Friday, December 19, 2008

That day
when the paychecks stop
a social contract is broken.

Repairs attempted with tokens
but all goals will flop
except pay.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Gifts Avoided

Suicidal thoughts are always present,
they do not hide, instead they are covered
with deep interest and loved living.
When these are blown away or lost
suicide is uncovered and offers,
generously, itself as a release.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Unavoidable Melancholy of Living

We look out windows
wondering how to make it better.
We stare at nothing
trying to predict how everything
will work out for us.
Insecurity is too pernicious a weed
to ponder into an opposite,
it takes decisions
and the daily work
of personal change.

No security will protect
against dissapointment
and the hurt of neglect.
No preparation shields
our hearts from lack.
What are we to do?
We must eat.
We must love.
We learn to deal
in healthy and destructive ways.
We learn to adjust
and somtimes what we learned
is the saddest part.


To you I'm no one special
just another guy, tall and thin
bald and semi-bearded. You may think
I seem intellegent but overly
serious. You have no reason to listen
to me. You don't know me.
You don't have any reason
to allow my thoughts to change yours.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Election Day

I have been preoccupied with the election this year. Not just who to vote for, but the issues debated, and especially those not debated. Prolonged reflection on politics (1.5 year election cycle) has been forced me to consider modern politics. This election cycle has had a profound affect on my political views. Not due to what any campaign has specifically said, but due to the long process and continual consideration of the issues, especially the issues that aren't said, the subtext of our society. I have come to believe that we live in interesting times, this is our lot and our woe. We have a duty to take them seriously. I have a duty. This is one of the products of reflection.

I don't refer to my duty to vote. That is easily done. Nor to supporting my candidate, easily done as well. The duty I feel is the duty to look past the political parades and polemics. The urging and push i feel internally is to form political principles that I can apply to arguments of politicians, of any nation. I do not restrict my thoughts to the united states alone. Who can look at the world and think they must only be concerned with their own nation? I can not. I desire principles that any world citizen could embrace and apply to their own politicians. Principles and ideas that humans could mutually discuss and evolve. Principles beyond nations. Nations are old antiquated notions that are only used to move populations and distract them from the unsettling new world dynamics. We are all interconnected, and we need a set of human political principles that can form a foundation for any world citizen to cut through political rhetoric and clarify what we are hearing so we can have a wise respond even when we often can't possibly be fully informed (we have jobs to work, and some of these issues are made complicated in order to persuade\deceive).

Universal political principles must be clear, easy to remember and not culturally or nationally biased. They must be tools in the hands of the uneducated and the hyper educated. These principles should be capable of founding all aspects of human governance, and clarifying the evolution of their implementation.

The first decade of our new millennium has taken a toll on my mind and emotions. I have been shaken, and my childish\easy faith in government has been lost. The actions of our leaders have put too much reality in our faces to ever believe their words again, the old rhetoric has been falsified in the dramatic court room revelation of crisis after crisis.

We must take responsibility back. There is no responsibility without power. No one but everyone, can be trusted with political power. I vote no confidence in the paternal representational system I was born under. I vote no confidence in specialists, experts, and professional politicians. I vote no confidence in a few people holding the power and responsibility for the world I live in and that I am raising my daughter in.

I voted for the best choice I was given in my nation, but I no longer believe that action is my sole political responsibility. That is not the definition of my place in the system. I vote no confidence in the governments of the world. I will begin immediately to satisfy my need to have a universal principle with which to clarify the confusing leadership, and the convoluted and unbalanced policies proposed. I have a duty and a chore.

Stay tuned.

Monday, October 27, 2008

Silent Days

There are days
that start out spent:
will wrung from cloth
taps barely dripping
pennies carefully counted
before we are on our way

There are days
when life holds no appeal:
minds full of must,
should, need and duty
and far too little
want, wonder and might.

There are days
we simply survive:
Crawling times, possibly
flavoring the future sweeter
but this sugar is for tomorrow
today remains bitter.

There are days
we suffer to pass:
Hope and future sweetness
alone, make living more
appealing than not.

There are days
when the wisest
among us wait
in near silence.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Waiting to be Spent

Bullets wait to be shot.
Knives wait to drink.
Potential energy
waits to become kinetic,
Just like some of us,
waiting to be spent.

Monday, October 13, 2008

On Becoming Stronger

Abstinence is the weakest form of discipline
Obedience is the most rigid form of leadership

Weak discipline wavers under repetitive stress
Rigid leadership snaps under uncertainty

Strength resides in moderation and flexibility,
Of course too much of either is less of the other,
so balance in moderation and flexibility are essential.

Thursday, October 09, 2008

Meaningful to Us

None of it
was that big of a deal:
We were smart,
educated kids with
addictive personalities,
and few internal constraints.
We were more than
we were ready for
and we loved it.
Everything was deep
and meaningful, new
and full of fresh insight,
or at least, that's
how it felt to us.

We thought we had something
the world was waiting for.

It was fun and dangerous
and not really that big
of a deal.
Not really,
but it was meaningful to us.

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

Scars that still itch on occasion

I clearly remember
how I felt on the inside,
the struggle against and the
abandon to.
I can easily recall
how you felt to the touch
thighs, hands, hair
lips, forehead
and there are times
when your smell rushes at me
and my nose is full of you
and my brain reels with
unexpected memory.
How is it that connections
remain from such physical memory
when all other connections are
long dead and cold.

Monday, October 06, 2008

Live From New York its...

I've been practicing
in front of the mirror
with a microphone so I can play it back.
I don't know what the opening skit will be
but I practice the part I know I'll have:
The guest host always introduces the show.
I figure if I practice for a few months,
get it down pat, then I'll be ready
when my time comes.

Wednesday, October 01, 2008

Snake Oil

Church is a solution looking for a problem.

Religion is a topical ointment for an internal imbalance that we've been able to cure with a pill for centuries.

Religion is an ointment pinning all claims to effectiveness on the placebo effect.

Wait for the report

Shot glass splashed with tequila
full and dripping onto the wooden bar
worn with scrubbing and dried out by
alcohol, hard as a rock.
It rests, waits, impatient
wants to be thrown back, shot
and slammed back down on the bar
loud report, bam, didn't even
need lime
fuck salt
straight shot.

That is how I feel some days;
patient anger dripping onto the bar
waiting for the report
fuck limes and salt
I'll take my future neat.

Refugee Stress

I cry like a refugee.

If you watch me closely
these moments would seem random.

My eyes tears-up, and
speech is briefly impaired
as I stifle vocal symptoms
usually with success.

The phenomenon is largely internal
occurs several times a week
and anything could trigger it
can't see it coming
because there is no obvious causal link
until it occurs
even then it doesn't always make sense.

Working theory:
Symptom of too much stress experienced for too long
too much control of thought and emotions
too much change too fast
its like leakage
stress fractures in the hull
need to be taken out of service
for some repairs and
fresh paint.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

Yirmumah #2

Technomonk as drawn by Yirmumah

Friday, September 26, 2008

Yirmumah #1

Technomonk as drawn by Yirmumah

420 x 105

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Hope for Good Rolling

Love your self
and don't wish for death,
it will come on its own.
Be wary of the death lovers
and the claims they make.
Vet them all against their goals,
their hoped for rewards.

Love each other
and this living we share.
Give your woman affection,
hug your kid, and point eyes
not at death
but at an appreciated life.
We have to experience
this meaty but short
duraton, we are all logs
rolled down hills.
Hope for good rolling,
hope for pleasing yourself
and others.

Waste of Life

Perfection leaves no room
for affection
or love.
Perfection is the cold
realization of an approximation,
an apoplexy of personal loss,
a mimic of death by the living,
and a waste of something possessed
in fear of its future misuse.

