Again, and again

The New Year. And as tradition, I make a blog post, looking back at the list from last year and making a list for the next. Except I won't. Why? Because I am tired. I am abso-fucking-lutely tired from the past year. Do you know why? Because it sucked. It has been, in retrospect, one of the shittiest years of my life. It started so promising. I was actually, dare I say, happy at the start. The year was filled with promise. Thing were looking up. It actually felt that my life might have taken a turn such that every waking moment wasn't going to be filled with pain and suffering and heartache.

I should have known better.

Past precedent may not be indicative of future performance, but it sure as shit is a better bet than not. The year began to decline quickly, then just short of 5 months in it took a nosedive into an abyss of shit that my life has not climbed out of yet, and does not appear to in risk of rising above in the near future.

So here's what I'll do. I'll go over the old list.

• Propose to my girl in a personal and creative fashion

Heh, the cruelest cut of all. At the time is seemed so certain we were going to get married. We were arriving at the point where it was something we both wanted. Then it all just...fell apart. Fell apart. It's like trying to pick up one too many things in your hands. One thing starts to slip, so you adjust to get it, which causes another to go, so you adjust again, then another slips, and so on and so on until everything falls from your fingers and you're left staring at your empty hands, wondering what happened. Everything seemed in control. Now you're got nothing to hold on to.

• Make more blog posts that start with movie quotes

I tried. I doubt I succeeded. I haven't written much. Anything I write is bitching, no one wants to read it. I can tell by the lack of responses.

• Play the new version of Dwarf Fortress

Didn't touch it. Movies were my escape this year.

• Get my guitar out once a month

I touched it once.

• REALLY start to work on losing weight, to perhaps look good in a tux

After I got dumped I reached a new high in weight. I've lost some, but it's still higher than it's been in the past decade or so. I've had to buy new clothes. I don't think I'm going to lose weight anytime soon. And it scares me, because I feel my lifespan shortening.

• Finish the origami page-a-day calender from last year

Still sitting there, unfinished.

• Succeed in doing some good science

I may have done that. Or at least started it.

• REALLY submit a story for publication (am I repeating myself here?)

Did, a number of times. All rejections. Most pretty nasty rejections.

• Finish the stack of books next to my bed

All but one. I don't know if I'll ever reach the point of mental stability where I'll be able to read The Road without wanting to kill myself. It's not about good or bad, the prose is heartbreakingly beautiful, but it's a depressing as fuck book and I can't handle that right now.

• Take a trip with my girl

We were planning a trip to Chicago when she dumped me.

• Take a chill pill

Not even close.

• Take a number

I applied to 43 jobs. I think that counts.

• Take a vacation before December

Does the day before and after Thanksgiving count? Cause those are the only other vacation days I took this year before December.

• Take a moment

I got drunk the night I got dumped. I think that counts.

• Work 8 hours without turning on my computer

Nope.

• Eat a balanced breakfast

Nope.

• Balance the books

Nope.

• Book a flight

Actually did that.

• Try to be happy

Does increasing my medication count?

• Hold myself to my New Years resolutions only so much as I want, and not feel guilty if I fail

Failed.

So what about a new list? I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to. I could put down pithy comments, or serious comments, or whatever, but it all boils down to one thing for me this year.

• Try to make it through the year without killing myself

Perhaps it a bit melodramatic. It is, in fact. I've never been suicidal. But every time I fall into depression I feel myself trending in that direction just a little bit more, a little bit more. And my life keeps getting worse and worse and worse, and judging by my job situation it's not going to get any better. So maybe next time is the time I buy the gun. And the time after is the time I get the bullets. How many lives do I have left? Who knows. Who knows how many lives any of us have left.

Life. Sucks. So all I can try to resolve for this next year is to survive. It's all I got left.

I cannot hide what I am

Don John: I cannot hide what I am: I must be sad when I have cause and smile at no man's jests, eat when I have stomach and wait for no man's leisure, sleep when I am drowsy and tend on no man's business, laugh when I am merry and claw no man in his humour.

Conrade: Yea, but you must not make the full show of this till you may do it without controlment. You have of late stood out against your brother, and he hath ta'en you newly into his grace; where it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself: it is needful that you frame the season for your own harvest.

Don John: I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in his grace, in this, though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain. If I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I would do my liking: in the meantime let me be that I am and seek not to alter me.

- Much Ado About Nothing

Tink, tink, tink

Tink, tink, tink

Tink, tink, tink

Ssssshhht

Tink, tink, tink

Tonk...tonk...

