Cut away the fat, carve the meat from the bone, dice and slice and mince and pinch and tense the calm, the good, the right, the positive in the carver's kitchen, in the meat locker, in the court room, in the pitch-black bedroom, inside yourself in an unconcerned crowd.
Do it again the next day, the day following, the rest of the week, the week after that, then continue onward as if that is what life is...the beating on yourself, the hobbling, the binding, the bending, the breaking.
Turn off your eyes and ears and heart and mind and life and blood for things you cannot change but are married to, enjoined with, infused into, burned by, melded...and stop making them hurt you long after the caustic bright chemical reaction, emotional poignancy, intellectual delve, sexual twist or careless cluelessness disperses.
Leave these rainy nightmares of the sticky, putrid past to fade, discard that dark hue that climbs out in rancid, acidic sweat to taint the sweet-rose dawn of each breaking day, and believe there is more, so much more, beyond now.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Derail
Another of my found writings, which just show me how far I've travelled since this feeling made me take pen to paper to permanence.
Can’t feel anything in this flight from you or myself and the empty roar within in me. My thoughts are scattered across the past, present, and future in a reconstructed haze of recollected premonitions. Your nose-wipe life befouls any dash to restitiution and deadens the point of the directional needle. Where is which-way, and who are they; am I to confuse when with how? Riddles for the sake of insanity and limbo read like obituaries in my latestest yellow journalism sensational. Hot off the press, lingering bathroom piss, tortured daily remiss: derailment of bliss.
Can’t feel anything in this flight from you or myself and the empty roar within in me. My thoughts are scattered across the past, present, and future in a reconstructed haze of recollected premonitions. Your nose-wipe life befouls any dash to restitiution and deadens the point of the directional needle. Where is which-way, and who are they; am I to confuse when with how? Riddles for the sake of insanity and limbo read like obituaries in my latestest yellow journalism sensational. Hot off the press, lingering bathroom piss, tortured daily remiss: derailment of bliss.
Monday, April 24, 2006
TooL
Tool's new album 10,000 Days is out now. Go get it and freak yourself out, you deserve it.
Follow up: Yep, it freaks me out. Tool never ceases to amaze me and conjure up strange rhythms and imagery. Sometimes spooky, sometimes driven and forceful, but always, forever original and unique.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Rehabilitation
What hurts most in things of the past that turned out bad?
Is it the memory of the event? Or the pain endured because of actions?
Is it the hurt of being wronged? Or the guilt of craving revenge?
Is it the confusion and the bluffed feeling?
Or is it the letdown of knowing that you are human, that despite your best defenses you are still capable of being injured?
Or maybe it is that hard-swallow, sinking, Sucker feeling of bitter regret due to events, courses, actions, or words?
And if that hurt can be narrowed into any definite source, can it be erased? Eradicated? Overcome?
What makes hurt? And why do we continue to hurt others, as humans, after we have felt such pain from that action?
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Time Capsule
Finding old things, forgotten pieces of a life before mine, connects me to my father. I am fixing up my mom's backyard as her birthday gift. It is an large project involving saws, machetes, rakes, wheelbarrows, bags, etc. Today I found the wheelbarrow had a flat. Easy to fix, but my toolbox was in the bedroom. Instead I went into the old shed out back. My father's long-unused tools sat quietly in his large chest, the kind of tool container you see in a garage when you are talking to Joe 6-Pack about how you accidentally hit the curb (leaving out the alcohol content) and why your car pulls to the right, while Joe just looks at you like are talking too fast for him.
In this toolchest I found order, care, and surprising cleanliness. This was a peek at my father's way of doing things before the confusion came over him like a rising tide. I found tools that I had no way of using, from sheer confusion of their purpose as well as lacking something as massive as the tools were meant to be used upon, and amidst the connection to my father's past I managed to find some things that could remove the wheelbarrow wheel. After some air at the local gas-n-sip from the 50-cent pump, I was back and removing sticks and crap with renewed vigor.
I was careful to put my father's tools back where they belonged. They are, still, my father's tools and I merely borrowed them for the task at hand. He doesn't need tools these days, but I respect them as if he would come out and give the toolchest an inspection. I know his hands curved around the handles and put the sockets in with the adapters, so I replace them in the same manner. I wipe my grease-covered fingers with a rag he most surely wiped his hands and tools with sometime in the foggy past.