Perfection allows for a sole direction,
a finite path of change representing many styles
all sharing a single solitary goal:

No one longing for death
can comfort you
or be trusted to be a partner
in living life.
No one looking forward to loss of life, can enrich it.
No one worshipping a path of death can appreciate it
or their fellow travelers through it.

Perfection is Living Death

Those trying to be perfect
struggling to match a perfect
become more and more dead
to this world
as they progress
until after too much
they live in a half-life
,zombie state,
of constant struggle
to prevent change
real or realized
fighting to cease

These worshipers of the
living death
are hard to love
because they can't
value anything living
changing or growing.

Pefection is fully realized
needs no change
needs no optimization
needs no living
life. Why polish
a perfect mirror?

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Formative Moments

Some days
are just good,
despite how hard they are.

These days
are remembered,
despite how old they become.

They are remembered
because they were good,
good because they were
formative, and we dare not
deny ourselves
an identity.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Be Reasonable

This world has forgotten to love you, forgotten to notice, forgotten to aid, shelter and provide for you. It has no reason to remember. I has no reason. Expect these things from the handful of people surrounding you, they can be more easily replaced, or improved when they fail. Lament friends not systems.

It does matter

An old man fat with retirement
stares across cheap used tables,
around plastic salt and pepper shakers,
and other little social barriers of the local
tex-mex diner we're eating in,
annoying me like a phantom

I look up, initially hoping that will be
enough, but it isn't. He looks back
and I try to ignore him, move on to
other thoughts. What was I thinking
about before?
Can't recall.
I keep looking back to check the status
can't keep my mind focused, I keep
needing to return, like soothing
the edge of the rug after vacuuming.
It doesn't matter, but you have to.

Modern life, leaves dozens of these
little sticky items floating around
my head, mundane to important, I
keep looking back, Russia, Election,
floods, oil change, stereo feature still not
working properly. Don't want to
call the help line, hate waiting,
it should just work...

It does matter,

Sunday, September 14, 2008

positive apocolypse

The singularity is the positive apocolypse.

The singularity fits nicely across the edge of the map. It can be anticipated, signs of progress will always point towards it. When it comes governments will fall, economies will collapse, and social order will be wiped away. In the wake of these will arise a new humanity, with new economies and governements. As a beacon across the edge of the map it keeps my feet pointed in the direction of scientific progress and its contemplation leads to fresh conceptions of how we live and work.

I hope my daughter lives to see the singularity. She will be especially well suited to new humanity, at least I will strive to make her ready for it.

I wonder if a truly free state will be possible before the singularity, or will we have to wait until everyone can eat before we decide to be free.

If eternal life comes to man before the singularity we will have gods again, and we will be oppressed. If eternal life comes to man after the singularity, we will become gods ourselves and we will be free.

Age gives no indication of years remaining,
only the number accumulated.

Saturday, September 13, 2008


Knowledge without imagination is stagnant.
Without imagination there is no change.

Imagination without knowledge is empty.
Without knowledge there is no substance.

When ignorance fills imagination
superstitions follow.
When knowledge fills imagination
understanding follows.

Life can be enhanced through the imaginative application of knowledge.

Friday, September 12, 2008

Its a start

I aim to be a libertarian parent
raising the next generation's
radical reformation leader.

I believe in the U.S.
I believe that we can slap
down the embarrassing
conformist thinking that
typifies what is wrong
with the current electorate.

Never forget,
we are the problem.
The citizens of any state
allow themselves to be ruled.
We rebel, we protest, we blog
its a start.

Thursday, September 11, 2008


I was at lunch with an older blond lady. I worked at a loan office in Oklahoma City while I was enjoying my sixth or seventh year of college, mid-90s. I was twenties, getting old for college. She was forties, an aging party girl. While driving us back from lunch, she asked if I minded whether we stopped off at Home Depot on the way back, "No, its cool. I'm in no hurry."

Home Depot's lawn and garden section had potted plants laid out in rows in a side section of the parking lot. She parks next to a line of shrubs, and gets out of the car, "Wait here, this won't take a minute."

She opens her trunk, picks up three baby shrubs and puts them into the trunk. Then she gets back in the car, smiling, "Let's hit Sonic for a slushy. Its too nice of a day to head right back to the office."

We slowly drove off to get our slushies, with our stolen baby shrubs in the trunk.

Reasonable Thought Recession

Its nine eleven again
and this is my memorial poem
for this year two thousand and eight.
I'm still not scared of terrorists
they really aren't a threat to me.
I'm becoming more scared of my
government, they are threatening
every one of us. That is how
I remember nine eleven now
as the excuse to take away my
civil liberties, slowly
slowly, with lies and explanations
that no thought could
help but disbelieve,
but thought
is in a recession
two consecutive quarters
of decline.

non-taxable assets

I have friends
to drink with
smoke with
and share opinions with
I won't forget to count
this in when I have
to tally up the
"is it all worth it"

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

You're Not Seeing Me

you're not seeing me.
I'm talking
but no amount of reasoning
or preparation can get
my thoughts through.
I'm backing it up with
actions, daily living
puncuates my voice
but to no effect.
You're not seeing me
and there is no
way around that.

Sunday, September 07, 2008

The Sickness of Perfection

When you begin feeling
a little perfect, you
are having a crisis.
It may be mortal or
it may be temporary,
either way you should slap yourself
and do something clearly
That is the only way to remedy
the sickness of perfection.
Do not let it fester.
Do not let it be at ease.
Throw it out on its ass
and have a wild drunk to let it know
beyond a shadow of a doubt that it
There is too much life here.
to throw it all away on a blinding
malady of the soul, like perfection.

You can not be perfect and grow
You can not be perfect and change
You can not be perfect and gain or loose
You can not be perfect and have a purpose
You can not be perfect and love another

Saturday, September 06, 2008

Comfortably Imperfect

The best life is lived by the comfortably imperfect.

Life can't be perfect, because we live it. We aren't perfect or perfectable. Our nature is more flexible that any single vision of perfection would allow. We don't just look at our lives projected on a screen or laid out in text we can edit to adhere to a set of rules. Some try, and for all their struggle they earn the life they deserve, one that will ultimately disappoint. They are imperfect (read as human) and their delusions rob them of comfort and ease in their own skin. No one alive can achieve a perfect life. If that is the goal, disappointment remains a certain outcome.

When choosing an example to emulate (we decide who influences us) notice if they are comforatble with their imperfection.

The comfortably imperfect have the opportunity to represent the best we can achieve.

The comfortably imperfect have the freedom to enjoy this life.

Friday, September 05, 2008

Overall Structure of Your File

Reading a technical blog this morning:
"...visualize the overall structure of your file."
I read "file."
as "life."

Its early Friday, 6:49am,
following a Thursday night Happy Hour,
so a moment was required,
to parse it out, and
realize the misread.

I like the end
of the senentence
the way I read it,


A gross enough level of abstraction brings anything to perfection
A fine enough level of abstraction brings anything to
to what
what is the opposite of perfection
if it has no opposite or if an opposite
would necessarily have to describe everything
then maybe perfection describes the absence of something
like cold, being nothing in itself but the absence of heat
perfection, being nothing in itself but the absence of
of what
what does perfection describe the absence of, but
change, vital living change
perfection is the absence of change
and there exists no life without change
all life is in flux
it sputters and errs
and learns and cares
change is the work of life
and perfection is the absence of change
the absence of life.

Beware of Death Lovers

If any man were to ever
maintain a state of
he would have to cease living
to the extent possible
and truly he would only
be perfect to the extent he
could achieve
this living
of perfection.

Thursday, September 04, 2008

Like the Meantime

I tried being perfect
more than once
for years these experiments would run
failures all
no suprise that
Now I'm trying to be happy
that will fail too of course
but the exercise will be
more enjoyable.