Ssssshhht

Tink, tink, tink

Tink, tink, tink

Where I skate upon the thin edge of my sanity

Do you know what the Golden Ratio is? The Golden Ratio. It's a mathematical precept where the ratio of a smaller number to a larger number is the same as the ratio of the larger number to the sum of the numbers. It manifests itself in a variety of places, such as the Fibonacci sequence (where the next number of the sequence is the sum of the previous two numbers, i.e. 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8...). It also manifests itself in architecture, such as in the construction of the Pyramids and the Parthenon. But even more so, the Golden Ratio is found in nature. For example, the graphical depiction of the Fibonacci spiral, which shows the Golden Ratio as boxes with a curve connecting the corners.


Is often correlated with the pattern of growth of Nautilaus shells.


Or the shape of the human ear.

The Golden Ratio is also found in the shape of a Pentagon/Pentagram. Here the colored segments are in Golden Ratio to each other.

And the human body maintains this aspect ratio.


People find the Golden Ratio everywhere. It constantly crops up in nature, and people use it in music, art, architecture, finance, etc.

The Golden Ratio is also a fractal.

A fractal is a mathematical equation that repeats itself on finer and finer scales. Think of it like this. You know when you look at the reflection of a mirror within a mirror you see the same thing repeated smaller and smaller? Like this:
No matter how small you get there's still a smaller version inside it? A fractal is the same thing but with mathematics. They tend to look pretty neat. And make good wallpapers.


Fractals are all over nature, where it becomes like the movie Pi. If you look, you are sure to find one. What does that mean? Who knows.

But all that is in my mind while I read this Cracked article about a guy who got beat near to death by some muggers, but as an unexpected result his brain was altered and now he essentially sees fractals. As in, when he looks at his hand, he sees the fractal shapes that make the hand. When he sees a cloud trail away, he sees the fractal spiral that makes that trail. I encourage everyone to read the story, I'm not doing the description justice. It's quite amazing.

Not only does he see fractals, he understands and has progressed the mathematics of fractals. The thing that has stuck with me from the article is that guy has found that Einsteins E=mc^2 equation is actually a fractal. And somehow this seems so very, very profound. I don't know why. I'm not a mathematician. I only know about these things on an intuitive sense. But it's something about the fact that one of the bedrock equations of physics now turns out to be a fractal. Fractals are found in nature a ton, but in physics? Now in physics.

So what does that mean? What is it about fractals? Repeating mathematical formulae, cropping up here and there and everything, in art, in nature, in physics. What does that mean for us? Are we just fractals? Are we just repeating mathematical formulae, replicating on infinite scales, through space and time? Everyone says history repeats itself, is human history a behavioral temporal fractal? If you crack the equation of the fractal, could you know the future?

I guess it's the same quantum equation people have been grappling with since fate and determination and mathematics intersected, but it's come through a lens of fractals. I don't know, I'm just rambling. A better man could make a story of this. Me, I'm just intrigued.

Enough

I don't want to feel any more. I want my emotions burned out of me. I want the wick of my nerves lit, and as my nervous system flares the silhouette of my skeleton will strobe through my skin.

The hail has the cats startled, and the late night Saturday has me scared of the ghosts of Sunday afternoon as they walk along the street, and the stabs of random pain I can't seem to shake.

Sometimes I wonder what holds up the thin wall between my current self and the full goose bozo of a state institution. Clearly I'm the craziest person around, and the guilt of bringing such harmful words as these to eyes of my friends has risen past my knees. They are good people, they do not deserve such unkindness. But I have to get these words out. It's a compulsion as strong as addiction. Even so, as I type the keys I can hear the legions of internet commenters yell "cry more, emo kid" and I laugh, as if my pain makes me special. Somehow I don't think I left my 15 year old behind. You'd think I'd be able to exorcise that demon. All the words I write strike me as so much bad poetry written in the back of a mascara-stained notebook. But writing them makes me feel better. What is there to do with pain but keep on living?

Edit: and now after spending time organizing a folder of 80's pop music, I somehow feel better. Man those songs were upbeat. They may be fueled by cocaine mania, but they sure seemed happy about it.

Son of a fucking bitch

Ok, at a certain level, I can accept having night terrors. It sucks, I want them to go away, but I can deal. I wake up screaming, shaking uncontrollably, then I calm down, go back to bed, and don't have to worry about that particular problem for the rest of the night.

