how much we try to be like each other, all people have a different mind, a different perception, and a different amount of insanity brewing inside. Maybe one person lost their virginity under that tree. Maybe another killed their first mouse by waiting in that tree with a sniper rifle. I could never know all the memories that tree was a part of, but I know that most people won’t look at it that way. Because it isn’t special. It isn’t taller than all the others, or majestic, or green all year long. It is just one tree, inconspicuous among others. It threatens the life of a nearby pole with wires attached. It stand up against the TRX-920. It will stand for years to come. People will come and go, and the tree will stay. It’s leaves will fall off, the become green again next year. Next Halloween it will look the same as it does now. Someone will take a picture of it. Someone will climb on it. It is under the sky. It is near the TRX-920. It is above the power pole. It is a tree. One Thousand.

Us all.

2007-09-06T13:28:00.000-07:00

I am human. In all the world, if there was ever a truth, this is it. Anyone can say it, and it will be true, but will they understand the full implications of it? Will they feel the innate connection to every other human being that I now feel? This is the first time my mind has realized this bold statement, and I am glad it is there, because it makes me feel not like a lone creature in the Universe, dwindling away my life in some futile attempt at success, but like a part of something greater, an entire species shouting out at the Universe, saying "That's right, Universe, we are the best, and we are going to keep being the best, and one day we will explore all of you, and we will become all powerful and learn everything there ever was, because we will be in the ancient folds of space, ever closer to the beginning, ever closer to being masters of it all!"

It seems like this new connection should rock my foundations, but somehow I feel the same. It seems like it should bring my beliefs all to a wonderful conclusion, because my lack of belief in God would foster the thought that each person is a complete separate entity, evolved to perfection with no help from any outside forces, but it does not do that. It does not do much, except make me feel the urge to smile shyly as I walk by someone in the halls, make me think to myself about what they were just doing, and what they will be doing later, and why I haven't seen them before.

I need to appreciate everyone. Especially people I have not met, who have never done anything for me. Those are the people who are most important, because they live a life which is totally anonymous to me, full of mystery, and shrouded in fog. They are the ones I can wonder about. They give my mind meaning.

They are my imagination's playground.

This stupid guy

2007-09-04T22:18:00.000-07:00

My stupid roommate will one day drive me to suicide.

Today as he is folding his laundry, he asks me "The tag says it's ok to tumble dry. Do you think it's ok?"

No, Kyle, I'm pretty sure I read a news article about shirt companies that run their shirts through the incorrect labeling machine so that their customers will always ruin their shirts.

I need to leave this place.

Depression

2007-08-22T15:30:00.000-07:00

Thought by many to be one of the taller species of ape, Depression is actually a brain defection that leads to intensely wet pillows and often lower region decapitation. Due to these profound effects, human researchers have been testing animals with various drugs and treatments, including the little known hair prickle technique, considered taboo by many. These forgotten arts may someday bring about the long awaited cure to today's most valuable sickness, but until then, thousands of people may die or be truant because of its effects. In this paper we will discuss the aspects of Depression that lead to truancy, because unlike death, truancy actually affects people who are still alive, thereby causing undue embarrassment for a long period of time later in life, sometimes for months or even millenia.

*Due to government budget cuts on musical education, this paper has been cut short and now must end.*

Abbreviations

2007-08-21T16:51:00.000-07:00

Today the world is full of abbreviations such as IDK. This one is very important because it displays an emotion that is running rampant in our younger generation: that of unknowingness. Ignorance. Dumbism. Furthermore, we as a society are growing dependant on these abbreviations, and one day will have forgotten their original meaning, as has been proven with the abbreviation LOL. Scholars maintain that the literal meaning of LOL was lost thousands of years ago, somewhere above the plains of Egypt. Today it conveys only a feeling of happiness, an ambience of joy, or an environment of laughter. Please, world, don't let this happen to all of us. IMHO, we deserve better.

Die Pozilei

2007-08-21T14:49:00.000-07:00

Yeah that means the police, kinda.