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

Left Behind

I have a massive headache.
my desk is in a break room.
I have to wear headphones
all day long just to be
able to focus on my work.
I have no free time at home,
nothing. I just leave work
to go home and do more chores
always more, never cleaned up
never caught up, clothes left
on the back of the couch,
nothing done well, barely done
at all, ideas left undeveloped
plans left unrealized, life
on hold, forcibly reformed
into another shape, left

Imagination: Threat to Companies and Nations

Hang overs aren't that bad
when you are used to them.
They ache a bit
but so much else
aches too
it just blends into
the symphony of the daily.

Hang-overs aren't the ache
that distracts from thought
its the left over pain
of explanations given
to middle management
to those with titles
pinned to their chests
like so many precious
participation awards.

Real distracting pain
is teaching meeting mules
to imagine, to decide
and to appreciate
anything that is not
past, proven or approved.

Imagination... cannot be given.
Imagination... cannot be constrained.
Imagination... cannot wait for approval.
Imagination... too rare.
Imagination... risk.

Saturday, August 30, 2008

Living is an unfolding narrative of change
,ending long known, but the plot differs
the plot is difficult to guess,
and the viewer is certain
that all characters
have not been introduced;
not yet.

Friday, August 29, 2008

First Affection

I cried the first time a girl showed me affection.
I'm not talking sex, blowjobs, or making out.
I'm talking about tender affection
kisses that mean something ,
other than fucking.

I cried:
Not for a second,
Not a head turn
and an excuse.

I cried
on her lap
for minutes,
slow minutes.

Other guys would have been
working open button flies
and snapping elastic
all the way down
to her ankles.

I put my head down
in her lap, comfort not desire,
thoughts of pussy
pushed aside
for caring,
and fresh unexpected

She touched me
with such honest
unmetered love and caring
that it broke something within me
- something from childhood
- something artificial.

I cried in that girls lap
long enough to be relaxed
for the first time.
It felt good.

Open affection was
an experience

I melted that day,
broke a little,
and reformed
these years since.
Remaking myself
in mine own

A narrow escape
from who I was
to be.

(for that is not always who we were born to be)

Revel in the strength of your friends

Life has recently been easy enough
(speaking in scope of human history)
that we have forgotten why
why we have friends:
The ancient primal reason
we first stood side to side
with those not kin.

Life has been easy enough
we have lapsed into
looking for entertainment ,
diversion, or other low
drives to friendship.

Originally, friends were for strength
for support in crisis
for tooth and nail
for bloody companions.
We have friends so we can kill better.
We have friends so we are harder to kill.

so we can laugh
a little more,
side benefit,
a bonus,
but not a reason.

Maybe we don't need to kill as often,
but competition is just as great.
Forces still struggle to subdue
us, to make batteries of the other.
Friends are still needed for a fight;
a fight for independence,
a fight to spend our short lives
serving our own purposes, and
not those
of others.

We should remember,
if we intend to live free,
why humans first made
friends with each other:
tooth and nail,
ancient reasons,
still needed.

I won't say wake up,
I say look around
and appreciate
your friends
from a different perspective.

I won't say wake up,
I say prepare for
the fight that may
be required.

I say,
Revel in the strength of your friends.

Written as the first, very small, response to a question posed...

Thursday, August 28, 2008

fresh prospective

The daily builds up scabs
deliberate and patiently slow.
So incremental as to escape
a good efficient drunk
blows out the cobwebs
leaving soulish scabs
and calluses scattered
over the bedroom floor
the bathroom
the hallway
the entry.
Tracks of renewal
following me to a wake up.

Slight wince as I notice
the hang-over.
A half smile spread as I notice
it was worth it.

No regrets when you need it.

I get up early,
shave and pay attention to the detail,
Open up the office before dawn
sporting my wake-up-smile
worn out from the therapy,
but ready to keep moving,

The marching days
always stretching out
always in my face
this morning they feel
like they are humping to glory
not shuffling home from defeat.
The union heading south,
and not Lee moving from
lost field to lost field.
Today vibrates a little more
open to my

There is room for creativity here.
Space for crafting a style
of life.
Couldn't see that clearly yesterday
Hard to focus through the build up.
Lens must be cleared
on shirt tails.
Purpose must be cleared
on the tail of discipline
pulled out for an evening.

Yeah its a massive drunk
shots, beers,
phone timer to pace the shots
thirty minutes to agave
with beers interstitial.
keep 'em coming bartender.
keep 'em coming.

I'm a good boy,
I take my medicine with a smile.
I say thank you for that one,
another please.

Its worth it,
and when its worth it
there are no regrets,
just appreciation.

Don't worry,
I'll tuck in my discipline.
I'm just cleaning these glasses
for an improved perspective
for a fresh prospective.

Thanks Dionysus
I owe you one

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Argument Bone

If I could just let it go
I would be better off,
but I keep coming back
to gnaw the bones
of a conflict gone cold.


Argument Bone

Taste of a cold bone:
scraps of tendon
once connecting conversation,
hint of blood
once filling voices,
and a clear smell
of decay.



caused by stupidity
inability to listen
compulsion to speak
of an empowered accident.
I can't accept that it is
than an accident.
What would that make of the world?
How would I have to change my
appreciation of people
if a decision was made
to give her position.
I prefer to see an accident
of the system.
I prefer to be angry
at the accident weilding
power over me,
than loose faith in humanity
in general.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

It wasn't you

I drove her up from Dallas
to north east Oklahoma
so she could appear in court
for a restraining order on her
recently ex husband.

He dealt drugs
and ran with white supremacists.
So did she,
and her brothers were all shaven,
jack booted,
and leading pit bulls to the Dairy Queen
on chromed chains.

I read ancient texts found in deserts
smoked cigars
and influenced other people on occasion.

This was not such an occasion.
I drove her to Veneta OK
known only for having a large mental hospital
and from what I could see,
little else.

She lived in a rented house
unfinished and without air conditioning
summer was hot,
but the breeze was nice
and the nights were dark.

She was miles out of town on dirt roads,
and town wasn't much,
but she was on a running stream
and her mom kept a nice garden.

I didn't fit.
I felt like I was camping.
So out of my element that I couldn't relate.

I drove her back once
she'd got her restraining order.
She lived with me and my friends
for awhile longer
until she was sure I wasn't interested,
then she went back home.

When we first met I had seen more life than her
I was experienced and older,
but last we met the tables were turned
and I was innocent from so many years in books
and thought,
and she was not.

I wonder how she is doing.
I wonder how her son is doing.
I'd like to introduce her to my daughter and wife.
But these are silly thoughts
maybe I'm still an innocent,
too long in books
and thoughts,
but I remember her
and I wish she knew that it wasn't her.
It took me another decade and one half
to marry. It wasn't her.

A Distance

I went to the cabinet to get a glass of scotch. I was in that mood. Standing between the open doors, I notice that all the bottles are more empty than full. Some holding onto the shelf with a single finger. The french oak Glenlivet retains two fingers at most. The Ardbeg, one. I take down the Oban. Nearly half full. Comfort scotch. I also palm the complete guide to single malt scotch. I retreat to my kitchen chair and four year old laptop. Music is needed: A choice to be made.

Decision made, Nirvana: Comfort music. I sit drinking; sipping really. Reading about what the nose will deliver. Sniffing. Realizing, I can smell the sea and a hint of peat. These always make the mouth water. Sipping, again. The palate does taste of seaweed. A brief smile in appreciation. Settling in.

"Come as you are", excellent song. The warmth of a decision well made, and of the scotch embracing throat and stomach; warm. A good book is at hand. It is ever so, and when it ceases to be so, I will wander the streets until my wife drives me home. The book is as essential as the music. Periodic readings between scotch and visits from the baby. The music and the scotch together form a sort of cloud around the head. One of fumes and another of sound. The words swirl and form pictures. They clear away leaving an impression, a distance from the day.

