010214 # human # jonquil I feel like I abandoned Gwen and Mary, and that makes me feel empty and rueful and a little self loathing. It is kinda like the way a day spent obsessing about cameras makes me feel--when I look back and feel like I pushed the girls away subtly. 010314 # human # mrgrenache here it is 2014 and i'm still looking for the perfect fountain pen. Only this time it's a $1300 camera. In the past it's also been a keyboard, drums, pens, typewriters, flutes, mouthpieces, stereo equipment, computers, word processors, text editors, and probably innumerable other things I'm not thinking of right now. So for two hours I've sat here reading camera reviews and obsessing. Just like I did all last night until I couldn't sleep. And so far this month I don't even have the money to pay the rent. # human # roy # mistress had another revelation after not masturbating with homemade-brand lavender massage oil in the bathtub: I'm actually okay with being monosexual right now. Why not? Thinking of my old boy Marco Vassi. But anyway, games of all kinds are afoot in the cuboid. My boy Roy for example is starting to wonder who exactly the mistress is. # human the unutterable luxury of a few limes, sitting casually on the counter, waiting to be used on a whim to brighten up someone's late-night great draught of sparkling water 010414 # human # fox I'm still not looking for a job. But what *am* I doing? # human # gracetone # roccity # roomfullof1000voices And who hears my maundering sighs? A single oak on a white plain. Dropping its acorns on a hard smooth surface. They rattle like marbles, and then all is stillness. 010714 # human # mrgrenache What if we eminent soul-searchers, recognizers of the bright segments, are the ones totally deceiving ourselves? What if all this personal transformation, out-coming blinding flashes of deep authenticity, are just so many more complicated levels of the same kind of bullshit rationalization that we've been performing for years? 010714 # human # tonahutu That's why I was sort of annoyed. Because that kind of inversion is as inevitable as it is unsettling. Child father to the yeah whatever. Pupil surpasses yeah whatever. # human # tonahutu That's what was so funny, speaking of inversions. It almost seemed like *he* was bidding for inclusion in *my* esteem when he said he recognized the feeling of staring at the stones, willing one of them to be the one that would best fit next. # human # robot What if I were to embrace the limitations. Quit, I mean quit cold turkey even though I don't have to and it's cheap & it's legal not to, the obsessive twiddling with software. It's incredible how much energy I have spent the last few days trying to make the ultimate decision about the ultimate writing program, when almost every single application on this or any other computer would more than suffice. # human Dude, what the fuck? Oh fuck it, what am I avoiding? Desperate rains call for desperate glass-smashings. Easter eggs of cacophanous doubt rain down bloody-knuckled all over the medium chai of your stupid face. 011114 # human # shitboy # warmglowbox Wouldn't it be easier to fuck around with keyboard shortcuts, or maybe agonize deliciously over whether VoodooPad or the Finder is better for the cuboid? What about web export? Don't you want to share with the world? Or at least your mom? Wait, you don't want your mom to see what goes on in the cuboid! For gods sake, man, there's cocksucking and shiteating and god knows what else in these rubbish-strewn compartments! Hasn't she had to sit through enough of that already? Wouldn't it be easier to just look online at different cameras? Or read a really well-written, thoughtful piece at somebody's tastefully designed blog about how it doesn't matter what camera you have, because photography's about storytelling? And feel vindicated, because oh yeah, storytelling. I know about that. While your scattered characters bounce around and around inside the ever-tumbling cuboid, not knowing which way is up, not knowing each other, not knowing salvation and a kiss may lie a single cell away. # human My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun either. Ever notice how the thing you thought you were going to write down becomes irrelevant once you start writing things down? # human The girls don't know any better than to love me for it: we ate and ate and watched movies and stayed up late. I feel very thoroughly distracted. My eyes even hurt a little. But I didn't have to sit quietly and face anything. Oh wait: I am now. But I still don't have to. I'm choosing to. At least for a moment. 012114 # human Ooh, ooh ooh! I just found a rootbeer barrel among all the boring old jolly ranchers in my vest pocket. Ex-*quis*-ite! I ask again: *How should I be spending my time?* 011414 # human # martian # trout Mil: Celi, you're not supposed to do that! It's for emergencies! Celi: It *was* a mergency, I wanted a kitty! Mil: That's not an emergency! 