Except lately when I've been woken up with night terrors it's taken me so long to calm back down that by the time I actually fall asleep again I get a second round of night terrors. That happened to me twice last night. That means three sets of night terrors.

That's not fucking fair, ok? That's salt in the wound. Foul: piling on. Unnecessary roughness. 15 yard penalty, first down.

Pointless waste of time

No, I'm not talking about my life. Badumching. I've decided to go through my Netflix queue and find strange combinations, meaning two movies next to each other in the queue which seems odd or humorous. This is more to kill time than be actually interesting. Feel free to disregard.

Don't Drink the Water
Once Upon a Time in Mexico

The Fast Runner
Like Water for Chocolate
(I'm disgusting)

Dead Man
An Ideal Husband

Mrs. Henderson Presents
The Matador

The Weather Man
Lord of War
(sounds like a post-apocalyptic pulp novel)

The Majestic
Kinky Boots

Cry-Baby
Dracula 2000

Mini's First Time
Merry Christmas

Sexual Matrix
Babe
(what a twin bill that will make)

The Last Kiss
The Wedding Date
Dance With Death

Red Sun
Holy Mountain
(by Edgar Rice Burroughs)

A History of Violence
Blow Up

A Killer Within
The Dreamers
(another pulp novel)

Sex Sells
Masked and Anonymous
(Taco? Is that you?)

Sunshine
Under the Tuscan Sun

What a Way to Go
Lars and the Real Girl

Mona Lisa Smile
Paris, Je T'aime

Stir Crazy
Bukowski: Born In This

Eagle vs. Shark
The Chronicles of Riddick
(the next Riddick movie in the series will be...weird)

Gattaca
Frida
(I'll have the Gattaca Frida, with cheese)

Moon
Leave Her to Heaven
(sounds like a sappy chick flick)

Peeping Tom
Wanted
(for peeping, I'm guessing)

The Tenant
The Time Traveler
(short story, time traveler moves in next door, and he blasts his damn stereo)

And I've got Before Sunrise and Before Sunset next to each other, which makes sense, but I think I need to move After the Sunset after Before Sunset.

I think what we can take from this little exercise is that I have a very poor sense of humor.

Addendum: man, now I want to write a story called "The Weatherman, Lord of War" about a weatherman that, out of his ability to somewhat accurately predict the weather, holds sway over a Bartertown-esque post-apocalyptic settlement.

CotD: Bloodthirst edition

Again, apologies to Taco for stealing his format.

Coyote and I were talking and he was telling me about his movie idea where a bunch of nerds travel to California to kill Michael Bay. I wanted more directors to die. We further brainstormed. Then I came up with this idea.

fett: Easy video game tie in's. Oh man, a Doom like level where you wander around Skywalker Ranch murdering CGI villiansprites.

CoyoteExile: Want. A level where you kill everything that moves inside Platinum Dunes Studio. Robo-Bay boss fight at the end. Robo-Bay will of course be so overly complex you won't know which end is up.

fett: It'll be a fight in mid air, as he is suspended by helicopters, and when you come close everything goes into slow motion.

CoyoteExile: Random shit in the level like potted plants and water coolers will just explode for no reason.

fett: I want a level where you have to stalk and kill Francis Ford Coppola through his own vineyard armed with nothing but a compound hunting bow, a wine bottle and an mp3 player containing the One From the Heart soundtrack

CoyoteExile: Done!

CoyoteExile: A Brian de Palma level where it's just 1 20 minute cutscene with no cuts

fett: And, to be perfectly honest, a Spielberg level where you find him sitting on a golden throne sucking his own dick

CoyoteExile: Win

On the dread of night

I'm going to write about something very personal, something I've shared with 3 people (who aren't doctors) on this Earth. I don't know why I'm suddenly going to expose something deeply personal not only to friends and casual acquaintances, but to the Internet at large. Maybe it's time. In any event, here goes.

I suffer from night terrors.

What are night terrors? Let us check Wikipedia.

A night terror, also known as a sleep terror or pavor nocturnus, is a parasomnia disorder that predominantly affects children, causing feelings of terror or dread. Night terrors should not be confused with nightmares, which are bad dreams that cause the feeling of horror or fear.

Night terrors are biologically distinct from dreams. Night terrors occur within 30 minutes to 1 hour after sleep, well before the REM cycle where dreams occur.