So yesterday I'm standing on Third Street in San Jose, right by the University, and I'm standing there for about three minutes. During this time I notice two police officers over on the cross street (I think it's San Carlos or San Fernando...) talking to a certain suspect. The suspect has his right hand in his back pocket and his other hand he is using to talk to the officers. I can't hear them, but it looks like they might want whatever is in his pocket. The officers move toward him, and one begins to grab for the suspects arm, but he pulls away an runs for it! I have never seen a real police chase before. So he runs down Second, then comes through the parking structure onto Third, right near me. He runs across the street, not moving very quickly, but the officers can't seem to keep up. As he makes it across the street, he ducks into a walkway that connects to Fourth Street. A police bicycle whizzes by me toward the pursued. Then another long bike of the law comes pouring around the corner and speeds of after that one. Seconds later, a squad car drives toward Fourth on the cross street. then another comes down Third, and turns onto the cross-street toward Fourth.

I wonder what was in his pocket?

Read Me

2007-08-18T13:18:00.000-07:00

Seventeen years ago, on my birthday, I was presented with a gift which I, along with all my guests, shall never forget. It was nothing extraordinary, but the way in which it was presented to me changed my life and beliefs forever, while profoundly affecting the lives of most of my friends and family, some of whom were upstanding members of the community and members of congress. Though I was young, I was wise beyond my years, and the glowing gift before me presented its message more clearly than could have ever been expressed by conscious human thought. The house in which I lived had a large back yard, with deep dark green grass that should have been cut before this gathering, and strangely leafed trees, painted white for protection from the dangerous rays of the hot California sun. From that day on, until a time I cannot predict, I shall remember that grotto as it was that day, though over these long and dusty years it has dwindled, unkempt, into nothing more than a small, inescapable jungle. My parents sat near to me as the events of the day transpired, and their love enveloped me as though I had fallen, from ever so high, into a pool of chocolatey euphoria which will go on forever, in life and death, beyond the end of time. Forgive me, O kin, for this, the untold story of my youth, and live near my soul beyond the furthest reaches of space, where no light shall shine but the light of our mind, and where no word shall be uttered.

Deepest Lives

2007-08-18T09:41:00.000-07:00

As far as the depths of my mind are concerned, it is true that though deep, they are not as intense as, say, the force of a black hole pulling you in toward its event horizon, or the force contained within the miniscule atom of our universe, but I think that since I exist, I will be, from here until death, a person who thinks for himself and displays whatever random thought runs through his head, as long as I am able and have people that will listen or read it in their own time, and perhaps appreciate anything that I accidentally said. It is with this thought that I leave you all to read this in peace, so that you may examine it and pull from it the bits of wisdom and knowledge that you may want to extrapolate, hopefully fulfilling some desire, or repairing a hole in your existence, and because I know that so many people may put so much of their lives into what I say, I believe it is only fair that I tell you that I wrote this in under five minutes off the top of my head.

My conversation with a friend of mine. You have to read all of it. ALL.