Mountain top moments, can be found between covers, beneath corks, and within clouds of slowly moving smoke. Not the fist pumping mountain top of extreme sports but the sheltered body and deep set eyes of a man too engaged to sleep, just yet. Sitting up, days spent waiting for the sun to set and rise. Mountain tops without Gatorade. Mountain tops with quiet and more absence than presence. Steep paths are single file, climbed alone. Think of Sargent York making his decisions about whether or not to comply. What is right, and what is wrong.

Where was I going with that?
I forgot, but I enjoyed it.
Leaves me feeling like I'm wiggling a loose tooth
still holding on
by a vein
or some thread of meat.
I'm twisting left and right, pushing back, until,
not a snap but a release of tension.
It slowly pulls free.

Leaves me feeling something like that :-)

Friday, August 22, 2008

I suggest standing up, dusting off your knees, and actively solving problems. When there is nothing left to be done you can resume position without the possibility of regret.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Class Warfare

"Friction is the force resisting the relative motion of two surfaces in contact" (wikipedia)

There are classes of opportunity. There are classes of control and influence.

When society looses balance the loosing class will resist. When power slides away from an entire class of people they will resist that motion.

Enough friction can start a fire.

"When contacting surfaces move relative to each other, the friction between the two objects converts kinetic energy into thermal energy, or heat." (wikipedia)

Work for Success

Dress for success? Empty headed idea leading to useless idiots parading around in nice clothes, fanning peacock feathers. There is a reason to NOT judge a book by its cover. The purpose of the book is the content NOT the cover.

Work for success? Practical headed idea leading to productive behavior. Its more likely that study and hard work will pay off than a nice suit, much better percentage of return.

Focus on function and let use drive form. Purpose shines through an object, making natural forms attractive.

Get to work early. Work longer. Study forever. Its not that complicated to be good at what you do, its just hard. Its even harder to keep it up, but the alternative isn't peacock feathers - fuck that, I create :-)

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

The First Casualty

Liberty is always the first casualty of force.

Force begets force. You can never force liberty on an individual.

However valid the cause, force should be the last response.

There is no freedom without freedom from force

Freedom from Control is Having It

I hear the voices of leadership talking down to us about class warfare. I hear their words repeated as wisdom. You hear them too. We hear class conflict put down as if it was nothing more than reaching hands looking for something not earned. Demeaning the desire for equality as jealousy, implying that those in need don't work hard enough, or have chosen an easy path.

I hear the concept of class struggle pushed aside under the guise of greater enlightenment, as if their eyes beheld higher goals than wealth and goods. In this way these voices shift the argument out from under the truth. The goal of class warfare is control, not physical wealth. My heart does not burn with jealousy for greater ability to consume. We don't need more stuff, we need more control. I'd skip a meal every day, if the people paying for where the country is going could control where its going to - and NO voting every couple years is not working.
It is not greater consumption the 90% has been slowly robbed of, that is a diversion, white noise created so the majority can sleep easier. Look past the diversion and you will see a single beating drive fueling discontent: Control. Massive inbalance in wealth is simply a symptom of a much greater imbalance of control. It is control that must flow back into the hands of the 90%. It is all about control. The 10% resist dialog about class inequality because they fear the loss of control. The 90% grow angrier because they increasingly realize how little control they have. So what are we? What has the 10% become if control has been stolen? I'm asking you to put a name to the reality of our position in society.

Class warfare should be avoided when its about money or goods, but it should be embraced when its about control. Power should rest in the hands of those whose backs bear the burden. Only burden gives right of control. This is a critical balance a free state must maintain in order to remain free. A populace will not tolerate abuse for long. The abused hits back, given time. Given enough disrespect. Given enough suffering. It is only a matter of time, not if. If, is a certainty. We will rise up and take back control, the only variable is time. When we decide enough is enough, there will be no stopping us. 90% of us can drown the opprossors in our blood alone, but that won't be required. We only have to stand up and reach for control, and NOT the honey pot of greater consumption or the illusion of security. Reaching for these abdicates responsibility for freedom. The only security we can trust is control gripped in our fists. Not in one man's fist, or a few, but 90% of hands clenched around control forming a fist, a fist that easily trivializes any obstacles. That is freedom, that is security, that is where the heart of every free individual beats and hungers to reside.

Those bearing the burden are responsible and have purchased the right to control through their labor.

We are not free until we have regained control.

If is a certainty, when is a variable.

We are the ones that need to wake up.

We are the sole source of change.

The only thing we have to fear is the majority of voters fearing fear itself.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Basic Approach

Why put on airs? The only people that will see them as real are too foolish to depend on anyway. Their belief in a false image will only reinforce personal self delusion. Put on airs? No thank you. Better to have impressions made by slower real-time interaction. It will take longer to build up, but it will also take longer to wear down.

Blend in, until others have a reason to pick you out.

Wear gray every day. Let perception color you in.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Its Monday morning.

Hot coffee
slightly bitter
washes over
warmed up donut
both go down easy
pleasure of an oarsman
returning to his bench
hands gripping, gripping
warming to the rythmn
ground in by necessity
practiced long enough
to transform a pain
into a pleasure.
Its Monday morning.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Awkward Conversation

"Do you really believe that Jesus
will return
on a white horse
flying down from the sky?"

Thinking this was so ridiculous
that it would be easy common ground.

"Yes. Yes I do.
He said he would come back,
and riding a white horse
and we'd see him in the sky."

Conversation footing lost,
not sure where to go from here.

How is the horse flying?
We know heaven is not above the clouds:
Where is it coming from? Orbit?
"Couldn't this have some metaphorical


"Some things are beyond our understanding.
I have faith that every word in the bible is true.
So even if it doesn't make sense to me,
it makes sense to god and will happen just as stated."

"But we know about horses and that they need to breath.
That isn't beyond our understanding"
Unless, this is a divine horse. Pegasus maybe?

Friday, August 15, 2008

No one was impressed.

When sick,
I remember being a child.

I remember the coughing,
trouble breathing, and
days indoors.

The girls thought I was gross,
spitting phlegm into trash cans
during gym.

The teacher still make me run laps,
I would do my best,
but I would start coughing
and would spit into the trash cans
every lap.

No one was impressed.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

I love you all, but I have a life to live.

At times, times of scotch, smoke, Hayes Carll, Hank, George, David Allen and faces; faces looking back at me from where I left them. In my mind, they all blame me for going away, and leaving them to themselves. I trip over memories. Memories of girls covered in youth. Stumble. Memories of boys full of future glory. So many memories, a trip and a stumble into them, and you can feel them again. Eyes wild with beauty, and the smell, the musky smell of excessive freedom: More than any of us could afford.

Enough water has run under this bridge, to carve a ravine. I look down, from the railed bridge of the present, and get a little dizzy, a little melancholy. Thoughtful. I miss every moment, but wouldn't trade this moment for one spent. Never. That is innate and why they linger and crowd. They were all the present moment, once. They all filled my thoughts and defined my horizon, at one time; past. That does not lessen their pull, or their ability to reach right through.

Memory tripping: An indulgence like scotch over gin, or tokes over smokes. So many friends, friends that I loved. I loved them all. I still do. That is my nature; extremes. Nothing was ever what it was, it was always what it was and all that it could possibly be. No one was every who they were, they were always possible. These are roots and curbs, we all trip over.

At times, times of scotch, I lift my small glass to their expansive memory and wish them well, and wish their weight was a bit less. At these times I always lift more than one glass, nursing the moment into a night. I embrace them in order to stay afloat. They are too many to deny, or ignore. They are so much of who I am, and who who I've been. I drink again, and again. They must all have their due. I pay and pay, waiting for a freedom, a lighter demeanor, a different step.