In my case, I can pinpoint the time when they started. It was in graduate school, though surprisingly not from graduate school. No, they are the result of the bat infestation I had in my second apartment. If any folks from graduate school are reading this, you may remember the episode at best as a crazy hijink, or at worst as a weird episode. Little did you know it had larger implications in my life. Over the course of six months, I discovered 5 bats in my apartment on separate occasions. I mean IN my apartment, not in the attic, though that's where they came from. I could hear them, like mice. We never found out where exactly they got in. The climax of the situation occurred when I woke up at 2 AM to find a bat circling the ceiling of my bedroom. It scared the shit out of me. Ever since then I have had a deep-seated phobia of bats. I can't watch one fly without having a panic attack, and even thinking about them now has my skin crawling.

Again, some people found the situation odd, some even envious because they thought it was cool. They didn't know what the situation did to me. After those incidents, I slept in my recliner in the living room with all the lights on, with the TV on, out of fear. For 6 months. After 6 months I managed to turn the lights out and turn the TV off, but still slept in the recliner. That lasted another 6 months. After that I managed to retrain myself to sleep lying horizontally on my futon in the living room. I say retrain because at the start just lying down on the couch would send me into a panic attack. That's how I slept the rest of my time in graduate school (about a year), sleeping on my futon in the living room. I never could go back to sleep in either of my bedrooms. The door to my back bedroom, where the flying incident occurred, was closed for about 2 years, I never went in that room. It effectively closed off a portion of my wardrobe that was in that closet that I couldn't get into. The night terrors started at shortly after the bats.

What else contributes to night terrors?

These night terrors can occur each night if the sufferer does not eat a proper diet, get the appropriate amount or quality of sleep (eg. Sleep apnea), is enduring stressful events in their life or if they remain untreated. In addition to night terrors, some adult night terror sufferers have many of the characteristics of depressed individuals including inhibition of aggression,[4] self-directed anger,[4] passivity,[5] anxiety, impaired memory,[6] and the ability to ignore pain.

Pretty much reads as a laundry list of my life, doesn't it.

What are night terrors like? I can only really describe what they are like to me. I go to bed. After tossing and turning anywhere from 30 minutes to 3 hours (I also have insomnia, as well as restless sleep and probably apnea), I manage to actually fall asleep. 30 minutes later I wake myself up screaming. And I don't mean yelling; I mean screaming at the absolute top of my lungs. I am lucky to have a well-insulated apartment because the downstairs neighbors have yet to complain. Most people that have heard of night terrors know about the screaming. What people don't get is why the screaming exists. It is because I wake in absolute...mortal...terror. And I'm not talking about the terror of a really scary movie, or the terror of narrowly missing a car crash. I wake up in the absolute highest fear that I am going to die that instant. It is the highest level of fear I have ever experienced. I wake up screaming, my heart racing, sometimes sweating, in dread that I am going to die the next second.

This happens to me every night.

Why am I bringing this up? Well, for a few years there my night terrors were under control with the use of medication. In fact, that was the original reason I started using antidepressants (first Prozac, then Lexapro). The fact that these drugs also helped fight my depression and anxiety were just happy byproducts, though they did not come without their price. Namely, the side effects killed my sex life, which was one of the (many) reasons my relationship failed. Nonetheless, the drugs worked. Instead of having night terrors every night, I would get them once every 6 months.

A few months back my fellowship ran out and my job status changed. I became an actual employee again, and I got real benefits again. Which is a good thing. Unfortunately, with the change in insurance I have to switch doctors. Which actually isn't a bad thing because I absolutely hated the pretentious fucking prick I was seeing at the health center, and now I get to see a real doctor. The unfortunate part is that to get into the good clinic in town takes time. My introductory appoint is scheduled for August 23. Because of this, I am off my medication. Not just my antidepressants, but my blood sugar medication as well. The effects of the antidepressants are gone, going through the withdrawal symptoms were fun, let me tell you. Plus, after being dumped by the woman I thought I was going to marry, the depression has come down on me like a hammer.

The night terrors have come back. Every night.

I guess I am writing this because I hate it. And I hate you. I can't tell you how many people, including my ex, would tell me they could just lie down and within 5 minutes be asleep, and then wake up in the morning feeling great. For them, going to sleep is a reward. For me, it is going to war. I can take hours to actually fall asleep, then soon afterward wake up feeling like my life is ending. After calming down I manage to fall asleep again, but wake up 2-10 times a night to go to the bathroom (a symptom of the diabetes). My ex would drink coffee before going to bed. If I drink anything within 4 hours of bed I'll be up all night pissing. Sometime around 6 in the morning, after my cat has woken me up, I'll actually be able to fall asleep and get RESTFUL sleep. This is why I sleep to 11 every day, because it is only after 6 AM that I can get restful sleep. I may sleep 9 hours a night, but only 4 or of 5 of it counts. And every morning I wake up feeling like someone has spent the night beating me with a bag of hammers.