2007-08-15T18:29:00.000-07:00

Session Start (Dug0C:moontrace): Tue Aug 14 21:05:11 2007
[21:05] moontrace: hey... you have my shirt
[21:05] Dug0C: i know
[21:05] Dug0C: im sorry
[21:05] Dug0C: i had to take it
[21:05] Dug0C: it smelled really good
[21:06] moontrace: haha, wow that's an awesome response
[21:06] Dug0C: I'm glad youre not mad
[21:07] moontrace: yeah, i'll forgive you
[21:07] Dug0C: sweet
[21:07] Dug0C: so, other than the whole shirt ordel
[21:07] Dug0C: ordeal*
[21:07] Dug0C: whjats up?
[21:07] Dug0C: you miss him?
[21:07] moontrace: him?
[21:07] Dug0C: i know i would
[21:07] Dug0C: ok lol maybe not
[21:07] Dug0C: what with all the WoW
[21:07] Dug0C: but hey
[21:08] Dug0C: so how you doing?
[21:08] moontrace: you're pretty random
[21:08] Dug0C: thanks
[21:08] Dug0C: :)
[21:08] moontrace: i'm doing well, how about yourself?
[21:08] Dug0C: pretty alright and a half
[21:09] Dug0C: how did you get this number?
[21:09] moontrace: well
[21:09] moontrace: i was checking out threadless
[21:10] Dug0C: sexy
[21:10] moontrace: and saw that you have my shirt
[21:10] moontrace: so, way to have good taste
[21:10] Dug0C: no problem
[21:10] Dug0C: um so which one was yours again?
[21:10] Dug0C: the smell wore off
[21:10] Dug0C: i cant tell anymore
[21:11] moontrace: the watching my back one
[21:12] moontrace: i have yet to really wear it, i think i'll wait till i go back to school, but i kinda want to see the response it gets
[21:12] Dug0C: oui
[21:12] Dug0C: i'll go with you first day of school and we can wear it together
[21:13] moontrace: sounds like a plan
[21:13] Dug0C: Aug 23
[21:13] Dug0C: what time you got class?
[21:13] moontrace: i don't
[21:14] moontrace: not until the 27th
[21:14] Dug0C: oh goodness
[21:14] Dug0C: thats a monday
[21:14] moontrace: tis
[21:14] Dug0C: and what time?
[21:14] moontrace: 9:30?
[21:14] Dug0C: i can do that
[21:15] Dug0C: we could go early
[21:15] Dug0C: walk around
[21:15] Dug0C: get reactions
[21:15] Dug0C: neh?
[21:15] moontrace: alright, book that into your schedule
[21:16] Dug0C: how do you get down there?
[21:16] moontrace: you gotta walk
[21:16] Dug0C: lol
[21:17] Dug0C: wait
[21:17] Dug0C: walk to where?
[21:18] moontrace: why my school of course
[21:18] Dug0C: but its 23 miles
[21:18] Dug0C: ...
[21:18] Dug0C: and you cant walk 880
[21:18] Dug0C: too many cars
[21:18] moontrace: hmm
[21:19] moontrace: maybe a bike would be better
[21:19] Dug0C: oh sure
[21:19] Dug0C: my friend goes there, and he has some student thing where he gets free bus rides to ffremont bart station
[21:19] Dug0C: thats where i pick him up when he comes over
[21:21] moontrace: yeah, go there, the 27th of august at 9:00 am
[21:21] Dug0C: hmm where can i park though?
[21:22] moontrace: across the street from the big tree, there will be a parking spot with your name on it
[21:22] Dug0C: okay
[21:22] Dug0C: how will you get there?
[21:23] Dug0C: your bike?
[21:23] moontrace: i'll walk
[21:24] moontrace: it's good for me
[21:24] Dug0C: thats a damn ong walk
[21:24] Dug0C: long*
[21:25] moontrace: 500 miles is my max
[21:25] Dug0C: mm yes
[21:26] Dug0C: do you know where it is?
[21:27] moontrace: i'm sure i can stumble upon it
[21:27] Dug0C: oh you
[21:28] Dug0C: moontrace
[21:28] moontrace: lol
[21:28] Dug0C: where did you come up with that amazingly tall and sumptuous name?
[21:29] moontrace: it's actually my secret name that i dont tell people about so i can see who's online
[21:29] moontrace: is that bad?
[21:30] Dug0C: it
[21:30] Dug0C: is
[21:30] Dug0C: ...
[21:30] Dug0C: the most wonderful idea
[21:31] moontrace: except now you know my secret...
[21:31] Dug0C: i shall tell no one
[21:31] Dug0C: bu ti shall know
[21:31] moontrace: hm, i don't know if i can trust you
[21:32] Dug0C: you have no choice
[21:32] Dug0C: dont worry
[21:32] Dug0C: i sont disappoint
[21:32] Dug0C: wont*
[21:33] moontrace: good, otherwise there would be consequences beyond measure
[21:33] Dug0C: i'm already beyond measure