This is the closest I've been to my father in 18 years and it filled me with content and satisfaction. Thanks Dad.
In this toolchest I found order, care, and surprising cleanliness. This was a peek at my father's way of doing things before the confusion came over him like a rising tide. I found tools that I had no way of using, from sheer confusion of their purpose as well as lacking something as massive as the tools were meant to be used upon, and amidst the connection to my father's past I managed to find some things that could remove the wheelbarrow wheel. After some air at the local gas-n-sip from the 50-cent pump, I was back and removing sticks and crap with renewed vigor.
I was careful to put my father's tools back where they belonged. They are, still, my father's tools and I merely borrowed them for the task at hand. He doesn't need tools these days, but I respect them as if he would come out and give the toolchest an inspection. I know his hands curved around the handles and put the sockets in with the adapters, so I replace them in the same manner. I wipe my grease-covered fingers with a rag he most surely wiped his hands and tools with sometime in the foggy past.
This is the closest I've been to my father in 18 years and it filled me with content and satisfaction. Thanks Dad.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Hope Searches
Take a rectangle, put inside a picture of us behind the glass surface, and clasp it there. Turn the angle of the frame by the tips of the wooden edge and cast the sunlight of your captured remembrance across the surface, dancing shadows into the corners of this static feeling. See how the light cascades across your frozen smile? See the shine flip back in my blue eyes? Does that make you remember the things that smolder in these days of physical separation? That confined, stiff portrait is only a frame of the moments of life, of time...of things now known and conquered and encapsulated. Tell me unknown things instead of those scared feelings, the fears of hurt and regret and the septic past. Who talks of the days of the unknown without trepidation?..only those seeking the unestablished sugar-coated in hope.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Verbal Pink, Orange, and Red
Thorns rip me across exposed skin in my haste to blend into the thicket of woods and brambles. Solitude and serenity is my quest; a simple thrill in viewing the sunset alone, undisturbed and introspective, from a hidden natural setting. I bleed as I sit amidst the stunted-growth trees and pine needles and granite. It is Friday evening. I don't need a shower or clean clothes or phone calls or money or cigarettes or car keys or problems or rubbers or anyone. I crave this simple departure into the force of life that is bigger than any creature on the face of this earth. I managed to make it in time--time being relative to the turning of the earth and the clarity of the sky and the position my butt is resting--to absorb what too many people simply take for granted if noticed, blocked with sunglasses or sunvisors, or cursed/craved from behind a restrictive window.
Melding light and emotions and existence into the passing colors of tonight's sunset alters my direction and outlook on my life. It isn't easily described the inspirational power to alter in hues my life, or the opportunity to let the passing of time affect me merely in a reflection of skycast light, but the hum inside my body resonates from this event. And my earthly form was changed, my soul was touched from a bright-white source, and my thoughts were reconstructed based upon my deviation from my draining, deluding ritual of happiness or fun.
I've been impressed upon, influenced, motivated. How do you capture the passing of time in words? A picture would simplify the event. Words are harder; truly try to write about a sunset sometime and see for yourself. I chose to write this out of a day of thoughts, situations, and adventures for sheer survival of the captured beauty I shared with forces greater than I. Words are cheap, positive thoughts are lucky, impressions are rare, and finding the footpath of direction develops the receipent blessed to experience the transformation into motion and permanence. This is gratitude.
Melding light and emotions and existence into the passing colors of tonight's sunset alters my direction and outlook on my life. It isn't easily described the inspirational power to alter in hues my life, or the opportunity to let the passing of time affect me merely in a reflection of skycast light, but the hum inside my body resonates from this event. And my earthly form was changed, my soul was touched from a bright-white source, and my thoughts were reconstructed based upon my deviation from my draining, deluding ritual of happiness or fun.
I've been impressed upon, influenced, motivated. How do you capture the passing of time in words? A picture would simplify the event. Words are harder; truly try to write about a sunset sometime and see for yourself. I chose to write this out of a day of thoughts, situations, and adventures for sheer survival of the captured beauty I shared with forces greater than I. Words are cheap, positive thoughts are lucky, impressions are rare, and finding the footpath of direction develops the receipent blessed to experience the transformation into motion and permanence. This is gratitude.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Myself
For Shannon Fisher, a good friend who is truly missed. This represents how I imagined his last moments to be...