Sleep is supposed to be fun. It's supposed to be pleasurable. It's such a simple goddamn thing, like breathing or eating it's something that everyone does every fucking day. But every part of it fails for me. It'd be like someone having to work like a maniac at breathing, or beating their heart. It's for this reason I hate going to sleep each night, because it's not sleep, it's war. And you know what? It's not fair. It's not fair I have to go through this. It's not fair that I am denied a basic human function. And I'm pissed off. And that's what a blog is for. A placed to put your pissed off. So here it is, for all the Internet to see. It's here on the virtual shelf. I don't sleep, and I'm pissed off.

This just in

Bruce Lee was awesome. Really...really awesome. His fighting style gave the impression of barely contained rage, and all his moves finished with a pose that indicated it required every ounce of his will to hold back his limbs, lest they fly from his body and pummel every living thing within a 10 mile radius into a fine mist. You and I need our muscles to make punches harder. He had to use his muscles to hold his punches back.

Guh-wa?

So, yesterday I sent a somewhat bitter mess age to (but not necessarily at) Neil Gaimen via Twitter. I honestly didn't expect him to respond. He did.

So my post (they aren't tweets, goddamnit, I refuse to call them that) was as follows:

@neilhimself It must be easier (note: not easy) to write knowing someone somewhere will read it. Anonymity kills my drive.

His reply:

Each thing comes with it's own set of problems. Just write.

It's a fair point. I can't imagine the type of pressure he is under to consistently churn out quality material, given such a large reader base. And the advice is good for writers. The problem is: I'm not a writer. I'm not. I'm just a guy that occasionally has ideas.

Why do I feel these urges, to put down ideas in some form that resembles prose? I'll tell you why. It's the same screaming desire that causes some people have to children, or climb mountains or paint pictures. It's the desire to have some part of me remain immortal. For my name to carry on beyond myself into something tangible after my death. I'll never be athletic enough to accomplish some act of physicality that would be notable. I'm not good enough at my profession to be anything other than a footnote to science. The world of children is so unlikely as to be statistically impossible; in all likelihood I'll die alone. So I entertain these vain fantasies that somehow I'll put together a novel that will reach publication, and that some time after I am dead some person will go, "hey, have you heard of this book? It's not really well-known, but I like it."

But it's all such a damnable lie. I am not a special snowflake. I'm not, nor am I ever likely to be, a person of note. A person that makes a difference. I am just another one of the 115 billion human beings that has been born to this Earth, just another foot-soldier in the march towards entropy. Obviously I'm in good company. The vast majority of humanity joins me in simple anonymity.

So why bother? Why bother trying to write something? Even if I somehow scraped the words from under the sofa and behind the fridge and lumped them into a book, who would read it? The probability of publication is slim to none. The only eyes to see it would be those of my very close, and very tolerant, friends. So why bother? I have ideas, is there really any difference between letting them die in my head instead die in a file?

The urge to write comes, and thoughts like these kill it, and I don't know which is right? So I ask you: what's the bloody goddamn point?

Grasping at straws

Though things ended poorly, and much of my memories for the past two years are now cloaked in bitterness, there were good times there. Great times. Time that can change and outlook. I should endeavor to hold on to those. Life is deep pits and passing fits. It's hard enough to find bright points out there without retroactively erasing all that was once good. I will save them, incorporate them into me. They are mine. Not hers. They are mine.

Don't it drag on

"Don't It Drag On"
- Christ Smither



Autumn's driving me crazy
I could cut my hair
I'm just a lazy man falling in love again
Too much time to spare
You know I got nothing to sell you
Takes me hours to say there ain't nothing to tell you
And when you don't call at all
You show me how well you know me now

Monday morning
It's all I can bear
Monday seemed seven days long last week
This one's only halfway there
Noontime crawls past Tuesday
Wednesday only gently abused me
We'll just slide on through
The rest don't get to me now

Send me no love
I know I'm cold
But the last young lady that leaned in here
Made me feel so old
I chased her all day till she lost me
Don't think I don't know what it cost me
To be a young man and suffer
Like a broken-down lover now

Yes it's crazy
I could cut my hair
I'm such a lazy man falling in love again
Too much time to spare
You know I got nothing to sell you
Takes me hours to say there ain't nothing to tell you
And when you don't call at all
You show how well you know me now

Top 5: Bronzing of the Top 5

Top 5 people I think should be canonized as a saint (as opposed to being canonized as something else?)