[21:33] Dug0C: i can handle it
[21:34] moontrace: that you are
[21:35] moontrace: so where did the 0 come from in your name?
[21:35] Dug0C: well
[21:35] Dug0C: my normal name
[21:35] Dug0C: starts with cool
[21:35] Dug0C: then there's a dug
[21:35] Dug0C: then i got 000
[21:36] Dug0C: that was taken when i got AIM
[21:36] Dug0C: so i put them in the random name generator
[21:36] Dug0C: and it picked that
[21:36] Dug0C: and i sad yes
[21:36] moontrace: well, that's cheap, letting the computer do all the work
[21:36] Dug0C: i know
[21:36] Dug0C: i felt dirty for years
[21:36] Dug0C: but ive forgiven myself
[21:37] Dug0C: i hope you can too
[21:37] Dug0C: someday
[21:37] moontrace: just maybe i can, however not today
[21:37] moontrace: it's too soon
[21:37] Dug0C: i know
[21:37] Dug0C: i wouldnt expect that from anyone
[21:38] Dug0C: but thank you for considering it
[21:38] moontrace: yep, that's what i'm here for
[21:40] moontrace: so you're doug?
[21:40] Dug0C: mm i think thats what the neighbors are saying
[21:40] Dug0C: so you're kat rice?
[21:41] moontrace: if that's what you want to call me
[21:42] Dug0C: i'd rather go with trece
[21:42] moontrace: 13?
[21:42] Dug0C: yep
[21:42] moontrace: that's an unlucky name
[21:42] Dug0C: lol
[21:42] Dug0C: you can call me siete
[21:43] moontrace: well wait, how come you get the lucky name and i get the unlucky one?
[21:43] moontrace: that doesn't seem quite fair
[21:43] Dug0C: let me explain
[21:43] moontrace: please do
[21:45] Dug0C: When the world was being created, 13 types of people there were, and though many were similar, the last kind was accustomed to a more ritualistic type of life, with certain numbers representing their different ways of life and their right to humanity, and these people were mainly fed by a certain grain, which they fertilized using the bodies of dead animals which they had raised from babies and fed and loved.
[21:46] Dug0C: Not the number 7 group of people were the opposite, and they were much more confidential, proper, and against eating grains that had grown from the body of a dead animal, for they so revered their animals, and they ate only what had grown wild from their environs, and this is where each of the two clans gets their names.
[21:47] Dug0C: Because of the cats feeding the rice, katrice.
[21:47] Dug0C: because of their reverence for dogs, Doug. (the spelling changed over many translations.)
[21:47] moontrace: haha, you need to write a book
[21:47] Dug0C: unforunately for you, we have been fated from pre-existence
[21:48] Dug0C: would you buy my book?
[21:49] moontrace: sure, if it is as random as your thoughts are
[21:49] moontrace: let me know when it's on amazon
[21:49] Dug0C: it would have to be
[21:50] moontrace: then yes, i'd buy it
[21:50] Dug0C: brb, my water is empty
[21:51] moontrace: alright
[21:58] Dug0C: sorry im late
[21:58] Dug0C: i decided popcorn was absolutely necessary
[21:59] moontrace: that sounds pretty good right now
[21:59] Dug0C: come on over
[21:59] Dug0C: its less than 500 miles
[21:59] moontrace: well if it's less than 500 miles, i guess i'll be right over
[21:59] moontrace: is it movie theater style?
[21:59] moontrace: that's my favorite
[22:00] Dug0C: its butter lovers
[22:01] moontrace: have you ever tried blast o butter?
[22:01] Dug0C: i dont know bro
[22:01] Dug0C: maybe back in the day
[22:02] moontrace: it's intense
[22:02] Dug0C: is it salty?
[22:02] Dug0C: i like the butter
[22:02] Dug0C: but not tooo salty
[22:02] moontrace: only try it if you're in for a sodium overload
[22:02] Dug0C: na mean?
[22:02] Dug0C: oh i see
[22:03] Dug0C: well i'll bring extra water
[22:03] moontrace: that's good, water is a must
[22:03] moontrace: i don't get enough of it
[22:03] Dug0C: i see
[22:04] moontrace: but they ssay the 8 glasses per day thing is a myth
[22:04] Dug0C: oh really?
[22:04] Dug0C: all i know
[22:04] Dug0C: water is amazing
[22:04] Dug0C: makes me feel great
