May 11, 2008
“ When I was a child, my mother said to me, ‘If you become a soldier, you’ll be a general. If you become a monk you’ll end up as the pope.’ Instead I became a painter and wound up as Picasso.

— Pablo Picasso (via onherway)

My second thought was, “I bet he’s a Scorpio”. And he is. I don’t quite have words for my first thought, but it was something about self-confidence.

“ Um, August 26 to September 7 is more than a week. It’s actually 2 weeks, minus a day.
Whatever.
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“ Wow

I can’t believe how clogged with dust the server and desktop were. I’ve been meaning to vacuum/blow them out anyway, but it sorta became critical today when I thought I smelled burning electronics, like a failing fan. That was a false alarm, but it was sort of astounding how big the dust bunnies were, so I’m glad I got to it.

Which reminds me. Just like last year, at the end of April it officially became too hot in this apartment and I have to leave the kitchen window open all the time. Though the temp in the winter was just perfect. You know, you too can heat your small studio apartment with nothing but a single Compaq ML350 and a HP W8000.

Also, underneath a piece of furniture (as I was trying to shove something else under there today), I found a really nice CD player I forgot I had picked up in the apartment free pile quite some time ago. It’s got a glass top and decent speakers that plug into it, no other components necessary. So I pulled it out and found that, unlike the old boombox I use for a stereo, it plays home burned CDs, which I had completely stopped ever making because I didn’t have anything to play them on besides the computer, and the music was already on the computer. So anyway, I have a stack of blank CDs and today I am burning stuff off the PC.

So - you guessed it - I can listen to that music when I finally can’t stand the oppressive heat anymore and have to power down the computers when they aren’t in use. Which is pretty much never, except late at night when I’m in bed. Still.

Finally, it was really cool showing G. the basement out at the house even if it did make him jump. Because if someone tries to break in via the basement, they will need to have the cojones to climb past a long-dead, dessicated rooster hanging by it’s neck at the bottom of the stairs. I’m sorry, but I think that is totally badass, and I thought so 15 or more years ago, when I hung it there as a warning to anybody who wanted to fuck around.

This year's birthday

Just got a call from the house. They had an offer accepted. They said they intend to stay through August. That means I get my house back right after my birthday. Wow. Four big dates that week: August 26; August 29; September 1; September 7. 

July 5 is going to be a big day too.

I’m a little overwhelmed in a joyous ‘I can’t believe it’ way at what this summer is looking like.

“ Man, I am so not OK with the refresh lag time.

Something isn’t scalable, folks.

(Of course, maybe you’re not supposed to edit yer shit all the fucking time, either).
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(via ronen): Be-Candled Stairs at the Met They kinda look like little quotation marks in the air, like ghosts of things people said to each other. Or maybe remnants of the things they thought to themselves. What if the things you really think - not the things you actually say - live on, in some form, in the aether? - Like ghosts who can’t rest; unsettled/unexpressed energy..

(via ronen):

Be-Candled Stairs at the Met

They kinda look like little quotation marks in the air, like ghosts of things people said to each other. Or maybe remnants of the things they thought to themselves. What if the things you really think - not the things you actually say - live on, in some form, in the aether? - Like ghosts who can’t rest; unsettled/unexpressed energy.
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Communication usually fails, except by accident.
“Human communication works through dialogues. If something that looks like one-directional communication, such as a book or a Web page or a newspaper article, miraculously works, it’s because the author participated in dialogues elsewhere. He had discussed the topic with numerous people before he wrote the “one-directional” message.”
Night light. 2008-05-10..
Night light. 2008-05-10.
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“

I want a great big pitcher,
one that can’t be filled up
Empty myself right into you
and you all into me

Though isn’t that just what we swore
we would never need?

‘Cuz maybe once we had our fill
and later let it go
held briefly, pondered dimly
something shifting come to life
and us, too blind to see it
us, too hurt to feel it
us, too loose to hold it
and later, hurt,
it broke us down
into something new and fragile

Now I feel all poured out
on the dirty ground
pooled up sullen just like blood
smells like something died

Someone went
the wrong way too fast
on a one way street
and all the stop signs painted green
kept us moving, hard -
but when the pavement turned and slicked up
running underneath me
sliding seemed so natural
that I forgot my feet

Yet in moments of howling ecstasy
it becomes easy to forget
all the ways I can’t compete
won’t conform
can’t believe
and when I let go, your smile belied
the wrong I lived behind your eyes.

Now I feel all poured out
on the dirty ground
glistening rivers holed up deeper
waiting for redemption.
“

There was a time when all fruit ripened
all skies cleared
fires burned without end in hearths swept and comforting
all tears dried to quietude
dust was just that

There was a time when all came to nothing
down on my knees
hiding from God
grasping, letting go,
the struggle to breathe
fighting the storms of my desire.

Did I learn nothing?
or is the past such a spectre
a ghost forgiven his invisibleness
and my mind, hopping like a rabbit
unable to hold onto thoughts
long enough to learn from them?

or maybe ‘thinking’ is the problem
and just ‘being’ will be my salvation.