耀
a
r
o
4
e
d
g
2
l
p
a
n

a
r
o
n
h
s
i
a
o
w
a
s
h
e
r
e

 

 

each lie along their own planes in distinct dimensions. It is, however, undeniable that they also intersect at some point in the mathematical universe of meaning, a point that can be described temporally as lying distinctly in the past—your own past—rather than anywhere in the present.

One spends a great deal of one’s life searching for the little snippets of meaning that forever threaten to become lost amongst the desktop clutter of every today’s business and tasks.

bad. 🙁

are destined to be “the other.”

Our own other, even.

Sigh.

Activism is a bad thing and should be suppressed.

cannot stand west coasters. People from California in particular who know everything and believe themselves to be saved. In fact, I am not sure I like anyone who believes themselves to be saved, west, east, north, or south.

But there is no greater cesspool of wrong-headed, won’t-mind-their-own-business know-it-allsists to be found anywhere on earth than in Los Angeles and southern California.

Not only are they idiots—they are idiots that engage in “activistics” to try to impose their unconsidered idiocy on everyone else on the planet. Hopefully that long-prophesied day on which Los Angeles sinks into the ocean won’t be too long in coming.

In fact, we could stand to lose the either west coast and the entirety of the south.

Bin Laden, if you’re listening…

It’s hot. It’s loud. There are a million things pressing on me for attention, more than half of them without much promise of reward and without much direct excitement. It has been a particularly frustrating couple of weeks at the end of a particularly frustrating couple of months during a year that has not gone as planned.

I have work to do. But it’s hot. It’s loud. We’re leaving in a week. Nothing is settled and nothing will be settled and the dizzying array of people, places, and things to which I have some responsibility (that have little, if any, responsibility to me) keeps growing.

I can tell that my lovely wife is worried about whether or not I will get the work done that I need to get done. She is trying her best to help me to get into the right mental state to progress, but really the problem is that there is just too much stimulus.

I swear to god the fan behind me is pumping out hundreds of decibels and vibrating my teeth but if I turn it off the rivers of sweat that are running down my body are going to carry me away. The elevator alarm is going off because people are moving and it has been ringing over the sound of the fan more or less continuously for twenty minutes. To compound things, there is a jackhammer across the street taking down a retaining wall.

I am not comfortable. My clothes are sticking to me. I haven’t had enough sleep. I have been very frustrated lately by a great many things with precious little outlet.

I recently took a typing exam at which I typed over 100 words per minute with no errors. I feel as though in the past four days that has increased to over 480 words per minute with no errors, maybe even 580. I can type so fast that the keys begin to fragment beneath my fingers, that a hole is worn through the computer and my prints begin to embed themselves in the table below.

But I cannot think of anything to type. I can’t think of anything at all, just the fan and the phone and the elevator alarm and the car brakes and the mail and the paperwork and the scheduling and the projects and the deadlines and the career branches, etc.

etc.

etc.

Without really intending to, ended up doing a major upgrade to my personal PC, from Fedora 8 to Fedora 9 yesterday. This is not a small upgrade; everything is changed starting with GCC, which means that any customizations that you have to Fedora 6/7/8 won’t be usable or recompilable on 9 without source upgrades.

Had to jump from kernel 2.6.23 to 2.6.25 (2.6.23 won’t compile for 9, and I couldn’t use it because it broke with the new GCC and libraries without first being recompiled). KDE3 is gone and virtually nothing of the “old KDE” frame of reference remains. Basically my entire home folder and dotfiles got moved into “Old_Home” and I am starting fresh.

Not working:

– NVIDIA drivers (nv only for now, until they release a fix)
– Logging out under Gnome (click and nothing happens)
– Most of KDE4 (wow, very unstable, very unusable)
– Crossover Office (fonts completely unreadable)

I guess that’s how it goes with a bleeding edge upgrade.

Summarized opinion? NOT recommended. There is a fine line between “lots of changes, because we’re pushing the envelope, please join us” on the one hand and “congratulations, thanks to our upgrade you no longer have a working PC” on the other. Fedora 9 is far too close to the latter.

is missing in the suburbs; flashes of brilliance and twitches in the fabric of being that call out from within the depths those impressions that otherwise are lost to you, sublimated, transfigured, misapprehended.

Fleeting moments are the matter from which the phenomenological universe is made, as well as the recollectable universe, and thus the narrative universe, as well as the spatiotemporal universe. It’s all glimmers and moonshine and fancies and misdirection.

A car stops outside your window; two bars of an ephemeral chorus and a couple of disconnected words; they will stay with your subconscious self forever, will inform your being in some small way on the day that you die. The subway rolls past this time, headed for the shop; it is another data mark, another tick in the tally of universal maintenance. Here is a breeze, it carries with it the scent of something long forgotten. Ocean? Weeping willow branches? Fertile soil? The molecules come from afar and trigger electropulses of conscience and desire that don’t reach the level of awareness, but instead color your smile and your gestures for the next three days, the haunting of your childhood carried through everyone you interact with into the lives of everyone they interact with.

Chaos, chaos, chaos,

the sunset on tropical beaches always a sign for the wisdom you’re not sure you’ve got but that you exercise anyway as a matter of coincidence, accident, and happenstance.