[22:05] moontrace: you can tell a difference if you drink less?
[22:05] Dug0C: well i can tell a difference if i drink more
[22:06] Dug0C: normally i drink a good amount, but not like a LOT
[22:07] Dug0C: sometimes i drink a lot
[22:07] Dug0C: and oh its good
[22:07] moontrace: bottled or tap?
[22:07] Dug0C: filtered tap poured into arrowhead bottles
[22:08] moontrace: nothing is ever simple with you, is it?
[22:08] Dug0C: well
[22:08] Dug0C: life is only lived once
[22:09] Dug0C: better make it hard as possiible
[22:10] Dug0C: disagree?
[22:10] moontrace: to some degree
[22:10] Dug0C: lol
[22:10] Dug0C: good
[22:11] moontrace: i get by on the simple until i get bored and feel the need to make it more complex
[22:12] Dug0C: i love simple
[22:12] Dug0C: where im from, water is good straight from the tap
[22:12] Dug0C: lol
[22:13] moontrace: i can't tell a difference between my tap here and bottled
[22:13] Dug0C: yeah your house is fine for drinking
[22:14] moontrace: and plus tap has flouride, woo
[22:14] Dug0C: my house here is not as good
[22:14] moontrace: i don't see why people buy bottled water like they do
[22:14] Dug0C: lol
[22:15] moontrace: oh america
[22:15] Dug0C: maybe their water is bad?
[22:15] moontrace: could be
[22:15] moontrace: (Link: http://www.threadless.com/submission/129657/Recycle_Your_Heart)http://www.threadless.com/submission/129657/Recycle_Your_Heart
[22:15] moontrace: what's your opinion on this shirt?
[22:16] Dug0C: i like the design
[22:16] Dug0C: not the colors
[22:17] moontrace: i just found it, it interests me
[22:18] Dug0C: you have other threadless shirts?>
[22:19] moontrace: nope, i'm a newbie
[22:19] moontrace: i just got my first shirt a week or 2 ago
[22:20] Dug0C: (Link: http://www.threadless.com/submission/129405/EYES_AND_TEETH)http://www.threadless.com/submission/129405/EYES_A(Link: http://www.threadless.com/submission/129405/EYES_AND_TEETH)ND_TEETH
[22:20] Dug0C: i dontr get that one
[22:21] moontrace: that's creepy
[22:22] moontrace: have you submitted anything?
[22:22] Dug0C: no
[22:22] Dug0C: im n0o good at photoshop
[22:22] Dug0C: what about you?
[22:22] Dug0C: oh no i guess not
[22:22] Dug0C: n00b
[22:23] moontrace: nope, i'm not that artsy
[22:23] moontrace: nor can i think of any good ideas
[22:23] Dug0C: yeah i have no ideas
[22:24] Dug0C: theres a light in the darkness, though the night is black as my skin
[22:24] moontrace: i wish i did though, because 2K would be nice
[22:24] Dug0C: lol aeriouslyt
[22:25] Dug0C: didnt they raise it to 2.5k?
[22:25] moontrace: did they?
[22:25] Dug0C: i think so
[22:25] moontrace: that's a lot of moolah
[22:25] Dug0C: oui
[22:25] Dug0C: je ne se pas
[22:26] Dug0C: i dont speak french
[22:27] moontrace: neither do i
[22:27] moontrace: my neighbors used to speak french
[22:28] moontrace: i baby-sat their kids and the parents would yell at each other in french and i would hear my name thrown around in there and not know what they were talking about
[22:28] moontrace: it was sketchy
[22:29] Dug0C: maybe they were discussing whether you would be in their threesome
[22:29] Dug0C: you know those odd french
[22:29] moontrace: they were french canadians too
[22:30] Dug0C: i speak canadian eh
[22:31] moontrace: ha, maybe you can minor in canadian
[22:31] Dug0C: now thats an idea
[22:33] moontrace: yep
[22:33] moontrace: i'm a smart one
[22:34] Dug0C: you know what?
[22:34] Dug0C: my shoes are many colors
[22:34] moontrace: what's that?
[22:35] Dug0C: what color are yours?
[22:35] moontrace: do you have indigo?
[22:35] Dug0C: no
[22:35] Dug0C: not that many colors
[22:35] Dug0C: even if i had indigo i probably couldnt tell
[22:35] moontrace: lol
[22:36] moontrace: i have the basics
[22:36] moontrace: brown, black, gray, white
[22:36] moontrace: but flip flops
[22:36] moontrace: those i have many colors
[22:37] Dug0C: brown, grey, black, black and tan, red and white
[22:37] Dug0C: no flip flops
[22:37] Dug0C: i had a pair once
[22:37] Dug0C: they broke
[22:37] Dug0C: :(