5. Celebrity chef Martin Yan

4. Fred "Mr." Rogers

3. My mother

2. Famed animator Hayao Miyazaki

1. My high school choir director, Dr. Bruce Gleason

The Numbers

Facebook friends: 20
Facebook friends married: 15
Facebook friends with children: 10

Granted, some of these numbers are skewed since some Facebook friends are married to each, and share children, but still, I'm going to go wallow in self-pity for a while. Seems the thing to do on a lonely Friday night.

What the hell is wrong with me, part II

Had another crazy dream last night. I was desperate to sell a China hutch out of an abandoned movie theater before I had to get to the penis-measuring contest held at a local high school. Contest to see who had the biggest penis, not a contest about measuring penises. There were hundreds of people, in teams of three. Why in teams, I have no idea. My teammates were a couple guys I knew in high school, but we were soon separated as I rushed to the bathroom; I didn't want a full bladder and the pee-pee dance to cause any shrinkage.

As the line moved briskly long, a man in a kilt and accordion was singing us penis-themed battle marches, which were jaunty and fun, especially when we all joined in. We passed green slate chalkboards with previous tallies of the best of each team that had already been measured. Lot of 8 and 10 inches (I definitely knew I was dreaming then). Then I discovered that the line emptied into a cafeteria for a free lunch before the measuring. The food was gourmet versions of normal cafeteria food. I kept spilling thing from my tray and was accosted by a surly cashier and that's the last thing I remember.

The craziest part? I have dreams like this all. the. time.

Dreams feel real while we're in them

Dreams feel real while we're in them. It's only when we wake up that we realize something was actually strange.
- Inception

I read an article once that listed a few things that people talk about that other people plain don't want to hear about. How drunk you were last night, your kids, your band in high school. Also, your dreams.

I'm going to talk about my dream last night. It's my blog, tough.

I had a nested dream. It started out with one of my normal "holy fuck, what is going on?" dreams. I was trying to get to Taco's house to help him and his kid with some math problems. I had to travel through the backyard of David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, who were living together. Not Mulder and Scully, but the actual actors. I was being followed and harassed by two scary hillbillies, who were very close to mugging me. I appealed to David Duchovny for aid. He verbally abused them, which did as much good as you might expect. Then Gillian Anderson got the big one in a headlock and messed him up a bit. It didn't really deter them. But then they found some dog poop from one of Gillian Anderson's dogs and decided that it'd be much more lucrative to sell it on eBay than mug me.

Eventually I get to Taco's house, which is a rustic, crumbling cabin, being squatted in by some Okies. I was just about to get started on the math problems, with Coyote hanging around as well, when I woke up.

I thought, "man, that was one weird dream" and then went on with doing some ordinary everyday tasks. Then I woke up again. Apparently, I had just dreamed that I woke up from the weird dream, and just kept on dreaming. I shook my head and went on with my day.

Then I woke up for real.

So I had a dream, within a dream, within a dream.

My head is a scary place.

Double quote time

Rummaging through papers on my desk today, I ran across a picture of me and my ex-girlfriend and a friends mother. It was a nice time, maybe one of the last nice times we had. I thought I had removed her from my life as much as possible. This picture jumped up on me.

I nearly lost it, right there in lab.

I was reminded of a post from Taco's blog. It started with a quote.

Running into you like this without warning
Is like catching a sniff of tequila in the morning
But I'll try, try to keep my food down.
It's quite an aftertaste that you've left
Now that you're not around.

-Crash Test Dummies, "I Think I'll Disappear Now"

I've never heard the song, but I know exactly how they feel.

Taco then gave me propers for starting blog posts with quotes.

I somehow held things together.

I tore up the picture and threw it in the trash.

Worlds in moments. Lifetimes in between jumbled papers. Memories still poisonous even after they have been shed.

You think I don't watch

You think I don't watch your movies? You always come back.
- Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy vs. Dracula

(on a side note, since my ex made me watch Buffy, and it directly lead to at least one "fight", it is now forever tainted and horrid in my eyes. And we never even finished it)

So, now that I am...sigh...single again, I've started back with my movie watching. Does this mean the return of the Three Movie Weekend? Probably not. I'm too lazy for that. But I would like to note a couple things.