I miss them when they don't visit.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Protocol for a Specific Type of Conversation

When asked,
I refer to myself
as a "Recovering Christian"

When asked,
I affirm my disbelief
in supernatural causes.

When told
of another's belief,
I try to be understanding.

When told
of supernatural causes
and of the unknowable as known,
I look at my watch
"Its getting late,
it was good to talk with you again."

Thursday, August 07, 2008


I will be telling my daughter (when she understands enough English) that she was born innocent and wonderful. I will tell her she has inherited uncounted generations of human progress, and that she is essentially good. All she has to do is fulfill her nature and be fully herself. I won't promise her a perfect life or constant happiness, but I will assure her she can like who she is in what ever time and environment she finds herself. I want her to have a good healthy self image. I want her to have confidence in herself; questioning, investigative and always seeking deeper understanding as the way to fulfilling her nature. She should stand proud, independent and surrounded by friends. From all this comes a core motivation, a reason to thrive.

When I was a child I was told that I was born tainted by sins not even my own, that my nature was fallen, broken and would always slide into wrong. That my natural inclinations would be to hurt others and sin in a myriad of ways. That unless I committed myself to God I would suffer under this corrupted and putrid nature until I was justly tormented for eternity. I was made to understand that I should not trust my instincts, they were corrupted. I should obey. I should listen and believe. Question, only to hear the answer. What self image does this build? An ugly one, with the only goal left being to force myself into some one else's image. I was told to hope and wait for the world to be destroyed in flame, and for everyone happy with this life to be judged and tormented. I was told to struggle against the stink of my own self until I was released in death. The hope for life I was given was nothing more than survival and hope for the end. "Saint" Peter exhorted me to love this life as much as a dead person does, and I heard this from the mouths of parents and teachers.

I will not brainwash my daughter with this filth. She is a wonderful product of life, the universe and everything. Whatever deities may exist, I doubt those with creator rights will mind our appreciation for what they have made. I look at my daughter and say, good job! I look at my daughter and feel the natural desire to protect her from those who would hurt her bodily or emotionally. I look at my daughter and the natural father in me knows, deep down in my evolved genes, that I will savagely protect her from any being evil enough to wish her harm for simply being who she was born to be. My entire role as father is to help her realize and fulfill her inborn innate nature, and to defend her from those opposed.

Eyes up baby. Heart Open. Love others because they have the innate, inborn potential to be awesome. Life may be hard but we are flexible and resilient.

Eyes up baby. Heart open. No star shown above your crib on day one, but you are a gift to this world, and this world is a gift to you. You are a new and ancient force: you are humanity, refreshed once again. I'm yours until you no longer need me, and even then I'll be on stand by just in case.

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

No one believes
sickness is a punishment from the gods,
not anymore,
at least not directly.
We find a way to blame the sick though:
lifestyle, habits or diet.
We'll find something.

We are very creative.

Long Term Adjusted

Benadril does not make me sleepy.
I can drink Nyquil, a six pack,
and stay up late working Sudoku puzzles.
More chemicals run through my system than yours
my system is six foot six
and long term adjusted.

Monday, July 28, 2008

Form Flatters Function

Sobbing: "Why are you doing this?"

Pausing: "I believe in the power of symbolism."

Big Sobs: "Why me? What did I do wrong?"

Insulted: "This is not punishment. You did nothing wrong that I know of. Even if you had done something as wrong as to deserve this for reward, I would not stand as your judge. I am no judge of people. That is not within my nature."

Sniffing: "Then why are you doing this?"

Back to Work: "When the pathetic mushrooms in white lab coats receive bullets, plucked from vintage dark grain wood paneling by Neanderthals in blue uniforms, they will be excited. They will find quality prints on each bullet. They will feel lucky. They will easily match those prints to you. How will this make them feel?"

Unwilling to Answer

Answering: "They will feel smart. They will pass the fruits of their genius back to the Neanderthals, who will promptly start looking for you. Your record will come to light along the way, and they will begin looking for a prime suspect."

Mad: "Why me?"

Matter of Fact: "You were small of stature and looked like your will had been bent by a crushing life. You looked like you had given up recently. People in this state of mind are the easiest to fool, manipulate and physically manage. You fit my needs and you crossed my path when my needs were at their peak."

Worried: "They'll know it wasn't me. When they find me, they'll know. They will figure it out."

Working: "In their minds, they will have figured it out before they ever find you. They will have no other evidence or suspects. They will be at a dead end. They will have no interest in assuming it was not you. But, as you say, they will eventually figure it out. We will help them. The pieces will fall into place. My point will be made, and your small role will help me make it, and in a way you will help them realize that you are not perpetrating this. They will realize that you were a victim too."

Scared: "I can describe your appearance, but I won't. I won't help them. Let me go now and I won't tell anyone. I'll just blend back in and you'll never see me again."

Finished with Prints: "I want you to help them and me. You can help everyone. Now, sit very still."


Chopping: "I need these. I am going to exonerate you with these. Each shot to the temples and chests of the current administration with bear one of your beautiful finger prints. Each symbol will be followed by the delivery of the same dainty finger, which left the print that their smart little mushrooms will find."

Panic: "No more. No more. Please."

Tagging: "You see why I must keep them organized. There can't be a single flaw in the communication of a new symbol. To have the greatest impact a new meme like this one must be simple, immediate, flawless and bright red. We will achieve all four."

Shock: "Please, no more. No more. Please."

Pity: "We are already done: Congratulations. The hard part is now over; relax. Your part in this play will be remembered and written about for years to come. In this way, I'm not shortening your life expectancy, I'm lengthening it."


Affection: "I can give you everything you've asked me for now. I'm done here. You will be remembered almost as long as I am."



Friday, July 25, 2008

Change is the work of living.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

I look at my daughter
and notice her hair:
wild, thin and curly.

Her smile is quick and ready.

Often is Not Always

Often, I will put my book down,
take a drink,
look out my kitchen window,
and wonder at how lucky I have been.
I will marvel at the women in my life
and their genuine love of me.
I will pause again, take another drink,
and wonder why often is not always.
Another drink, and I pick up the book
beginning where I left off
just moments before.

When an individual stops thinking for themselves
another will always be present to do it for them.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Window View

Skepticism is an exhausting discipline.

Too many citizens trust their government
not because it has earned that trust,
but because it is easier.

Easier because it demands no action
but taking it.

Easier because any other reaction
requires we back up our ideals
with disturbing realization,
so we withdraw into trust,
abdication of duty,
for short term comfort
and hope without reason.

The world is moving fast, and
I don't trust the drivers.

Monday, July 14, 2008

Focus Makes the Image

Absolutes are a short-cut to thinking,
a lazy man's wisdom, and often

robs absolutes of accuracy.
require abstractions to thrive.

Deepened understanding
muddies waters
once clear.

What is true in detail
may be false in abstraction,
and what is understood in abstraction
may be confused in detail.

This is why I seek understanding
and truth.

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Probability Tempers Possibility

Calm down
just calm down

I wish there was a science.

When we have no fear of the known
the unknown is all that is left to fear.
This is not "fear itself",
the unknown can be very specific,
varied, and prolific.

Once the known is exhausted
the unknown waits, inexhaustible
of supply and variety.
We can't avoid fear,
its natural, and healthy
as long as balance is kept.

Balance is lost when the unknown
has the urgency of the known.

Fear must be kept in its place
to remain healthy.
It must be disciplined
and controlled.
Maintain balance through exercise:
- Breath in,
- Breath out,
- Repeat;
- Remembering, possibility
is tempered by probability.

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

What Times are These

I wonder what times are these
that I'm living.
I wonder if we are slipping
or simply adjusting
to improve our grip.