[22:37] moontrace: boo
[22:37] moontrace: buy another
[22:37] Dug0C: thinking about it?
[22:38] moontrace: i have brown black, blue striped, mulit-colored stripes, pink, light blue, palm trees, bambooish type
[22:39] Dug0C: mm bamboo
[22:39] Dug0C: amazing
[22:39] moontrace: pretty much
[22:39] Dug0C: you ever get pandas attacking you and eating your shoes?
[22:39] moontrace: can't say that i have
[22:40] moontrace: however it would make for a great story
[22:41] Dug0C: reminds me of that threadless shirt
[22:41] Dug0C: pandamonium
[22:41] moontrace: sounds familiar
[22:42] moontrace: does it have a panda eating someone's flip flop?
[22:42] Dug0C: lol no
[22:42] moontrace: because that would be pretty ironic
[22:42] Dug0C: a panda sitting still
[22:42] Dug0C: eating tanks and getting shot at by helicopters
[22:42] moontrace: oh yeah, i've seen that
[22:43] moontrace: i have to pack tomorrow
[22:44] Dug0C: pack?
[22:44] Dug0C: for what?
[22:44] moontrace: school
[22:44] Dug0C: pack for school?
[22:44] moontrace: leaving thurs
[22:45] moontrace: 3.5 hr drive
[22:45] Dug0C: ?
[22:45] Dug0C: where are you?
[22:45] moontrace: the middle of the country
[22:45] Dug0C: huh?
[22:45] Dug0C: did i miss something?
[22:46] moontrace: hm?
[22:46] Dug0C: middle off the country?
[22:46] moontrace: yep
[22:46] Dug0C: what countrty?
[22:47] moontrace: us?
[22:48] Dug0C: my goodness
[22:48] moontrace: where are you?
[22:49] Dug0C: some house
[22:49] Dug0C: i just woke up here
[22:49] Dug0C: its a dirty bathroom
[22:49] Dug0C: there is a box on the floor
[22:49] moontrace: apparently it has internet access
[22:49] Dug0C: a chain around my neck
[22:49] Dug0C: and there is a laptop on the other end of the chain
[22:50] moontrace: that's convienient
[22:50] Dug0C: well
[22:50] Dug0C: at least i have all my parts
[22:51] Dug0C: did you knwo that the corny collins show is integrated?
[22:51] moontrace: yep, that's good news to hear
[22:51] moontrace: glad they fired the blonde
[22:52] Dug0C: i know seriously
[22:52] moontrace: if i could dance i'd go audition
[22:53] Dug0C: lol
[22:53] Dug0C: if i could dance i would too
[22:53] Dug0C: dance is amr fun thing
[22:53] Dug0C: an*
[22:53] moontrace: amr?
[22:53] moontrace: ah
[22:53] moontrace: an still doesn't work though
[22:54] Dug0C: yeah, but you cant stop the beat.
[22:54] moontrace: lol
[22:56] Dug0C: did you see rush hour 3?
[22:56] moontrace: nope
[22:56] Dug0C: i bought a theater, but they were still sold out
[22:56] moontrace: darn the luck
[22:56] Dug0C: i am the man who has not seen it
[22:57] Dug0C: nor have i seen bourne ultimatum
[22:57] moontrace: wow, who hasn't seen that one
[22:57] moontrace: (besides me)
[22:57] Dug0C: lol
[22:58] Dug0C: well they dont have good quality downloads afvailable yet
[22:58] moontrace: i watched the simpons movie that way
[22:58] Dug0C: and i dont want to go see it in theater alone
[22:58] Dug0C: i DLed simpsons too
[22:58] moontrace: take a friend
[22:58] Dug0C: i havent a friend
[22:58] Dug0C: would you go with me?
[22:58] Dug0C: :)
[22:58] Dug0C: pretty please?
[22:58] moontrace: maybe
[22:58] moontrace: if you're lucky
[22:59] Dug0C: well i am siete
[22:59] moontrace: lol
[22:59] moontrace: that was bad
[22:59] Dug0C: oh yeah?
[22:59] Dug0C: i didnt think it was so bad...
[23:00] moontrace: that's because you said it
[23:00] Dug0C: lol
[23:00] Dug0C: ok
[23:00] Dug0C: now i understand
[23:00] moontrace: yep, glad it makes sense now
[23:01] moontrace: i might go see hairspray again with you
[23:01] Dug0C: lol oh yeah?
[23:01] Dug0C: why is that?
[23:01] Dug0C: such an awesome movie?
[23:01] moontrace: pretty much, yeah
[23:02] Dug0C: i wish they would have done more with travolta
[23:02] Dug0C: he is a great dancer
[23:02] moontrace: yeah, but i guess they kind of have to follow the script
[23:02] Dug0C: lol
[23:02] Dug0C: totally forgot about that
[23:03] moontrace: haha, yep
[23:03] moontrace: did you see ricki lake at the end?
