July 15, 2003

The LSD vibe comes easy to me now, that chill up my spine and the expansion of my pupils. Maybe it’s just my ears burning, as Bubbie used to say, “When your ears are burning that means someone is talking about you.” I haven’t heard her voice in some 13 odd years.

I stopped going out during the day. I would stay inside the basement and sleep until it was as dark outside as it was inside. I would get up then and go out for a burrito or maybe to Myopic for a coffee. It was winter, it was dark a lot of the time and I kept long hours smoking lots of grass.

One night I went into a bar because it was the Grateful Dead night. I met this guy there and he offered me a job in his silk screening shop. I needed money to get out of town. I had been back only a short time but I already sensed it was time to go. Winter was coming.

I walked from the townhouse across a cold field in February and listened to Led Zeppelin on my Walkman. I walked to the library and got comfortable and found a good science fiction book to read. I read for the next four hours or so before I found the courage to go home.

The concert let out and people looking for a cold beer to drink swarmed me. I pocketed a quick 50 and walked back to the van with an empty cooler. Mike was selling beer out in front of the parked Westfalia. I took a beer out and asked him if he got into the show.

I put my thumb out and hitchhiked out of Albany. The first ride took me down the road about 10 miles. The second took me another 40 and left me their phone number. The third was the police taking me off the interstate. They left me there on an onramp in the rain.

I sat down in the lecture hall. There were 50 other people in there with me, from the looks of it all of them were 18 or 19. I felt old suddenly and out of place. The professor walked in late and introduced the course to us. I read the syllabus and read some Star Wars comics.

Sitting in the police car in the dark, alone in handcuffs, tired from the long day, unsure of what was coming next I appreciated the quiet and solitude and closed my eyes. The officer came back an hour later with his other catch. He put him in the car next to me, and we drove off.

Sometimes I don’t know whether to fall on my knees in thanks for how good I have it, or curl up in a fetal position. Life is such a breathtaking gift, and yet a burden of Herculean proportions. We go careening through space and time, projectiles in that great pinball game of life. Death is a constant threat, a daily presence, and life’s only true certainty.

I’m not well off by any standard, but in proportion to the planet’s population, I’m at the top of the pyramid. A majority of us here on Everything2 live in places where 80% of the local population lives a life of hedonistic comfort a Roman Senator would envy, much less a Third World sneaker-factory worker.

But then again life can get pretty bumpy, no matter how thick your cushion is. Parents die. Friends and family die. Pets die. You have to labor each day, or die. You could get cancer/SARS/AIDS/Hepatitis/Dropsy. A thief/crack addict/angry husband/jealous wife/boyfriend/girlfriend could murder you. A terrorist could destroy (insert favorite target) with you in it. A war could take your house/village/town/city/state/country/livelihood/life from you at almost any time. You have to pay the rent.

But the days when I see the world around me, I remember that life is truly sacred. However we wound up here, and no matter how hard it can be, Life is worth living, and I am thankful and grateful to be alive. (When I'm not curled up into a ball, that is.)

"There are some that feel like if they attack us that we may decide to leave prematurely. They don't understand what they are talking about if that is the case. Let me finish. There are some who feel like the conditions are such that they can attack us there. My answer is, bring them on."

George W. Bush, President of the United States of America.

I. Dust

1. On the ground there were four bodies,
sprawling in grotesque death poses, the

No. Look here. THAT'S what you expect; there
are always at least two different ways of seeing

things. 1. On the ground there were four bodies,
sprawling in grotesque death poses, still smoking

from the fiery shrapnel as the sun dipped below
the horizon. Their eyes were shut and their mouths

were still a little open, as if they had died from
something as banal as thirst rather -- Get the

picture now? Pun intended -- rather than an
RPG from medium-to-long range -- but take another look.

2. Their mouths were still a little open, as if
they had expired their last breaths from their

punctured diaphragms -- you want me to go on? Well,
okay...while searching for something appropriate

with which to punctuate -- then of course, the news
reporter -- their last moments were undoubtedly filled

with thoughts of their wives, children, friends,
and family. May they -- cutting off the broadcast

with a sharp slap against the control panel.

II. Interview

My answer is, bring 'em on!
Bring it on. That is my answer.

My answer, is bring 'em on!
Answer. Yours. Ours. But does it fit the question?