When shadows creep, talons piercing deep, time drips slowly and the edges of fear bear sharpness.
When darkness pours, inside the wind's howling roar, forcing me to crawl and hide, disgusted inside.
When the feelings surround, an empty, hollow sound, the wide open abounds, and I breathe sadness.
When the hope-glow flickers, a solitary lingering sliver, a loneliness is triggered, echoing notes of failure;
Here within myself.
When shadows creep, talons piercing deep, time drips slowly and the edges of fear bear sharpness.
When darkness pours, inside the wind's howling roar, forcing me to crawl and hide, disgusted inside.
When the feelings surround, an empty, hollow sound, the wide open abounds, and I breathe sadness.
When the hope-glow flickers, a solitary lingering sliver, a loneliness is triggered, echoing notes of failure;
Here within myself.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
The World of Drum and Bass (ATL)
Strobed light cut across faces and bodies in time to the pulsation of volume, and blood and hearts. The room sprawled to the walls free of obstructions execpt for the support columns, and the colored lights danced across angles of floor and wall and dancers. The din of the explosive bass shakes my body, vibrates my privates, locks a timeframe into my observation, forces unconscious tick and twitches of my body respoding to the flow of input.
I twisted in time to the rhythm and felt myself loosen inside, lacking that clench of stress and the soft stab of hurt, clinging to the balance of light and energy and flow and music and possibility.
My cuz, DJ Jubei, shouted something in my ear that made me smile and I kept looking to the head-bent turntablist onstage and shifting my body to the beat. The beer was cold in my hand, acting as a counter-weight to my gyrations, I suddenly felt a little pooped. My journey was in need of rest, so I found a couch. And while sitting I watched many a person on their night...seeing the skimpy buckhead chicks, the gays, the drunks, the guy that ate too many drugs, my cousin dancing. All of these separated for the girl with the twirly light thingy.
And the night shortly changed after I asked her if I could buy her a drink. And the beat played onward and the buckheads still danced and the gays still showed me how to dress better...but she defined the night, the moment, and the future...which is up to her.
I remember hearing High Contrast...and that's about it.
I twisted in time to the rhythm and felt myself loosen inside, lacking that clench of stress and the soft stab of hurt, clinging to the balance of light and energy and flow and music and possibility.
My cuz, DJ Jubei, shouted something in my ear that made me smile and I kept looking to the head-bent turntablist onstage and shifting my body to the beat. The beer was cold in my hand, acting as a counter-weight to my gyrations, I suddenly felt a little pooped. My journey was in need of rest, so I found a couch. And while sitting I watched many a person on their night...seeing the skimpy buckhead chicks, the gays, the drunks, the guy that ate too many drugs, my cousin dancing. All of these separated for the girl with the twirly light thingy.
And the night shortly changed after I asked her if I could buy her a drink. And the beat played onward and the buckheads still danced and the gays still showed me how to dress better...but she defined the night, the moment, and the future...which is up to her.
I remember hearing High Contrast...and that's about it.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
28 Miles To Go
The adventures of some evenings redefine you, and I had one of those evenings last night. I still wear the gift you gave me, never removing it since your tender fingers placed it on me. It encircles the pulse of my blood with hope and care. You find it hard to believe words that you know and feel are true. Your hand in mine, the laughter of smiling souls, the closeness of your warmth against me; you feel deep inside a stirring that is greater than words can portray. I am patiently waiting for you to decide how willing you are to step into something that is bigger than you ever imagined, and I will be there waiting for you regardless of your decision.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Saturday, March 18, 2006
On Forward Ahead Gone (For Jen)
Time has passed over the hurt, and our mistakes have been transversed, and things continually change around that pain point in each of our lives...but we fail to notice it, like the tired traveller on a bus who naps through the sunset and wakes disconcerted in the surrounding darkness.
We blunder onward into that black forecast, wiping the memories from our eyes with petulant fists of frustration. The vision clears briefly enough to ache, then blurs into misgivings, then crosses focal paths in a nexus of care and hate, then blinks to forget. This happens 33 times a second, and is relived in new actuality with each rendition.