[23:03] Dug0C: no i did not!
[23:03] moontrace: she was tracy in the 1st one, so she had a cameo
[23:04] Dug0C: the first one?
[23:04] Dug0C: there was another movie?
[23:04] Dug0C: or on the play?
[23:04] moontrace: there was another movie
[23:05] moontrace: i haven't seen it though
[23:05] moontrace: maybe we could watch that one instead
[23:05] Dug0C: yes yes?
[23:05] Dug0C: which one?
[23:05] Dug0C: oh
[23:05] Dug0C: hairspray
[23:05] Dug0C: lol
[23:06] moontrace: lol, yep
[23:06] moontrace: just as long as there's popcorn
[23:06] moontrace: and water
[23:06] Dug0C: well if im there, water will be trhere
[23:07] moontrace: no popcorn?
[23:07] Dug0C: yeah i could bring popcorn too
[23:07] Dug0C: im just saying
[23:07] Dug0C: lol
[23:08] moontrace: lol, good
[23:08] moontrace: i'm glad that there will be both popcorn and water
[23:09] Dug0C: so, that movie should be here in a few days
[23:09] Dug0C: friday im guessing
[23:09] Dug0C: maybe sat though
[23:09] moontrace: hm, it might take me till sat to walk 500 miles to get there
[23:10] Dug0C: what city are you in?
[23:10] moontrace: what city are you in?
[23:10] Dug0C: lol
[23:10] Dug0C: that of the Union
[23:10] Dug0C: brb
[23:10] moontrace: k
[23:13] Dug0C: and you?
[23:13] moontrace: wait, wait
[23:13] moontrace: that of the union, what does that even mean?
[23:13] Dug0C: lol
[23:13] Dug0C: union city
[23:14] moontrace: cali?
[23:14] Dug0C: yes
[23:14] Dug0C: i dont usually live outside of california
[23:15] moontrace: i do
[23:15] Dug0C: who am i talking to??
[23:15] moontrace: who do you think you're talking to?
[23:15] Dug0C: some really tall kid
[23:15] moontrace: nope
[23:15] Dug0C: prove me wrong
[23:15] moontrace: how can i prove you wrong?
[23:16] Dug0C: tell me something only you would know
[23:16] Dug0C: what movie did we watch one week ago?
[23:16] moontrace: that doesnt prove anything
[23:16] moontrace: i have no idea, because i'm not a really tall kid
[23:16] Dug0C: my poor child
[23:16] Dug0C: i must away
[23:17] Dug0C: unless to claim your true self
[23:17] moontrace: you leaving me?
[23:17] Dug0C: i dont want to do it
[23:17] Dug0C: but how can i talk to a phantom?
[23:17] moontrace: well, you have been
[23:17] moontrace: so i guess you can do it
[23:18] Dug0C: i dont know
[23:20] moontrace: ok, i'll give you a hint
[23:20] moontrace: i've never been to ca
[23:20] Dug0C: gasp
[23:20] moontrace: shame, i know
[23:20] Dug0C: are you serious?
[23:21] moontrace: yep
[23:21] Dug0C: what state do you live in?
[23:22] moontrace: what do you think?
[23:22] Dug0C: erm...nevada
[23:22] Dug0C: lol
[23:22] moontrace: go more east
[23:22] Dug0C: utah
[23:22] moontrace: keep going
[23:22] Dug0C: nebraska
[23:22] Dug0C: kansas
[23:22] moontrace: almost there
[23:23] moontrace: not quite
[23:23] Dug0C: colorado
[23:23] moontrace: wrong direction
[23:23] Dug0C: oklahoma
[23:23] Dug0C: i need a map
[23:23] Dug0C: lol
[23:23] moontrace: you were closer with kansas
[23:23] moontrace: lol
[23:23] Dug0C: up?
[23:23] Dug0C: wyoming?
[23:23] moontrace: not up
[23:23] Dug0C: S dakota?
[23:23] moontrace: not that way either
[23:23] Dug0C: mmm kentucky
[23:23] moontrace: go west
[23:24] Dug0C: ohio?
[23:24] Dug0C: arkanssas?
[23:24] moontrace: lol, that's not west
[23:24] moontrace: almost
[23:24] Dug0C: um
[23:24] Dug0C: lol
[23:24] Dug0C: im thinking
[23:24] Dug0C: missouri
[23:24] moontrace: hey, you got it
[23:24] Dug0C: wow
[23:24] Dug0C: so you are someone i have never met before
[23:25] Dug0C: you want to know something insane?
[23:25] moontrace: lol, it took you that long to figure that out
[23:25] moontrace: what?
[23:25] Dug0C: this whole time i thought you were this girl i know, named Katrice
[23:25] Dug0C: this
[23:25] Dug0C: whjole
[23:25] Dug0C: time
[23:25] moontrace: lol, that's hilarious
[23:25] moontrace: i was kind of wondering
[23:25] Dug0C: yeah i must have been a little weird eh?
[23:26] moontrace: lol, i just thought that you were a very very random