Is that your final answer?
Yes. Do I really need to say it again?

Keep attacking us.
Yes. Sprawling in grotesque death poses, bring 'em on.

You answered and they brought it on.
They pray and we will wait. You can do both, at once, in the dust.

On -- or make something active?
We're not going to leave. They will listen. Get the picture?

Bring -- or attract, or provoke?
That is my answer. I don't

'Em. -- What?! WHAT???!!!
Care what these people think. Time's up.

III. Challenge

It will be + as if + you're sitting alone in + the
bleachers + of a football + stadium and suddenly
+a dozen men run onto the field + they throw down backpacks
laden with food, water, ammunition + and toss their rusty,
ancient firearms + to the turf + their leader had given them + the order to come here +
and they strip off their shirts and produce + a battered and still smoking +
pigskin with a bit of dust + their mouths are a little open +
they look at you questioningly + you shout out +
to them defiantly + as you hold your place + in the stands

IV. Talk Show

23:47 (APPLAUSE) Good evening, George W. Bush!
23:48 Welcome to the network.
23:49 Take seat next to host. Sip coffee and start easy
23:50 With a few remarks about New York traffic.
23:51 Pretend to laugh at off-color GOP joke.
23:52 Tackle a sobering question on the war.
23:53 The host announces the arrival of a new guest.
23:54 Good evening, Jesse Ventura! (APPLAUSE)
23:55 Pretend to act surprised.
23:56 Act inflamed as Ventura starts tough
23:57 Guy routine directly in your face.
23:58 Deliver the line. Try to keep cool as Ventura
23:59 Hits you with a folding chair and
00:00 Pile-drives you into center stage.

APPLAUSE AND EXIT

Rant In Html

I need one weekend of true fun
~Uninterrupted~
no Work, no School
No ANXIETY
No worrying about anything
No drunkeness, no depression, no commitments, no ^Responsibilities
No Parents to explain what i need to be doing and why its no so goddamn bad
I need a girlfriend, someone who Loves me, who understands me better ^than I do

SOMEONE

who cares about me non-superficially
Some girl with extreem caring and kindness, without complaints and nagging