Walking across my dreams, midnight and silent, your footprints whisper into my daylight hours. I know that you see life differently after my time with you. Two broken people plod into everyday drama with broken perceptions and burdened with passionate distaste.
We are still together in that we are both half-ruined, missing our love, stinging from errors, unable to trust, and blindly moving on...forward...ahead...until gone.
We blunder onward into that black forecast, wiping the memories from our eyes with petulant fists of frustration. The vision clears briefly enough to ache, then blurs into misgivings, then crosses focal paths in a nexus of care and hate, then blinks to forget. This happens 33 times a second, and is relived in new actuality with each rendition.
Walking across my dreams, midnight and silent, your footprints whisper into my daylight hours. I know that you see life differently after my time with you. Two broken people plod into everyday drama with broken perceptions and burdened with passionate distaste.
We are still together in that we are both half-ruined, missing our love, stinging from errors, unable to trust, and blindly moving on...forward...ahead...until gone.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Published, kind of
I've been published. I'm not posting the link for very particular reasons, but let's say that in the same vein of me proudly proclaiming that I dance, this is me proudly stating that an intensely difficult part of my life is now over...and I'm fighting against the scourge that hurt me, my loved ones, and so many others.
It feels very liberating to talk somewhat openly about what hurt me, ruined me, redefined me, lessened me, and broke me. To be able to scream back against this insanity makes my heart proud.
Thank you especially to my family and friends for your love, concern, direction, and heartfelt care. I love and truly respect each one of you who sparkled shine on my rotten life.
Gratefully giving back what you gave me,
Mark
It feels very liberating to talk somewhat openly about what hurt me, ruined me, redefined me, lessened me, and broke me. To be able to scream back against this insanity makes my heart proud.
Thank you especially to my family and friends for your love, concern, direction, and heartfelt care. I love and truly respect each one of you who sparkled shine on my rotten life.
Gratefully giving back what you gave me,
Mark
Monday, March 06, 2006
Blue Reflection Pools
(Background note: when I went to DC last year I stood in front of the long reflecting pools in front of various monuments throughout the 18-plus blocks [blocks are a helluva lot longer up North...for ATL folks, imagine walking from Lil' 5 Points to the Fox Theater] I walked from the Mall in DC. I took long gazes at myself and pondered my life. I came home and proposed to my now ex. But more than that misguided attempt, I saw something in that blue reflection that looked back at me with roaring insight, unfortunately never understood until later. But I knew I would see that cerulean-azure mirror again, like a premonition, and it would be even deeper in meaning for me. I found it.)
I observe more than you show or allow me to see. I feel things that we can't mention. I want, through barriers of doubt or guilt, to taste lips that are locked from my velvety tingle. I need that reflex that quivers in the back of my spine, that one I see you shudder from as well.
Can't you stretch past doubts and fears to embrace these heartfelt offerings I give to you? Can you overcome those blackened-past flashes to paint new beginnings?
I stand here waiting for you in the color splash of a new morning. I'm hesitating for you, to make sure you're on this train with me.
Where are you?
I observe more than you show or allow me to see. I feel things that we can't mention. I want, through barriers of doubt or guilt, to taste lips that are locked from my velvety tingle. I need that reflex that quivers in the back of my spine, that one I see you shudder from as well.
Can't you stretch past doubts and fears to embrace these heartfelt offerings I give to you? Can you overcome those blackened-past flashes to paint new beginnings?
I stand here waiting for you in the color splash of a new morning. I'm hesitating for you, to make sure you're on this train with me.
Where are you?
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Inner Glow
My previous post combined respect and art in a digital expression. And that felt refreshing. New shine...
I hope all who read this (I see you Santa!) understand that I'm changing. I feel things of old slipping away. I feel the urges and haunts of the recent past ease or lessen. I feel that hard, thorn-edged road transition into an asphalt sidewalk. Those hurtful nights have become only bad dreams that eventually lessen in each days' light.
Transformation is good, natural, and mostly out of my control. Direction is my rudder, alteration is nature's course; prayer and wisdom are two laterns for the unknown and unfamiliar path. But inner shine is the divining rod, which is faith.
But, oh yeah...evil...
You witches and loser lackeys...it is time for you to disappear. I'm no longer available for your sorrowful stories or downward pull--be gone from me now. I wish you away, not luck on your confused demise slide.