Doommate

2007-08-10T22:26:00.000-07:00

Isn't it just wonderful how sometimes the tiniest sound can drive you to complete utter insanity? Okay, I admit it was a cliche to use the word utter in that sentence, but cut me some slack here; I am mad. The loopy mad, not the angered mad. Okay maybe a teensy bit of the angered mad.

"But why is Dougly mad?" you may ask yourself. It's this roommate of mine. The roommate that smacks his mouth when he eats, like his mother never taught him any manners. The roommate who has to say "Hey" everytime I walk by, even though we live in the same house and I might walk by him a few times an hour. The roommate who accidentally steals my garage door opener despite having his own in his car. The roommate who seems to think the entire house is his storage area, even though he has the biggest bedroom. The roommate who goes through the ads we get in the mail and then leaves them scattered about the house, on the floor, counters, table, couches, and anywhere else I used to be able to walk.

If I had to pick one reason to move from this house (other than the obvious desire to move back to Red Bluff) it would be this roommate. He is oblivious. And I am mad.

For My Loyal First Time Readers

2007-07-31T00:45:00.000-07:00

Ode to thou is what expells from mine deepest heart, and within my soul gallops the desire of your true being.

Yeah not really though, just thought I'd throw you off my scent for a minute. But this blog is going to be a very important spot for people to visit in the future, and many a reader will spend their dwindling hours hoping for another post. They will be random, oh yes, for that is the flavor which is not vanilla, and my deep mind may at times accidentally digest your entire being and leave you feeling as if you never existed. This is only because the crevasse into which you fell awoke you to the third dimension of thought, the ninth parallel of parallax, and the twelfth squeeze bottle of hand sanitizer.