I am recently realizing, that
birth is an involuntary
assignment of
space time location.
You are where you are,
four dimensionally.
You don't make your time
but your time makes you.

You are a sum of your experience,
you are a product of your environment.

You are just beginning to realize that
you have never had a free will.
You still don't,
you never will.

All action is response.

What times are these
that I'm living?
Should I look up or down?
Should I hope or hide?
Should I record something for the future,
or will the future
find its own

Know thyself, said the oracle.
Know your space time location
and you know half of it, said the new man.

If you call everyone
you want to talk to,
and no one answers;
it means no one drinks
at this hour but you.

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

If Wolves Were Wishes

If wolves were wishes
we would never survive
but fishes swim closer
to the way we live

Revelatory Trimming

I find myself wanting to say what life is;
a new way to appreciate old meanings,
a fresh reason to shoulder the load
a little longer.

Each time I want to write a revelation
I realize I've simply understood
another item that life clearly isn't;
scales of unrealistic expectations
shedding into the daily wake.

I've been writing this same nothing for months.
This little poem commemorates
the disappointment,
the uninvited clarity
the cold hard truth I'm beginning
to befriend.

All revelations are not additive
and in a society of overselling
its not a surprise that revelations
are often subtractive.

some revelations trim
and cut
and reduce us
until we are ready to grow
in an improved direction
and these don't naturally motivate me to write
instead they leave me quiet,
sitting, thinking, drinking.

Revelatory trimming
leaves me thoughtful:
Wondering why so many lies were deemed necessary
and how long it will take to purge them all.
Wondering how many do I have left,
and feeling embarrassed every time,
but better, cleaner,
and feeling a little closer to everything.

Strange Gig

He calls his Bently
his "bent bent".

He calls his wife
his "shorty".

He's an idiot
but he pays really good.

He doesn't talk properly
He doesn't think straight
He can't focus for long
He fights good though
and he is hard core loyal.

He drags me to bars
showing me off as his whitey,
his "genius boy".

He gets violent
at the smallest slight.

He loves a fight.

He throws fists when
anyone messes with me.

I try to hide in a corner
sipping whatever his friends buy me.

He won't let me hide though
pressuring me to play pool
to stand under lights
so eyes can better focus on me.

He loves a fight.

He calls it play time
as long as guns don't come out.
He calls that business.

Its a strange job
but even thugs need
a programmer in their posse
to keep their edge.

Tuesday, July 01, 2008

Social Lament

The older I get,
the more broken I feel.

Social situations,
have become uneasy.

Each interaction,
challenges my new poverty.

I wonder why,
have I begun to slide away.

New Commitment

A new commitment has formed
within the last few months
like threads being strung slowly
until a web is formed
strong enough to catch more than
my eye, strong enough to catch
my heart.
I begin to feel committed
to an area of research
an area of thought
that has names
and definitions,
that begins to make me wake early
and spend scarce free time
embraced in the ground
that has been staked out
for this new settlement.
It is a new commitment
and may not last
but I'm enthused
and ready to get the tattoos
and the dominant
that clearly mark
a new and abiding commitment.

I do not believe I will be the same when this has run its course.

Monday, June 23, 2008

"Nothing is easier than self-deceit. For what each man wishes, that he also believes to be true."


Future Explanations

Belief in the supernatural
is a condition in which
causes are attributed
to the unperceived.

I'm not raising my daughter to believe in supernatural causes,
instead I hope to impart the wonder of the natural, and
an abiding affection for humans;
maybe even dreams for what
we can make of ourselves.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

I briefly smell smoke

10:40am, knee deep in work
Antiseptic style of a
High tech office park
all around me, surrounded.

10:40am, I briefly smell smoke
then nothing, only coffee
and plastic.
I get up and walk around,

10:45am, back at desk
smelling smoke again
realizing its all in my head
listening to tracks about
sticky smoke, and delayed exhales.

10:50am finished this
and the attention broke the spell
no more imaginary smells
just coffee and plastic.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Goldilocks Spot

Coffee too strong this morning,
yesterday too weak.I need the goldilocks spot.
Waiting for the day
when coffee brews up
just right.

Sunday, June 08, 2008

I'm your dad (picture enclosed)

Dear Baby,

I'm your dad (picture enclosed).



My father was not an eloquent man, nor was he dependable, both illustrated well by this letter received by my mother four weeks after my birth. He was not altogether useless to me though. He was a genius. Specifically he was a mathmatical genius. So the nature variable of the equation was much stronger than the nuture.

I did not meet him in person until I was in late elementary school, middle school in some places. He had heard from my mother, she gave him monthly updates in response to his checks, that I had started learning algebra. At this, he immediately took sabatical and came to meet me. He stayed with us for the next three months doing nothing but, in his words, "properly introducing you to the numerical". My mother pulled me out of school for the duration. She did this without hesitation which at the time I did not notice, but now that I'm older with grown children, I marvel at her. How did she know?

I remember those three months as intense and exciting. I met my dad for the first time. He spent every day with me, and never bored or tired of it. We talked about numbers all the time. Not always directly, but in some way my father used every moment we had to awaken me to the numerical. We took field trips. We camped out during rush hour on the side of the road with hot dogs and Dr. Pepper, counting traffic and patterns, then went home and analyized our findings. Everything felt like discovery and the world around me seemed understandable for the first time. I came out of that three month visit a different person. I loved having a father even for just three months.

He left as suddenly as he had come. One day his mind seemed to wonder and he spent an unusual amount of time by himself. The next day he shook my hand, hugged me, and quickly walked to the waiting car. He had a breakthrough idea and had called the University. They sent a car. I didn't see him again until I presented my doctoral thesis.

After his visit, I went back to school and found everything to be suddenly slow and obvious. The math teacher made me a tutor for the other children. This is how I remember math classes in school, teaching the other kids for four years what my father had shown me in three months.

Monday, June 02, 2008

Remember Tommy

Tommy was killed by debris. He was hit just after getting off shift at Dreamers, the adult video store off the interstate near campus. It was June first, hot as hell, and he had two hours to get home, eat, smoke-out, masturbate, get to his second job, and clock in. IHOP management is very time sensitive. So he was in a hurry.

Tommy was hit on the top of his head midway from the video store door to his car. His friend and dealer, Jeremy, says it was the same spot JFK was hit, but it wasn't, plus one was a bullet and one was a huge metal tank. Tommy was crushed to a pulp, smoothie grade. No large chunks, nothing for his mother to cry over but a wet sticky mess in an adult video store parking lot. She was always so happy that he hadn't gone to Iraq, but he was killed by debris, space debris no less. The formal NASA spokesperson sent Tommy’s mom a letter indicating that a holding tank jettisoned from one of the final shuttle launches got thrown off course by a freak series of atmospheric disturbances. That is how the report read, "disturbances." You clearly don't investigate "a freak series of atmospheric disturbances"; you just send flowers and lawyers and move on. Unless you are Tommy, pathetic yes, but that was his right and he was enjoying his freedom to be a looser. He will not be moving on, unless we count the parts of his soup that stuck to the tank and were hauled away to government locations undisclosed.

We shouldn't mourn him less because his definition of "moving on" was always in the opposite direction from the majority. We shouldn't care less, because he ended up a dirty spot in a porn store parking lot. Don't trivialize what he lost, what his family lost, otherwise you are valuing life based on how it adheres to your personal vision of "should" and "aught", and once we start doing this, minority groups beware, and I don’t mean ethnic here; I mean ideological. We can all find ourselves on the outside of the prevailing list of "should" items collectively drafted in the mind of the current majority. I will not forget Tommy soon. His death was so pathetic and memorable that I probably won't ever forget it. Tommy’s peculiar demise will remain a counter balance for my personal decision making and for how I vote from now on. I say, Remember Tommy.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

My Natural Sport

The first time I imagined putting my hand on a girls breast I was reading a book. It was the first time a book had opened my eyes. A very distinct and lastly impression was made. I remember a pause in reading; replay scene; curious and pleased expression. I had already thought of kissing a girl of course, but kissing her and putting my hand on her breast was new. I appreciated the advance in perspective. My depth of imagination was increased.