I will not change my phone number, or my address, or my desire to succeed. You will not be around long enough to pose any real problem to my direction anyway, so fall away now...like the dead leaf you've become.
The hard days teach lessons to those with ears capable of listening. I've become solid, rooted in feeling positive about this crazy cycle of days called "Life".
Beware: no one, especially not a junky, broken, fuck up like you, will take that away from me ever again.
Move on panhandlers of goodness, I've nothing to offer you...
I'm too busy sharing to want to give or take. Try it sometime. Sheesh, just try living....it is nice here.
I hope all who read this (I see you Santa!) understand that I'm changing. I feel things of old slipping away. I feel the urges and haunts of the recent past ease or lessen. I feel that hard, thorn-edged road transition into an asphalt sidewalk. Those hurtful nights have become only bad dreams that eventually lessen in each days' light.
Transformation is good, natural, and mostly out of my control. Direction is my rudder, alteration is nature's course; prayer and wisdom are two laterns for the unknown and unfamiliar path. But inner shine is the divining rod, which is faith.
But, oh yeah...evil...
You witches and loser lackeys...it is time for you to disappear. I'm no longer available for your sorrowful stories or downward pull--be gone from me now. I wish you away, not luck on your confused demise slide.
I will not change my phone number, or my address, or my desire to succeed. You will not be around long enough to pose any real problem to my direction anyway, so fall away now...like the dead leaf you've become.
The hard days teach lessons to those with ears capable of listening. I've become solid, rooted in feeling positive about this crazy cycle of days called "Life".
Beware: no one, especially not a junky, broken, fuck up like you, will take that away from me ever again.
Move on panhandlers of goodness, I've nothing to offer you...
I'm too busy sharing to want to give or take. Try it sometime. Sheesh, just try living....it is nice here.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Arty Mood II
Not much to say tonight. I'm preternaturally quiet. I'm listening to Gary Allan and thinking about life. Here's a tribute piece to my friend Dan. He drew this and I "borrowed" it and did a remix. Hope you don't mind Dan. I only did it because I like it so very much. It just made my creative side come out, and that says your work is quality to me when you make me open Photoshop on a whim at 1 am. Folks, Dan's artistic creation is on the left and my late-night remix is on the right.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
The Safety Dance
I like to dance.
Not ballroom dancing or the cha-cha or anything established...well, maybe the robot just for comedic effect...but I miss dancing. I used to go all the time for a couple of months with someone I no longer connect with and I miss that freedom and energy.
My buddy Heather started up a conversation about dancing today. Apparently she takes group lessons with a tall friend of hers and they are learning multiple styles of dancing. I believe she was to learn the Foxtrot this evening. It sounded like a lot of fun, you know...watching it. Unfortunately the organizers of those group lessons don't generally allow folks to come and loom at folks trying to learn to dance. I think it would be great though; serve some hot-dogs, popcorn, and veggie burgers and some beverages to wash it down, and the audience could generate more revenue for the group than the students.
But anyway, I was talking to Heather about dancing and it was readily apparent how dance is soooo very different and personal to someone. For Heather, she was open and shared with me that she was taking these group lessons and how she was feeling like she had to find someone close to her height and that she might be the one ending up leading the lesson.
I had a completely different conversation. I was literally admitting that I liked to dance. That was HUGE for me a year ago. I used to abhor dancing and anything closely related because I was so scared and unskilled in that activity. Then things changed. Music changed. Dancing changed. I suddenly found myself feeling music to the point where I was involuntarily lifting my legs and moving my head and finding the rhythm...and being overjoyed by the experience.
And that's when I met my dancer friend and we had quite a few adventures. But dancing was more an experience of appreciating a form of music and letting my body express that closeness and not the socio-awkward, chick-picking-up kind of scene that had scared and tainted me in high school.
I felt good to join in Heather's appreciation for dance and to admit to a friend that I liked it too, under certain and narrow circumstances, but it was a relief. I felt we got closer because of our talk.
And it made me want to dance so bad here on this Wednesday night of blah. The lights, the energy, the sweating bodies and swooping hair and captured glances. I miss it.
Not ballroom dancing or the cha-cha or anything established...well, maybe the robot just for comedic effect...but I miss dancing. I used to go all the time for a couple of months with someone I no longer connect with and I miss that freedom and energy.
