February 13, 2009

The Party Pooper

The party was the beginning of the end.  

Good friends drank until inebriation.  Their words were nonsense.  Woe be anyone who was sober.  Happy music stamped the time period and inside it, the immortal youths danced in their moments.  Here existed laughter and merriment, until the knock.

knock knock knock

Who might that be? The cops?  The neighbors?
Heavens no, it must be another dear friend and colleague of life.

"Come inside stranger, where the living are alive and the spirits are high."
-----------

The doors flung open violently. The jaws slackened. The breaths held.  The music stopped. And all eyes looked at one place.

The beast had entered. 

Hard to describe, hard to look at, because it was not human or animal, it was incomprehensible.  Something with the promise of nothing.  Its shifty eyes looked beyond light and into the absurdity that made sense to no one but itself.  If one were so foolish to make eye contact, they'd conclude that this was 'no fight to be fought' before going mad.  

Why, it looks like love and hunger at once.  I am the disobedient child.  I am a loyal pet.  I am a fattened cow.  

Like smoke from a fire, its spirit enshrouded the room and suffocated.  Its a mad panic.  The strongest flee first!

The party-goers trampled each other in the attempt to save their lives.   And, much more than that. Much more. 

Who locked the doors?  Why were the windows so small?

There was no question if this was a man in a costume.  It was just known by instant recognition. A re-ignition of a dormant memory from the deepest primal corner of the mind.  We had forgotten, but now remembered.  

Desperation in the prison of limited choices.
Were we ever in control?  Was the fun ever ours?  Was it ever worth it?  To be permitted to exist.

February 12, 2009

Notes from the future.

There is a moment
where it exists,

as real as anything.
in high definition and precision focused.
an unambiguous description.

and when that moment is up
it exists no more.

I know the time of my demise.

I know the time of your demise.

And if I had my way, we'd live forever.


He watched the scene unfold from a hidden vantage point.  A twenty something pointed a hand gun at a middle-age man.  The older man fell to his knees with his hands behind his head.  He cried as he begged.  His last act was to make eye contact with the hidden man watching it all happen.  Then he was dead.

The hidden man couldn't help but feel disgust at the ease of the execution.  And the exhibition of infantile cowardice in the face of death.  

You didn't even put up a fight.  You crying piece of shit.

What was the point in witnessing this?  His own death in a future time.

Dear Sara, I changed the tires to your car.
They were brand new.  I tried to save you.
But instead, I bought you defective tires.
Which blew up, causing your death.

Here it is, my machine.
I never showed it to you before.  
It travels through time.  

Pure scientific theory made real in this form of cold uncaring steel.  It doesn't move unless I make it move.  It only calculates the parameters that I enter.  It is totally reliant on me.  Yet its conscious.  Its hard to describe Sara.  I think its mocking me.

It has taught me nothing but misery and despair.  And it shattered my self worth.  Its knocked me down so many pegs.  I might as well not exist. 



February 07, 2009

new words that i just made up

kraxnor
sabim
makalaka
forini
marshmong
bashnel
pourresi

February 02, 2009

Gah, where is the drunk filter?

Dear friend and or foe, 

What would have been, not too far in the past, science fiction, is today a reality. I speak of social networking websites and drone bombers, but more importantly social networking websites.  The new modes of socialization demand new rules to abide within.  A small price to pay for living in the future.

Growing up, I thought little about learning the manners that were required in order for a polite society, such as ours (i assume you are part of my society), to not fall into chaos.  The learning of such rules were generally instinctual.  Through observation, most was just absorbed like language.  As is the minds of children.  Little sponges.  Little retarded sponges.  

However.  Many "adult" rules were, to a young toddler, despite having a full luxurious mustache, difficult to grasp.  Rules like, waiting until everyone in one's party is ready to order before placing a order at a restaurant.  Once corrected, even these absurd rules were accepted.

Now, a little older and more mustached, the merits of learning these ritualistic social boundaries are so evident as to appear obvious.  Rules like giving hi-fives BUT not too hard as to hurt the other's hand.  Even if hard hi-fives is the only way to get excited about something, anything, anymore.  Its just not accepted.  

Once I was near graduating this college of politeness, I learn that the learning is not over.  For there exists a new set of social constructs being built inside the abstract environment of the internet. More specifically the places where friends thrive in the hundreds sometimes thousands; Facebook and Myspace.  

A smart man, would quit using these social websites upon the realization that there exists a problem.  

A smarter man would write a blog entry.   

I know what you are thinking.

What kind of pansy needs to learn etiquette at all?  It's the internet, aka the wild west.  Just say what you say when you mean it or don't when you don't and do when you do re mi fa so la ti.  If you want to be a cyber-hermit, then by all means continue on your ill-thought path. I once thought I could do whatever I wanted willy nilly on the internets myself, until the entice of social websites, with their lure of friendship and the sacrifice of anonymity.  Two benefits of better internet etiquette are;

1. increased internet life-span, (internet death is when one's reputation becomes so bad, one is forced to destroy their identity.)

2. reduced frequency of being called "creep","loser", or just being ignored by beautiful young women that were too polite to reject a friend request.

Excessive booze consumption is something to monitor.  For it is the enemy to internet success.  Do I have a problem?  No seriously, do I have a problem? I'm asking.  

Why doesn't one just refrain from internet use when drinking?  Because drunks have impaired judgement Einstein.

Like a car, a computer in the hands of an intoxicated one can be deadly.  To be less vague about it, a drunk person will type regretful things on the internet via social websites.  Direct communications while drinking, like talking on a phone, has always been discouraged.   But not so with the non-direct communications of social websites.  The entice at times could be too great.  

Does a drunk know that what they type is weird gibberish?  No, because their judgement is impaired, Sherlock.

To reform this practice, I propose new rules.

Rule#1

Its a friends duty to shame another upon receiving any internet contact, where the sender is drunk, or even suspected of being drunk (the message could sound clear and rational, but you know your friend)  If not exercised, your drunk friend would continue on, stringing together catastrophic words with the potential to break a relationship (or many relationships at once)  beyond repair.  In a perfect world, where everyone is drunk all the time, there would be no problem.  However these messages aren't read until the next day when all parties are totally sober. FOUL. And SHAME on you.  Pathetic drunk.  Maybe these words, executed with skill, would help prevent a future occurrence of this abhorrent behavior.

Gah! 

Where is the drunk filter?

Rule#2

I propose that somebody with programming knowledge invent a drunk filter.  A drunk filter would be a computer setting where between certain hours of the day, the computer loses all message sending capabilities.  Or at least, makes one wait five minutes before submitting, to let their inebriated mind judge whether or not the message makes sense.

A smarter man would solve his drinking problem.

A genius, would imagine a world filled with drunk filters.