Doors of this type can be opened only once. Reading is hunting for new perspective, increase in imaginative ability, and new understanding. Reading and listening, books and lectures, active and passive experience: I have not stopped the pursuit, and I don't think I ever will. It is my natural sport.

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Doing Right by the Wrong

Darth Sidious fell down again.
His base doesn't fit
into his feet
The holes in his soles are loose,
leaving him vertically unstable.
He falls down daily,
always on his face.
He doesn't complain
or show appreciation.
I put him back up anyway.
Even a villain should be able to stand

Friday, May 23, 2008

This Poem Has No Merit At All

I just started smelling donuts.
I was at my desk, working
and donut smell wafts through my cube.
Intense sugar and maple,
I can even catch a note of chocolate glazed.
Its hard enough being a corporate surf,
laboring away in a poorly air conditioned cube
but having to smell donuts all day
is too much.

I know its a slow method of suicide
supported by both church and state,
but some of us are trying to sustain
life, not slowly strangle it.

Its ten forty five for Christ's sake
stopping dropping off pallets of donuts
next to the air intake in the break room.
People are trying to survive their
god damned lives in here
and you are making it
just that much more difficult.

I hate you.

P.S. Same goes for the popcorn terrorists that strike at two to three in the afternoon.

Friday, May 16, 2008


I just ate a bowl of stale Trix cereal.
It was not a good lunch.
Yes, I am an adult.
No, you can not ask me if I am sure.

Monday, May 05, 2008


I loved working for Dom.

That is just what I called him. I never knew his real name: language barrier. He and I had nothing in common, except one thing: Alcohol. I was his personal bartender. Most of the time I spent the evenings watching the small TV mounted above the bar. Futurama episodes dubbed into Cantonese. I would pour him and his friends drinks every half hour or so. The "executive assistant" on duty would come by with a new round of drink orders for me to mix up. She wrote down every drink order and checked them off as I placed them in the tray.

They were vaguely Asian, boyish, pretty, late twenties to early thirties, and manicured. Always dressed in perfect suits. Not just pricey, but so stylish and obviously expensive that even a bartender is impressed. Was impressed. I didn't know their business, nor did I ever want to. I was content being the private bartender for a polite client that paid and tipped well. I couldn't understand their conversation which suited us both equally well. They would laugh and joke and I didn't have to interact. I was safely in a separate world, divided by the bar listening to Bender say what I was sure was "kiss my shiny metal ass" in a conspicuously rural dialect of Cantonese.

My employment for Dom ended, unsurprisingly, on the night he was shot in the face. I had just finished filling a large drink order with the latest in trendy shots, and his current assistant was wiggling the tray over to where they were sitting, when a single quiet man entered the room. The door guards were absent. He walked in with a fluid grace that made me pause and watch.

Dom and his friends, well into their drinking, didn't react for several seconds. They were laughing and distracted with each other, and didn't notice how this quiet intruder flowed into the room, a chilling breeze putting the fade on summer. He simply walked in unexpected, and lazily moved a silenced gun level with Dom's face and pulled the trigger. Never a pause. There was a pop and then wet smacking sounds, like chili falling on the floor. He moved the gun in a careful arc from face to face until no one was left but him, the assistant with a full tray of drinks, me, and discreet chili plopping sounds. My left hand was holding a glass and my right a bar towel, stopped mid-dry. He looked at the assistant and then at me. He was making a business decision.

I started drying the glass I was holding again. I told the assistant, "Ask him what he would like to drink." She looked at me, mouth open slightly, eyes wide; terrified. I nodded to her and motioned with the towel at him. Unmistakeably saying, tell him. She did.

He smiled slightly, and walked, more like glided, over to the bar. He sat in the corner chair and spoke quietly to the assistant. She shakily said, "He would like a glass of water, one wet towel and one dry towel."

I offered him the towels and began filling a glass with ice and purified water. One small lemon wedge on the rim. He delicately placed the gun on the bar and began wiping it down with the dry towel. He then briefly but aggressively rubbed his hands with the wet towel. Folding and setting both aside he took a small drink of the water, sat the glass down squarely on the coaster, and left the room. Decision made.

My employment with Dom was over. Time to find another job, I could wait a month maybe two before I had to take a position at a public bar.

I never heard if Dom's killer was caught. I seriously doubt it. The police took our statements but never seemed overly interested in us or what we had to say. No sketch artist ever ask us to describe him. No tough as nails detective ever asked us if we wanted coffee while his nice partner asked us questions. We just gave statements, and received a small severance check on the way out the door, that very night. His organization, whatever it might have been, was always very proficient with paper work. Another reason I'll miss that job.

I really dread working at a public bar again.

Thursday, May 01, 2008


Two hundred year old graffiti, found in allies, found in abandoned buildings, faded but still legible in some places. The poor, students and fallen, use snippets for their display names and avatar slogans, a communal language, a nod to one another in the virtual, an indication of shared meatspace, an indication of sameness in a virtual cornucopia of difference: a comfort.

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Rant: For the love of Understanding

If god designed my lungs, he did not do a very good job.
If god designed my response to allergens, he did a pathetic job.
If god designed... you get the point.

I was clearly not assembled by some master craftsman.
I am sick 25%-33% of the year.
My emotional and intellectual constitution
was not designed for unfounded belief
another flavor of truth naturally holds
sway for me. Its just the way I was made.

These statements are obvious and for that I apologize.

It is simply frustrating (understatement) witnessing a portion of humanity
actively fighting against, and denying
the recent progress in our understanding of the world
yet again:

Earth revolves around the sun (Religion fought and lost that one)
Earth is flat (Religion fought and lost that one)
Natural agents cause disease and sickness (Religion fought and lost that one)
Species evolve. (Religion is currently fighting against this one)

At least I'm no longer
put to death,
or other nasty excuses for piety
for disagreeing with the religious
seeking to obscure our understanding:
at least not in America today.

I'm still promised that I will suffer for all eternity
with very colorful language (makes water boarding look tame)
for just being who I was made to be.

I have to stop this rant,
my head is so congested I have a massive headache coming on,
better take some medicine to overcome
the defects in my physical design.

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Bacon and Relationships

My bacon comes out better
when I'm reading a book,
(paying less attention)
bacon gets crispier
this way, and tastier.

Some couples could use this advise,
a little less attention to the relationship
may let it bounce all the better
into its desired harmonic.

Crispy Bacon and
Loving Relationships;
Both beneift from less scrutiny
and more appreciation
of the end result.

(Addendum: Laundry may be a good example of the required minimums)

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

The Neverywhere

The attraction of self-pity
The reason some people get addicted
is that they can forget about everyone but themselves
It makes them the center of the universe

The center is pleasantly purposeful,
direction is easily defined,
and there are no awkward in-betweens:
The center is always a destination
and a beginning. Always both.

Self-pity is a surrogate center
a placebo of purpose
a negative nest
nestled in the center
of neverything.

Its killing you
but at least you know where you are.
You're neverywhere.

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

Boulders and Hills?

Its hard to make sense of it.
I struggle to put it all in order
getting close on occasion
until the pieces slide away
and slide out of place.

I coax them back like a surgeon
attracting a finger back onto a hand.
I do this again and again
hoping for progress, longer
more stable cohesion.

How much of my life is boulders
and hills?