I watched Cowboy Bebop: the Movie. I generally stay away from anime because, well, there is a LOT of horrible anime out there. So I only go for the classics. And anything Miyazaki does; that man is a fucking genius and should have a statue erected to him. But Cowboy Bebop: the Movie was pretty damn good. Decent enough story, really nice animation. Characters were....meh. But really good overall. It's piqued my interest in the series. Also, seriously fucking awesome music. Check out the opening title sequence and the closing title sequence.

I can see why people dig the Spike Spiegel character. His personality ain't great, but something about the way he's animated.

The other note: when you are feeling melancholy and lonely, watching Up can be downright devastating. Fucking Pixar and their uncanny ability to gut-punch you.

Don't read anything into this

Had a thought yesterday.

Suicide takes a single moment of determination. Life with depression takes an unending series of moments of determination.

Pretty potent argument. Just a different perspective. Something to remember for future writing (writing? who does that).

Top 5: Delusion of the Top 5

Top 5 positive side effects of being single again

5. Increase in free cash now that I'm not buying every dinner

4. Having weekend evenings to myself

3. Being able to drink alone and indulge in my self-loathing without judgment, at least for a while

2. No guilt in ogling women, downloading porn or masturbating

1. Absolutely nothing

I am

I am, that I am. Thou shalt say "I am" hath sent me unto you.
- The Ten Commandments

I am the most useless piece of shit to have ever whelped its way out of its mother's taint

I am a coiffed shitpile in an unkempt lawn

I am a cumstain on an abandoned mattress

I am the permanence of a fart in a hurricane

Top 5: Call-in of the Top 5

As requested, Top 5 Tom Waits film performances (admittedly, I haven't seen them all)

5. Rumble Fish "The older you get you say, "Jesus, how much I got? I got thirty-five summers left." Think about it. Thirty-five summers. "

4. Dracula (but only for a deleted scene of him in an insane asylum)

3. Mystery Men

2. The Book of Eli

1. Down by Law

Top 5: Gravel of the Top 5

I'm making this post in lieu of stupid whiny self-pitying emo bullshit

Top 5 Tom Waits songs

5. "Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis" - Blue Valentine

4. "Clap Hands" - Rain Dogs

3. "Jitterbug Boy" - Small Change

2. "Please Call Me Baby" - Heart of Saturday Night

1. "Eggs and Sausage" - Nighthawks at the Diner

Honorable mentions: Blue Valentine, Little Trip to Heaven, Eyeball Kid, Mr. Siegal, Tango Till They're Sore, Gun Street Girl, Heartattack and Vine

Blasphemy

I'm just talking about blas-phe-my! Blas-phe-you!
- Eddie Izzard

My favorite musician is Chris Smither. It used to be Paul Simon, but I'm pretty certain it's changed. Not only is he one of the most amazing guitarists I've ever heard, he's an insanely ingenious lyricist. A highlight was getting to shake his hand when I went to see him live.

Chris is a folk and blues musician, really straddling the in-between places. Both genres tend to be very religious. It's one of the reasons I like blues, really, as the practitioners are religious, but sin anyways. Makes them human. But that's besides the point. Point is, religiousness. Except Chris. Somehow he manages to be relatively successful while making bunches of songs that express his religious doubts. Sometimes funny, sometimes thought-provoking, sometimes downright blasphemous. For example, see below, his song Origin of Species



Why do I bring this up? I have no idea really. I was just listening to one of his songs, and I started really paying attention to the lyrics, and I suddenly realized what he was talking about. The man is brilliant. The song is Call Yourself from his latest album, Time Stands Still, which everyone should own because I say so. I'm posting the lyrics below.

I got a suspicion
That the world is on a mission
To show me just how little I can do
Good times go by fast
All the bad ones seem to last
So much longer than I'd ever want them to

The way we deal with troubles
Reveals how much we know
They often make us stronger
But they lay us pretty low
Before they do

Some say they don't worry
Help is coming in a hurry
Celestial silence sounding so divine
Coming down so holy
Trailing clouds of glory
Bands of angels hustling up behind

Santa Claus is coming
The Easter Bunny too
Tinkerbell's been running late
But that ain't nothing new
She takes her time

There's just superheroes in all sizes
Coming like the sea that rises
In a tide to wash away our tears
They never show up till we need them
Not before we're bruised and bleeding
The nick-of-time is music to their ears

Dressed in ties and tails
A sight for jaded eyes
The whiteness of the suits
Sets of the blackness of the lies
We never hear

If you give them all your money
They'll say "thanks" and call you honey
Tell you silver is the way to save your soul
If you're empty deep inside
They'll take you for a ride
And charge you double just for pointing out the holes