And Relaxation

Laying in Bed

No cares in the World
No ONE to answer to
No ONE bothering me

Laying in Bed All Day

Getting UP and not having to eat... eating is so Boring sometimes
I Just DON't have the time for it

~~~~If still(or was ever) interested in this piece then read the following(it will only take a moment)~~~~

just wanna lay in a hammok in the sun by the lake, exhale, fall asleep, wake up unabandoned, wanted, needed, unrejected, no more"lets just be friends", do you know how many times ive heard that. what the fuck. fucking mullets are ugly, jeez, who needs it all, i need to run away, find a new place, a place without modern supperficial commercialism and greed and envy and violence and curruption and assholes, and stupid people, free of worldly shit in its entirety, free of nazis and morons and fuckers, and shitty ass honda accords with after market mufflers(that muffle only the sound of shitty shallow materialistic music blairing from unnessarily large low range speakers), and rainforestrapeingfoodindustrybeefwhores

-Ranting by Aaron G. 6/03

Today was our pagination day. For the unitiated, pagination is where a magazine's content- ads and articles- gets chopped, sliced, diced, minced and put back together like a jigsaw puzzle pieced together by Helen Keller. We do this so that every page can be measured and so that the current issue's advertisements will fit into the magazine. During the pagination process a magazine's editorial staff will sometimes end up with more pages than expected- usually, however, editorial ends up getting cut in order to make room for our meal-tickets. It's like "the chicken and the egg" paradox: you can't have a magazine without editorial; you can't have a magazine without ads; ads kill editorial space; editorials kill ad space- which is the most important and easiest to sacrifice? Neither- and both (but the ad teams usually get their way because, let's face it, "money talks"....)

So all this weekend I, the Chief Editor, had to write the main feature article myself (our writer backed out at the last minute... typical), corral the last "floating" articles, track down the articles already written which hadn't been turned in and find art (photos) for most everything that wasn't an advert. This is what an editor does... and then some.

And I do this while also working as a bouncer at a strip club, to supplement my income until the magazine takes off and it can afford to keep me in the office full-time. Friday night, while at the club, I got bit on the neck by a spider. Dunno what kind, but it felt that my carotid artery might be a nice snack... it's long-dead now, but it did a nice job of putting me into a semi-coma for two days. I slept for 24 hours straight, no eating, smoking, bathroom visits... nada for a full planetary cycle. I woke up having missed, effectively, not one but two days of editorial time- I was behind schedule and over the deadline. So I spent Sunday in front of my laptop and working like a mad-man until I got everything I possibly could sent off to our layout designer.

I awoke today, Monday, and called my publisher to let him know that everything was in and that I would be in the office early to prepare for the pagination (BTW, pagination isn't something the editor is normally in on, but it's something I should bear witness to, so that I can know what I'm up against as an editor). My publisher informed me, promptly, that he knew the content was in, that he'd spent four hours in the wee moments of the morning on the phone with the layout designer while I was asleep, cutting editorial and articles from the magazine.

Cutting articles and editorial before pagination isn't really a problem- it's to be expected, SOP. I wasn't pissed about losing content. I was pissed, however, that they hadn't bothered to consult with me. If they had, four hours could have been cut down to ten minutes, easy. Who knows the content better than the editor, right? But I didn't get to say this. I was told to get to the office ASAP and prep for the pagination.

So I did.

And I sat around for awhile, discussing possible ideas for next month's issue, what more was needed from Editorial before we send to print and waiting for the Big Bleed- pagination. When the appointed hour finally came, I listened intently and answered questions when asked. I made a joke or two and offered some suggestions here and there to the layout designer about our departments. I figured that it had gone rather well. It took us 4 hours and we managed to be left with a page or two of "holes" that we can fill either with ads or editorial content. Pagination usually takes most magazines upwards of 8 hours- we worked efficiently and were prepared.

Later I was informed that I was putting my job in jeopardy. The joke had apparently not been understood and my umbrage at not being consulted in the cuts was mistaken for personal outrage. My publisher was calling me out on the red carpet, not even letting me get a word in edge-wise. "Just LISTEN, JAY! You NEVER listen to me! I've been doing this for-"

I put my hand up. "Stop," I said calmly. He stopped in mid-sentence, a look of barely contained anger wallowing behind his eyes. "I HAVE listened. How could I not? You've repeated the same things to me for a month solid now. I could probably recite it for rote if you asked me to. Listen, I'm no idiot, despite the fact that I'm new to this job. You're right that I've never done this before. But you're also wrong. You think I haven't edited stories, spent hours and sometimes DAYS on something as simple as a paragraph or a WORD? You think I don't appreciate the intricacies of finance and advertising? You don't know that, ten years ago, I was being groomed to work for an ad agency, do you? I'm going to put this as succinctly as possible, boss: my first, last and ONLY concern is this magazine. I feel safe in assuming that we ALL want to put out a quality publication, right? Well, what kind of editor would I be if I didn't speak my mind and offer my honest opinion on matters that concern the editorial department? What kind of employee would I be if I didn't offer alternatives to the boss, on the off chance that he might not know my job as well as he knows his own? I'm here to work WITH you guys, not against you. So PLEASE stop trying to make me look like the bad guy here. I'm on the same team and I want the same things as you. Always have."