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Awkward Thought

The first,
the unrehearsed,
the reaction to the unforeseen
speaks what we can clearly know
of any other
one of us.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Managerial Posting Introduction

BEGIN: Authenticated Fragment

It gets very dark on Mars. The sun is small on the horizon. Human presence is thin on the ground. If you are used to living in an urban area, you are going to feel it deep. Dark. Thin. Assignment to a mars base earns hazard pay, the psychological challenges are serious. Ten percent “attrition” rates during a first mars tour are normative. No one can be sent home early due to obvious travel logistics and idle time increases an employee’s hazard to him or herself, so even employees in crisis must be left on functioning teams. Most employees rotate out as soon as possible. Some don't. Some stay. Weird employees thrive here. Discipline is relaxed. A mild form of organizational anarchy is the only management style that can keep the bases even minimally staffed. The strange get stranger, or more themselves as they are apt to assure us.

Every team has their own billeting area, motto, mascot and flag; small group identity is encouraged. Downtime is abundant and ways to spend it are scarce. There are numerous gymnasiums and recreation areas but primarily the small groups compete to entertain themselves. The line between work hours and off hours is thin and teams often use work assignments as competitive exercises. Teams often reproduce the work of other teams in off hours to publically exhibit their prowess. Management has often used these off hour reproductions in place of the original deliverables when they exceed testing metrics. Metrics must be public and defined with extreme clarity. Subjectivity in this is highly dangerous to the manager’s person and to team moral.

Substance abuse\use is the norm, although usage is usually kept to off hours. Experiments with complete restriction of mind altering substances have all led to severe team failure rates. Attrition rates exceeded 25% in the first quarter of the trial, at which point it was terminated due to ethical concerns and resultant personnel shortages.

END: Authenticated Fragment

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

The Comfort of the Unforeseen

is for the foreseen;
that which we can imagine.

The unforeseen,
the unimagined,
is never worried for.

The uninvited is received
by our most natural reaction.

A credit and a testament
unto ourselves.

Monday, March 24, 2008

Thoughts on Time and Living

Worry for retirement:
one link in a short chain
binding hands and feet
restraining us from acting
leaving us conservative of mind
hoping against change
desiring stasis,

like all future states
should be planned for
but unworried.
The unforeseen is the majority
of the future.
Store away your savings,
your potential energy.
Relieve yourself from debt
so you can react freely
when change comes.

Now prepared,
hope for change
not stasis.

Life is closer to surfing
than mountain climbing.
Life is closer to hand gliding
than horse races.

Its about balance
and conflicting currents.

There is no race.
There is no prize.
There are no competitors
and no spectators.
We simply live.
The only ones really
faring better than others
are those enjoying their brief time more.
Those that smiled more,
lived freely
as themselves,
and found others
to love along the way.

There is nowhere to go
where life does not end.
There is no reason to think
that we won't each die unexpectedly.
No achievement changes the basic equation
that each moment is vastly more real
and potent than imagined future.

The power that is dynamic social change
resides in the present.
Now, is an elemental power
through which every potent human intention has transpired.
Before you commit to acting
return to the middle
return to now
before you act
Before you commit to acting
pull those aroun dyou to the middle
return them to the center
make them aware of now
the present.
The power of social change
is in our feet, hands and hunger
it is the present
and nothing else.

The duration can only be valued
by the quality of the duration.
Optimal goals enrich the duration
by their pursuit, and their achievement.

Our challenge is simple
live free, live well,
and live as true selves
to the extent achieveable.

To be more free, we must be free of debt.
To be free to choose our own goals
we must be free of conflicting desires
we must be free of deliterious goals
we must be free to value
our daily lives
we must be free to value
the duration more than
imagined future states
while still remaining free to imagine.

We each possess the
resource of time
which we must spend
to survive
Time is the true means of production
Time is the most personally limited resource
This is the land we sell
for beads
and trinkets.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Sometimes I Wish but Don't Mean It, Not Really

I wish I was less experienced,
maybe even oblivious,
aware of the obvious
aware of only enough
to navigate the room
to the fridge,
and bed.

Then, I think
Then I could just
kick back and ride it out.
I could ease in and watch days pass
like a child
looking out a school bus window,
occasionally wiping the fog in a circle
so I could get a better look
but detached enough
to just watch
and think
about lunch
and the cute
girl across the isle.

When asked how your day was
how do you most often reply

Ask yourself every day
score it on a scale
record the daily value
chart this out

(Selfawareness for those
stuck in ruts)

If it is below a certain score
you really should make some
changes -
screw risk!
an average of a two
can not stand
you must make a change
you simply won't make it otherwise
you can score a two in jail
in the nuthouse
working at fast food.
You've got to do something.

Numbers help the overly conscious
to select lines of reason
and feel firm in a decision

Monday, March 17, 2008

Incremental Solutions

Teenagers are often angry
at their parents,
for not solving,
for not finding a way,
through the problems
left remaining
with living.

Parents solve some,
some solve many,
all pass on
what they have received
and what they have achieved
and take pride from it
and credit for it
but the teenager
the teenager notices
what is left to be solved,
what remains,
and looks to the parent
giving them credit
for this too.

Sorry baby,
I never figured it out.
I never learned
how to be normal, or
how to find fulfillment in what I had.
I tried to find it.
What you see of me now
is an approximation.
I got close.
You can do better.

Arena Decisions

I have to think about the future
as something worth experiencing

I decide to live this life,
every day.

I must feel like today,
(the suffering
the frustration
the waste)
is building,
to a life worth living,
to a series of days worth risking
for another.

Each day its thumbs up
or down, like an emperor
at the finish of
combat, a decision must be made
I put down the wine glass
and decide.

The mob has not always supported my decision
but mostly the throng cheers.
I remember those responses
and vote again,
thumbs up
spare him,
thumbs up
let him have another shot
at glory.

One of the most powerful
counters to suicide
that I have found
is the conception
if you are going to kill yourself
then you should really try out
some really radical stuff first.

If you are already going to end it
why not try out all sorts of different angles first?
It could be interesting,
could be a good time,
could make life worth living.

There is no real risk
when you don't want to keep
what you have

Kill your life
before you kill your self.
Kill your life style
and be reborn
make a new one
try it out
who gives a shit
your going to kill yourself anyway
why not check out all the perspectives

Before you die,
why not become a pot head
why not loose yourself to
science fiction novels
why not eat only the tastiest foods
why not take up smoking
why not


Paint a canvas
a spreadsheet
a day dream
a bullet list
with every extreme form of living
that you can imagine
everything that
sounds worth it
everything that
sounds interesting enough to live through it

Assign values between one and twenty
to each item
make sure you name a few

Numbers 1 through five
go to dedicated stoner
and occasional poet,
six and seven go to perpetual student,
eight through 12 go to extreme Montana loner
lost in books and thought,
13 goes to making music,
14 goes to painting,
15 through 19 go to writing
intelligent software,
20 I'm leaving open

When you feel
like change is required
when cutting
when violent drunks
and desperate usage
grows within you
when it swells
when it calls
and says NOW

Roll a twenty sided dice
-go buy one-
you have already decided what extreme
choices sounded best
you wrote your note
never want to make that list in the moment
can't trust emotions so much
that type of trust often leads to the need
to force change
better to let a list
of crossed off items be your testament
your note
your reason

not that one is required

Roll the dice
when you must,
and if the first roll
hits twenty,
if the time is now,
roll again
and let that number seal your fate
let all the force
of your need
to escape, follow the roll
give it up
let it go
you are done with now
and you have chosen

if it doesn't work out
mark it off the list
and wait until you
must roll

End your life
before it kills you.

There is no better
depressing music
than that depressing music
first found in college.

After college
most people know better
than to bond with depressing music
-it didn't really pay off-
so college music remains
the soundtrack of down drunks
and late night despondency
well into old age.

She was the first
to make me question survival
and I go back to her
when I feel especially tired.

Before you die
you should
experiment with living