All is wisdom.

All is the reckless, nostalgic flavor of the sweet nothings of your own past whispers, made to no-one in particular, mostly when you didn’t know you were making them.

for good news is just that—interminable.

There is so very, very much to be done right now, and so very little in the way of immediate rewards. It is a dry spell, a desert crossing, a period of spiritual fasting.

I do not like this trend at all.

is like therapy in reverse: the process of increasingly repressing everything that doesn’t fit into the schematization that you’ve formulated for your life. Repression is the key to success. it is also the thing that makes one most likely to gnaw on glass.

Tonight, despite endless recalibration, I cannot get perspective. I cannot tell what is what. I cannot see up from down. I do not know trees versus forest. I am lost, for a while.

These periods happen in life, and for a few hours you have to cope.

When I was younger, they used to terrify me to the point of lunacy. Now that I’m older, these brief periods of indeterminate resolution don’t quite terrify me so much, but in place of the fear (which isn’t entirely gone) now resides a great deal of impatience, annoyance, and weariness.

Tonight I feel 10,000 years old, at least.

On a humid summer Sunday afternoon
I trace the damp rim of a wine glass,
absent-minded,
watching the lead paint on an old windowsill

crack.

From nowhere,
in a moment of sudden clarity:
consciousness of the motion of my heart—
of an interruption—half a beat—
before the resumption of an apparently endless count
of the moments in my life.
Soul shaken by the unobservable shudder
in the tiny interval of death that ensues,
my hand falls, unsupported
through the rim of the glass.
The shards reach every corner of the room,
carried to their logical conclusions by fate
or unforgiving destiny.

just blindsides you for no reason that you can identify. What is wrong with today? It started out well. Disappointing. Frustrating. Bewildering.

If you no longer exact your revenge on the world for things that it does to you, is that “growing up” or is it “growing weak?” Sometimes I still can’t decide.

Archives »

March 2024
February 2024
January 2024
December 2023
November 2023
October 2023
September 2023
May 2023
April 2023
March 2023
January 2023
December 2022
November 2022
August 2022
June 2022
May 2022
April 2022
March 2022
January 2022
December 2021
November 2021
September 2021
April 2021
March 2021
February 2021
January 2021
December 2020
November 2020
October 2020
September 2020
August 2020
July 2020
June 2020
May 2020
April 2020
March 2020
February 2020
January 2020
December 2019
November 2019
October 2019
September 2019
August 2019
July 2019
May 2019
April 2019
March 2019
February 2019
January 2019
December 2018
November 2018
October 2018
September 2018
August 2018
July 2018
June 2018
May 2018
April 2018
March 2018
February 2018
January 2018
December 2017
November 2017
October 2017
September 2017
August 2017
July 2017
June 2017
May 2017
April 2017
March 2017
February 2017
January 2017
December 2016
November 2016
October 2016
September 2016
August 2016
July 2016
June 2016
May 2016
April 2016
March 2016
February 2016
January 2016
December 2015
June 2015
February 2015
January 2015
December 2014
October 2014
September 2014
August 2014
July 2014
June 2014
May 2014
April 2014
March 2014
February 2014
January 2014
December 2013
November 2013
September 2013
August 2013
July 2013
June 2013
May 2013
April 2013
March 2013
December 2012
November 2012
October 2012
August 2012
July 2012
June 2012
May 2012
March 2012
December 2011
October 2011
September 2011
August 2011
July 2011
June 2011
May 2011
April 2011
March 2011
February 2011
December 2010
November 2010
October 2010
September 2010
August 2010
July 2010
June 2010
May 2010
April 2010
March 2010
February 2010
January 2010
December 2009
November 2009
October 2009
September 2009
August 2009
July 2009
June 2009
May 2009
April 2009
March 2009
February 2009
January 2009
December 2008
November 2008
October 2008
September 2008
August 2008
July 2008
June 2008
May 2008
April 2008
March 2008
February 2008
January 2008
December 2007
November 2007
October 2007
September 2007
August 2007
July 2007
June 2007
May 2007
April 2007
March 2007
February 2007
January 2007
December 2006
November 2006
October 2006
September 2006
August 2006
July 2006
June 2006
May 2006
April 2006
March 2006
February 2006
January 2006
December 2005
November 2005
October 2005
September 2005
August 2005
July 2005
June 2005
May 2005
April 2005
March 2005
February 2005
January 2005
December 2004
August 2004
July 2004
June 2004
May 2004
April 2004
March 2004
February 2004
January 2004
December 2003
November 2003
October 2003
September 2003
August 2003
July 2003
June 2003
April 2003
March 2003
February 2003
January 2003
December 2002
November 2002
October 2002
September 2002
August 2002
May 2002
April 2002
March 2002
February 2002
January 2002
December 2001
November 2001
October 2001
September 2001
July 2001
June 2001
May 2001
April 2001
March 2001
February 2001
January 2001
December 2000
November 2000
October 2000
September 2000
August 2000
July 2000
June 2000
May 2000
April 2000
March 2000
February 2000
January 2000
December 1999
November 1999