Slick as Simple Simon
In a coat of shiny mail
An attitude of innocence
That never ever fails
To leave you cold

Oh the next time you're in trouble
When life's feeling like a bubble
Getting bigger while your mind is getting small
Skip the flash and thunder
Dial up your own number
See if you can answer your own call

Oh the conversation's brutal
It's often pretty clear
It's brief and to the point
And if you stick it in your ear
You'll hear it all
You'll hear it all

Just to reiterate

I AM SO FUCKING OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLD

You can never go too far

You can never go too far
- Ferris Bueller's Day Off

The local strip club in town is a place called Night Moves. I like to drive by it because they have a road sign that has often humorous and risque quips on it, as you would expect for a strip club road sign. Well, their current one is pushing it. And by pushing it, I mean awesome.

"One dollar nose warmers inside"

Seeing it was the type of moment you wish you had been drinking so you could do a spit-take. Well done fellas. I think you set sexual equality back a few years, but it was totally worth it.

Already?

A new year. Where the fuck did the old one go? I wasn't done with it yet. I had barely even started. I was supposed to be so much farther along in my career than this. The next 8 months are so are going to be crucial for my career. If I don't succeed...I don't know what will happen. Failure and depression, probably.

How about my personal life? Well, it's actually been pretty decent. My girlfriend and I are stable. While we've had our rough times, particularly toward the beginning of the year, we've...well...I don't want to say we've ironed those out, or fixed them. But we've recognized them and are working on them and we are being very patient with each other. It's a good relationship. We are solid. We've never had an argument. We've disagreed, sure, but we've never actually argued. Will we? I think it's mathematically impossible to be with someone for an extended period of time without arguing, but at this point we realize we love each other very much, so nothing is really worth getting that upset over, and we can work things out.

Anyways, that's enough of that. I must get on with my New Year's tradition: looking over last years New Year's post. And making fun of myself.

• Begin working out again

Sporadically. Would work out some, then stop for a while, which does no good. I am so fat.

• Go to the doctor and get myself back on medication

Success. I am on medication. It sucks that I'm dependent on it for an emotionally even life, but so it goes.

• Write SOMETHING damnit

I...um...er....does story notes count? No? Fuck.

• Try to publish a work of fiction

Not even close, despite my girlfriend pushing me too. I think I need more than one person to push me.

• Visit my friends in North Carolina

Nope, and since December was holy fuck expensive, I'm not sure I can any time soon. This calls for a frowny face. :(

• Try to see Coyote sometime

See above

• Try to see Noq sometime

See double above

• Finish one standalone computer game

Finished several as a matter of fact. It was great fun working through the pile. I highly recommend it.

• Complete my masterwork vision in Dwarf Fortress

Petered out halfway through. Once the new version of the game came out, accomplishments in the old version lost their luster.

• Try to keep my girlfriend despite my emotional closed-offness

Success. Who'd a thunkit?

• Get drunk

No. It's been...god...3 years since I've been drunk? I need to tie one on.

• Get funky

Only when no one is watching.

• Get off

Not as often as I'd like, which is only due to side effects of my medication.

• Sleep 8 hours uninterrupted

365 chances. 365 failures. How do normal people do it every night?

• Clean my apartment once a month

*snort*

• Go on a double date with my friend Pam and her husband

Did a few times. Quite fun. They just had a baby. That won't be happening for a while.

• Sample a new scotch

A few. Of note, at my bosses Christmas party. A 35 year old cask strength. Holy fuck was that powerful.

• Hold myself to my New Years resolutions only so much as I want, and not feel guilty if I fail

Failure this year. I feel very guilty. Mostly about the weight and the not visiting friends.

And now this years:

• Propose to my girl in a personal and creative fashion
• Make more blog posts that start with movie quotes
• Play the new version of Dwarf Fortress
• Get my guitar out once a month
• REALLY start to work on losing weight, to perhaps look good in a tux
• Finish the origami page-a-day calender from last year
• Succeed in doing some good science
• REALLY submit a story for publication (am I repeating myself here?)
• Finish the stack of books next to my bed
• Take a trip with my girl
• Take a chill pill
• Take a number
• Take a vacation before December
• Take a moment
• Work 8 hours without turning on my computer
• Eat a balanced breakfast
• Balance the books
• Book a flight
• Try to be happy
• Hold myself to my New Years resolutions only so much as I want, and not feel guilty if I fail

Survive a New Year, friends.