My buddy Heather started up a conversation about dancing today. Apparently she takes group lessons with a tall friend of hers and they are learning multiple styles of dancing. I believe she was to learn the Foxtrot this evening. It sounded like a lot of fun, you know...watching it. Unfortunately the organizers of those group lessons don't generally allow folks to come and loom at folks trying to learn to dance. I think it would be great though; serve some hot-dogs, popcorn, and veggie burgers and some beverages to wash it down, and the audience could generate more revenue for the group than the students.
But anyway, I was talking to Heather about dancing and it was readily apparent how dance is soooo very different and personal to someone. For Heather, she was open and shared with me that she was taking these group lessons and how she was feeling like she had to find someone close to her height and that she might be the one ending up leading the lesson.
I had a completely different conversation. I was literally admitting that I liked to dance. That was HUGE for me a year ago. I used to abhor dancing and anything closely related because I was so scared and unskilled in that activity. Then things changed. Music changed. Dancing changed. I suddenly found myself feeling music to the point where I was involuntarily lifting my legs and moving my head and finding the rhythm...and being overjoyed by the experience.
And that's when I met my dancer friend and we had quite a few adventures. But dancing was more an experience of appreciating a form of music and letting my body express that closeness and not the socio-awkward, chick-picking-up kind of scene that had scared and tainted me in high school.
I felt good to join in Heather's appreciation for dance and to admit to a friend that I liked it too, under certain and narrow circumstances, but it was a relief. I felt we got closer because of our talk.
And it made me want to dance so bad here on this Wednesday night of blah. The lights, the energy, the sweating bodies and swooping hair and captured glances. I miss it.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
The "Cool" Haircut
You are only as "cool" as you a)live up to in your daily life, and b)think you are. The subjectivity of "cool" bears little influence on the act or portrayal or motions of cool; cool is usually decided after the act either by steely, hard liquor drinking juries of jaded, resigned folks, the lost, or a gabbering gaggle of after-the-fact'ers chattering to hear the chatter.
How cool is your "cool"?
This post is not going how I planned it and therefore it is fitting in perfectly with my point: cool is felt as well.
Do you feel good about the things you did today? Yeah, it was cool.
How was the date? It was cool.
Has your artwork being going well? Yeah, things are cool.
These answers, though vague, are truly heartfelt and positive. Why would you say your date the other night was cool if it wasn't? You wouldn't. You'd say "we had fun" or "good food, bad breath" or something like that. Cool wasn't even in the equation because overall the night wasn't very cool, not like the cool that was hoped for from the adventure.
Now, cool is false confidence too. Taking the side of the late-chirper chorus I've personally witnessed numerous displays of complete UNcoolness going on in some clown who KNOWS that they are "cool". And that is pretty hilarious. Unfortunately I was that clown today.
I got a haircut the other day and it significantly altered folks' perception of my appearance. In the workplace is the most amplified setting to reflect a cross-sampling of your new look. So, I've had folks looking at me a little differently, some smiling and some just looking.
I waltzed in work this morning, big smile on my face and spanky-new dippty-do hair thing going on, and pretty much knew I was cool. So cool was I that I didn't even worry about "cool". I pass some ladies and they smile real big and say good morning. Wow! Folks have really been nice to me this morning!
I remembered the Marta bus driver who just kept talking to me this morning; I thought of those on the train that suddenly, and very oddly, struck up conversations on the commute into town; then there was those people in the elevator that seemed to be in a good mood, usually the elevator is so moody and quiet.
I just shrugged and felt cool, going to get my next cup of coffee in the breakroom. The morning folks had smiles on their faces for me and I just smiled back. Darn amazing, this haircut! I head back to my desk, more hellos and smiles, and get to work.
Second cup of coffee down, my bladder begins to lament from the liquid burden. I head to the bathroom, walk up to the urinal and go to unzip. Funny, the zipper is already down. OH MAN! Seems I've had it down all throughout the commute, through the sidewalks of my work, the security guard ladies, the ride up to the 15th floor, and 2 honkin' cup of coffee trips through the breakroom. Hey everyone, here's my PP! Come look!! Watch me forget about my PP from, like, 2 hours ago!!!!
Not very cool at all.
How cool is your "cool"?
This post is not going how I planned it and therefore it is fitting in perfectly with my point: cool is felt as well.