"Then why did you have so much content last night? We spent WAY too much time going through it all. You overshot your mark by a MILE and you've still got more coming in!"

I shrugged. "I seem to recall you saying, at the very beginning, that more content is better than less and that, if we have more, that gives us the flexibility to cut what's unnecessary when pagination comes along. I've done what you told me to do. No more and no less."

He chewed on that, repeated some of it back, like he was mentally looking for holes in it, sat back and said, "Damn. You're right. I did say that, didn't I?"

I smiled. "Need I remind you that I'm no idiot?"

He laughed and then brought up his indignation at the joke I'd made in the meeting ("Bark! Bark! Bark! I'm a lap-dog! Bark!"). "I'm no lap-dog, Jay."

I laughed softly. "Boss, I didn't mean to imply that you are, that was a JOKE. Listen, you don't know me that well, but ____ (his partner, who was sitting in on this conversation and was responsible for bringing me in as the editor) does. He can attest to the fact that I don't make jokes often, but when I do, it's pretty obvious. Even HE laughed when I'd made the joke." I looked over at ____.

He nodded. "He's right. I did. I thought it was ironic as hell AND funny and I didn't take it seriously at all. You were justifiably bothered, but Jay makes jokes about as often as the Pope farts downwind to the pulpit. You'll get an ear for it soon enough."

My publisher regarded this for a moment and then shrugged it off. "Well... all I'm trying to say is that, in order for this magazine to survive, we MUST have open communication."

"EXACTLY!" I replied enthusiastically.

"Uh..."

"That's why, in the future, you should feel free to consult with me on editorial cuts, even if I AM asleep and it's three in the morning. You certainly don't pay me for my good looks. Make use of my skills when you need them. That's what you hired me for."

After that it was all downhill. I'm still the editor (with a capital E) and our premier issue is still due to launch on schedule.

....and now comes the September issue...

I'm not here...this isn't happening...

Seems this has become somewhat of a mantra of mine lately. Some may call it denial - an unwillingness to accept the simple fact that I'm a part of this world, that I exist day to day. I wake, head off to work, head home to a house which has always been a meeting point. Every day, at least one of my friends will drop in, simply to hang out for a while. It's never a lonely household, amongst the three of us. Not unless you sometimes feel lonely for the lack of solitude and quiet. Not much of that around here.

Mine is not a mantra of denial however. I've come to realise that it's all about procrastination. It's all about waiting for change to come to me, because it's easier that way. It's easier to wait for a flash of light to suddenly appear, signalling that the corner has been turned. Ask any failed actor in LA, any failed garage band waiting for their big break. It'll come one day, the material's all there, and it's so much better than what's 'popular', what's hitting the top of the charts.

if you build it they will come

Such a simple lie. Such a relaxing deceit, when you're convinced that you're slipping away from yourself. Wait long enough, be convinced in your value for enough time - build a fortress of positive thought around yourself - someone will notice. Sit in your home, be convinced in your value, be sure that someone will see through the walls.

There has to be a change, I'm sure...

Last week, I tried to give up smoking, again. After succeeding once before, then falling down. It's not going so well right now. I need to drink less. I need to wake up feeling alive. Last week, I was driving into work, early in the morning. A 7.30am start, managing to beat the traffic (what little of it exists in my home), on a frosty morning. I can barely describe the feeling on that morning. At 100km/h, driving through patches of fog, the sun just beginning its climb above fog banks on the horizon - the edges of those ground based clouds were golden, the ground was bathed in a subdued, warm light. It felt like the earth was alive beneath me, breathing deeply, drawing air into lungs choked with tar. It was a morning for singing.

I don't believe that this feeling was a product of the weather. I don't believe this morning was so much different to any other. I do believe that after a day of beating my addictions, my minds eye was given the room to see, once again.

I'm fighting a war here, and the enemy is myself. My apathy, my weak will. My willingness to stagnate, to allow dreams to dominate reality. My determination to take the easy road, waiting an indeterminable amount of time for change to come to me.

I think I need to find a new mantra. It will be simple.

be

Apparently, a day cannot go by without talking about America's pastime, Major League Baseball. To continue from where we left off yesterday, Albert Pujols should stick to hitting the ball, and not hitting people. A quote from an article in the MLB section of www.espn.com, "It's something where you react. It's part of the game." This quotation is credited to Mr. Pujols, showing, yet again, that sports players are made up of more braun, than brain.

If Albert were a boxer, I would not complain; afterall, it's their job to hit people. Fighting is not part of Baseball, or Beisball either. Hitting the ball real far, yes. Taking out your roid rage, no. Thankfully, it sounds like Albert Pujols will be suspended, however there was no mention of anyone else involved getting suspended.