011714 # human "Love the necessary hard work." Part of the work is brute-force (with logic too though!) overcoming your emotive snap reactions. When Millie says "I wish you would spend more time doing stuff with us at home," you have to let the easy defensive retorts wash through you, and bite down on it and realize it's a perfectly valid thing for her to have said, and respond in a generous, don't-have-to-be-right way. 011814 # human Libby just did a beautiful job inhabiting a moment. She was sweeping the kitchen. Adele was playing quietly in the background. The kitchen light was on in contrast to the growing dark outside. The snowman out there is about twelve feet tall. She was wearing a red sweater that glowed warm against the gold and soft pink of the inside lighting. She was like a radiant Cinderella. Only with less abuse. # human This song is so weird. 011914 # human # celeste Now every time I make green tea, I think of her saying it tastes like dirt. And I get a little frisson of quiet pleasure, same as I can get sometimes driving along a wet street with snow glistening in the headlights, focusing on a particular patch of white. 012014 # human # serpent Cutting lime wedges with a serrated knife; for a moment felt too tired and bored to bother being careful with the knife 012214 # human # bushmill *Really* wanted to drink for a while this evening. Because the line from the Paul Simon song went through my head: *My mother laughed the way some ladies do.* Wondered why that made me want to drink, and laugh the way some men do. Figured it's because after all, after fairly continuously quietly concluding that I'm okay & self-sufficient, at least on a personal if not a professional plane, I actually do want a chance to be an adult & keep adult company and say dumb adult jokes and laugh at unspoken adult themes. Yeah no you don't have to drink to do all that, but see that's what the drink-urge was telling me. It was saying, "You've been ignoring this part." # human # treefrog Tomorrow should be interesting, if nothing else. Going down into Milwaukee to do a special ed gig at that horrid Academy. This has all got to be adding up to something. *What's the puzzle piece I keep overlooking?* 012514 # human # barndancers This is where I would be drinking if I were drinking. Instead, it is only raining. The barnboard is wet. It lets in some drops. The green is subdued yet brilliant in the diffuse gray light. That little girl's raincoat is gemlike, yellow, a dripping wet sun in a quiet solar system. Bring me a drink of this, any time I am thirsty. 012814 # The Escape Artist *A clever bastard indeed* We tell ourselves stories about who and what we are; meanwhile spirituality escapes like steam all around us BTW he's a great performer; he dazzles with humility; sincerity's his strongest suit "I make my own tools" came out just like "Everything is made of dots" Both may be true; nevertheless each led to the gaping possibility that I am totally a balding, prattling, sneering blowhard with everything to lose & losing it fast. # cunnyhol Angrily I burst into her ashram in the middle of the desert night; incense smoke and gauzy curtains swirl around and away from my tightened fists. "I miss the writing," I contend. "All the shit and gears and buckles and crap, it's all getting in the way of the writing." She gazes up at me from her plump perch on a great burgundy pillow. "How do you make a world out of text?" I demand. *"Why* do you make a world out of text? Can you do it through text alone? Or does it have to exist in ways that are tangential or orthogonal to the textual tools you're using? Do I need to learn how to program? Or is that not the point? Why is normal writing not good enough for me?" She speaks in that honey voice she has that makes me weak. "The world is not the computer, nor is it the forks or the file structure, nor is it how clever you are because you made all these scripts and hashtags and rules. The world is not the legos, my boy." "Then what *is* the world?" I insist. Less angry now, still trembling and breathing rough. "Just keep breaking through the illusions. Just keep doing it until you get out of whatever this is. Every day is first day. Break them wherever you can. With how you are with the kids. With how you are with the computer. With writing. With how you cut yourself off from people. Any way at all. Any time you can see one, in whatever domain of your life, go ahead and smash it. I'm not saying it's not going to hurt. It already hurts. But you have to. You have to. They're counting on you. Real people need you to wake up. Learn to wake up and you can finally get some sleep. Use what you have. Get dressed. Overcome the inertia. Get up. Go out. Don't hate yourself. Learn to hate the illusions for what they do to you. For they are sweet sweet lies that suck up to your brain and are making you see stars that aren't there. The sky is full of real stars if you can wake up and stop being seduced back into clever sleep. Honor your insomnia." She said. Then I woke up. 012914 ANY type of installation of ANY version of Linux WILL result in a complete format and clean reinstall of OS X. NO EXCEPTIONS. It's just a matter of when. There is NEVER any reason to install Ubuntu on your Mac. OKAY? CAN WE AGREE ON THIS NOW, AKA "YOU GOT THAT, FUCKTARD??"