Do you feel good about the things you did today? Yeah, it was cool.
How was the date? It was cool.
Has your artwork being going well? Yeah, things are cool.
These answers, though vague, are truly heartfelt and positive. Why would you say your date the other night was cool if it wasn't? You wouldn't. You'd say "we had fun" or "good food, bad breath" or something like that. Cool wasn't even in the equation because overall the night wasn't very cool, not like the cool that was hoped for from the adventure.
Now, cool is false confidence too. Taking the side of the late-chirper chorus I've personally witnessed numerous displays of complete UNcoolness going on in some clown who KNOWS that they are "cool". And that is pretty hilarious. Unfortunately I was that clown today.
I got a haircut the other day and it significantly altered folks' perception of my appearance. In the workplace is the most amplified setting to reflect a cross-sampling of your new look. So, I've had folks looking at me a little differently, some smiling and some just looking.
I waltzed in work this morning, big smile on my face and spanky-new dippty-do hair thing going on, and pretty much knew I was cool. So cool was I that I didn't even worry about "cool". I pass some ladies and they smile real big and say good morning. Wow! Folks have really been nice to me this morning!
I remembered the Marta bus driver who just kept talking to me this morning; I thought of those on the train that suddenly, and very oddly, struck up conversations on the commute into town; then there was those people in the elevator that seemed to be in a good mood, usually the elevator is so moody and quiet.
I just shrugged and felt cool, going to get my next cup of coffee in the breakroom. The morning folks had smiles on their faces for me and I just smiled back. Darn amazing, this haircut! I head back to my desk, more hellos and smiles, and get to work.
Second cup of coffee down, my bladder begins to lament from the liquid burden. I head to the bathroom, walk up to the urinal and go to unzip. Funny, the zipper is already down. OH MAN! Seems I've had it down all throughout the commute, through the sidewalks of my work, the security guard ladies, the ride up to the 15th floor, and 2 honkin' cup of coffee trips through the breakroom. Hey everyone, here's my PP! Come look!! Watch me forget about my PP from, like, 2 hours ago!!!!
Not very cool at all.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Arty Mood
Dan said: "I dig both images (referencing my earlier Pens and Needles entry). Very cool! Post some more!"
Well, ok Dan. I made a new image for you. I took a picture of my pens that I'm using on my project and used that to create a weird scene picture in photoshop. Hope you like it.
Monday, February 20, 2006
2C: Introduction
I always sleep on the bus, it is the way I manage to get to work some days, but his inquisitive tone snapped me awake immediately. I kept my eyes shut, feigning the shaky, bouncing sleep known to those who nap on buses, but I was all ears.
"2C? What in the f* are you talking about?"
2C? Was it a new robot? A version of the Grand Maquis I'd never heard of? What?
He continued on after some moments of quiet listening.
"So, you're telling me this C2, no 2C, is the new thing? How come I've never heard of it?
Now I was riveted to the conversation.
"...well, what the f* am I supposed to do with it? How many n* you see asking for 2C? Sound like bulls* to me...no, you try it and let ME know what the f* I'm supposed to do with it!"
2C...hmmm, I'd never heard of it either. Not that I'm some expert on illegal drugs or anything, but I do know my fair share either from the internet or my ex-fiance. And 2C was definitely one I'd never heard of. Heck, sounded more like a vitamin supplement or a bra size.
"You do what now?! Eat it? How much...no fool, how much do you eat, shorty?"
I could no longer keep my eyes shut. This was fascinating news, much more interesting than the Marta tv feed.
"Milligrams? Sh*, how am I supposed to measure that out?"
I wondered too.
"Nawwww, leave me out of that sh*. I just want the rock and the 'dro. 15 minutes. I DON"T CARE what I'm missin'!" I hear some muttered expletives and and then quiet.
I went back to napping...and woke up 8 stops past my work. Damn! Monday morning for sure. The entire yawning walk to work I kept wondering about the 2C conversation.
Folks, there's something new on the loose. Lock up the kids and cancel allowances. Alert the hospitals, the mental institutions, welfare, the cops, and even the Red Cross. Now we've got some shite called 2C to contend with and if history has taught us anything...then it'll soon be a problem like all the others that came before it.
And this comes from a retired hippy.
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