I would like to focus on something else though, something I think is more important; The MLB All-Star Game. The Midsummer's Classic, which is to be played tonight, has had it's fair share of controversy ever since that horrendous tie game last year (Yes, I would have suspended both managers for their actions). I'm sure you've heard the hype "NOW THIS YEAR IT MATTERS!!!!!" All it's missing is the Monster Truck announcer going "TUESDAY! tuesday! TUESDAY!"

This years game is not without controversy either. When looking at the lineups one can see a bunch of weirdness going on. There's been a lot of change in the lineups. Many people who were voted in as starters, or selected by the managers as backups, are not playing due to injury and have been replaced. While this is legitimate, I am bummed. Alright, so I really wanted to see Manny Ramirez play in the outfield instead of Home Run Derby king Garret Anderson, I can be selfish. But Roger Clemens instead of Barry Zito?

Many thought Clemens should have appeared at the game anyway due to the fact that Capt. A-hole got his 300th win and his 4,000th strikeout this season, even though he has missed win 301 in four straight starts. You wanna give Roger a parade, go for it. Remember though, this is the guy who said he'd boycott his own induction into the Hall of Fame and have a private ceremony with only his mother in attendance if he didn't go into the hall with the hat of the team he wanted on. My two cents? Put him in as a Yankee, he's disowned in Boston anyway. We don't want him.

My anger gets in the way, I apologize. Back to the point. Barry Zito, young star pitcher for the Oakland A's, gets the shrug because he pitched two days ago, on Sunday. Because of those 106 pitches he threw, manager Ken Macha and pitching coach Rick Peterson thought he shouldn't pitch 2 innings in the All-Star game. This was apparently relayed to everyone but Zito. He found out at an interview session involving him and the other Oaktown players going to the All-Star game. Ouch.

So what's the big deal? In a season that's seen several idiotic maneuvers, from all the fighting to a corked-up Sammy Sosa (no, he'll never live it down, even if he hits 800 more home runs), this is just another in the long list. This guy won the Cy Young award last year, shouldn't he get a nod? Where's his appearance for the sake of appearing? Was this just a move to satiate an assholic Roger Clemens? I'm not sure, but when trying to build up a game, having talk like this appear on SportsCenter, and the news, does not help undo the tarnished image of Major League Baseball.

So I went through Orientation at IU and skipped about half of it because they weren't taking attendance, and I registered for classes and everything, so that's good.

One Must Fall is freeware now. One Must Fall: 2097 is also freeware now. Download the latter and play it. You can thank me later.

I met some really nice people here. Gina will be staying at Collins, so we'll probbly see ach other again, and Lisa and I hung out together all day today because all of our thingies were at the same time, and afterward she had to wait for her mom so I just walked around with her and stuff. She's awesome - a gamer and an otaku and all that other good stuff. An artist, too. And she wants wings. I'll definitely try to stay in touch - don't want to let another awesomely eccentric one pass by.
Sorry Ka-la. No romantic interests. Though one of the staffers was amazingy cute.

I've been watching Brian play Star Wars Galaxies a lot, and since he's at work at the moment he's letting me play.. it's a really fun game. It makes me want to play an MMORPG again.. but I really don't want the cashflow drain ^_^;;;;

I'll just go mine some more in SWG.

Rhapsody in Screwed :: Part (I don't even remember)

first off, my empathy to Orpheum; it's been one of those all around, lately. hang in there, we ain't dead yet, as much as we might like to be, sometimes.

second, my thanks to Apatrix, MacArthurParker, and Starrynight for smacking the panic out of me, long-distance. for close range defusing, credit goes to my mom, and a certain ferret-faced fiend, who'd miss me more than i would...

so, yes, things are getting better, or maybe just more distracting. as long as i can keep myself from thinking for more than five minutes at a time, i don't feel the urge to set myself on fire for the good of the future...apparently, this is not an uncommon side effect after not being unconscious for a fairly traumatic surgery. fuckit. i'm still breathing.

Dear priestess-in-training and girl-who-has-recently-discovered-her-own-submissiveness -

The concept of removing all your jewellry - necklaces, rings, etc., regardless of their significance to you, before presenting yourself as a dedicant to the Divine, is a very powerful psychological symbol. This symbol in no way removes the significance of your rings, your necklace, etc. If those precious connections are in your heart, then why do you need to have the physical manifestation of them on your person when you are dedicated?

Oh, if you removed them, you will not be whole, is that it? Oh... I see... so when you take the necklace off to shower, you are not a whole person... No? Oh, it's just when you are in the circle.

What's that? Oh... your Dom is just as important as the Divine? Wearing something that is a blatant barrier between you and the Divine is something you are doing out of respect for the Divine? Oh, right... somehow I missed that whole concept that coming before the Divine - just you, with nothing to bar or hide any piece of your soul from the Divine - is something that would be an affront to the Divine that you claim to serve above and before all others.

Ah, well. You obviously know better in this matter, despite the fact you came to me for teaching.

Sincerely,
Priestess-in-right and girl-who-has-known-her-submission-intimately-for-years