Hallelujah

I've just discovered, I have no idea how to properly send text messages; I've just never gotten the hang of it. I send them thinking they're in my voice, they convey my intent, but they just end up sounding stumbling, and like someone else when I read them. I kind of hate (old) new media; shit is slowly turning me into a Henry David Thoreau book.

Your Scene is obscene, time's slipping away

I realized the other night, I say things on twitter, for the sake of defining my presence, that I would never try to pawn off as interesting or even worthy of consideration IRL. I just don't care about what I'm saying - I just don't want my media presence to be diminished; so I keep on. Seems foolish. Hmmmm.

Following up

You know what's awesome? Listening to music super loudly through your headphones while the index finger of your left hand rests on the button that turns on the speakers. The button that turns on the speakers, the speakers that are face down on your apartment floor, facing the apartment below who's bass thuds usually keep you awake at night and wake you up in the morning to sir mix-a-lot. The records sound great as you're listening to your music on your headphones with your finger on the button to turn on the speakers, (the ones on the floor with the bass turned up) sometimes though you slip. That pesky left hand digit twitches. Only for ten seconds, then you recover, but a minute later, it happens again - the button is depressed. Then a minute and thirty seconds floats by before your error can be corrected, but after thirty seconds you've forgotten what you were doing. The floor is shaking. The floor is shaking, but in your headphones - the levels are alright. It's a great night to listen to some punk rock forty fives,  and for your speakers to lie on the floor.

hierarchy of warrens

Walking back through the drizzle, I could hear it stirring behind my guts - getting ready to to creep through on the backs of millipedes laying more jelly encapsulated fuzz over my spine. I thought it could happen, and knew it would start taking control even though the sound of my voice in my mind sounded like it had enough force to stop.

Through the many things I consider in the day, is how much I consider myself. Inevitably I'm stuck with the belief boredom by virtue of its visitation likens me to its own image, but in my mind. It's like watching that person at a party go around and talk about themselves - in endless coy speculation of their own greatness, only to discover you're face is being picked up by everything that can cast a reflection, and that the spaces between books on shelves somehow echo every bitter word. The entire time you would have thought you were planning a daring escape full of tunnels, carts on tracks, elevators driven by ropes, greasy gray mud that never stains and mining helmets.

I require a better job. I no longer dream of work that engages my physical faculties and my mind - I just dream of something that's not boring, and pays well. I suppose the fundamental problem with leasing is that, all of the problems with leasing are quite easily solved. The most complicated issues I have dealt with aren't really complicated issues at all - at least not in the way I want them to be.

The other day I was thinking about my abstract alter-ego - the sign of the rat king. The things that are important to note about rats, not as they're studied but as they exist, is their society is one where the richest are persecuted, and the lowest plebeians are the dictators of their own destiny. The short is being of low situation in effect raises the level of freedom and control a rat can have. A noble rat residing on the top of a warren, it's whiskers shiny with grease, it's hole padded with cloth - understands it's his duty to lose station, and that through his brothers gain of wealth he is sharing his caste long enough to become equal in servitude then will taste the victory in the most picked over scraps, the dankest air, the most overcrowded hole. This has little to do with the sign of the rat king, but I like to suspect that rats are motivated by a fluid group dynamic...

sheeeeeeeeeeit.

I sincerely dislike youtube videos of amazing live concert phenomena.

For mixed reasons really, but mostly because i feel like much of the content is tarnished under a bit of, "yeah it's alright, but not that good because I wasn't there," and, "I can only feel like, now, having seen this video I will not care as much about the fantastic novelty behind it, because somewhere in my mind I will be expecting it from here to forever." I really don't need the advance leverage to use criticism to dismantle my fun in moments I've never experienced. Believe it or not, the low res version with poor audio layering - is not, in fact, the ideal way to share your experience. A good story would do a damn sight better for the mysticism behind it.

That said, I love life footage from concerts I'll never be able to see (aka dead folks performing/people who is too old to sound good: that's directed at you lou.) So in summation, I guess.

Suspects he's spent too much time dwelling on the confluence of deadlands, absurd conspiracy theory and Lovecraftian madness lately - last night I had a dream that the fabric of reality was thin enough in Cory's house - that it had enough fear in it over sixty years to let a demon start scratching through the walls of reality to the walls of Cory's master bedroom. It left a message that said it had seen the stars awake and galaxies die, signed it's name on the wall. Through blind defiance alone I didn't search for the source of whatever was tearing me out of bed, as silence so deep settled in my ears and blocked out my thoughts in only the way decades of dust and ash can. I was dragged around what could have once been a room - but now was a shadow cast by particles in the air about to fall, held in by the stutter of moonlight. I think the sheets trapped me, and I think I'm saying that so I feel better about the fact I wasn't what I know to be afraid, but couldn't move all the same... I woke up and wondered if I would be the sort of person to believe in haunting, after enough dreaming.

when writing to your financial planner suddenly gets way to real.

"...Ironically enough, while broke, I spent some time thinking about what my ideal life would look like if I kept it within what I think is reason: and it's important for me to note that I'm telling you about the dull functionality of it, because the colors, settings, and how I would feel about the people around me that I see it all in are too fickle to be trifled with in improper expression.

Anyways it would include having a remote cabin (ideally that I could build over a couple years) starting the summer after I bought the land somewhere mountainous. If you want to be crazy in a clear alpine meadow. This place would be simple, land that could sustain food, three rooms, a lake within a hike, a big fireplace. Also, maybe a stockpile of supplies - for when some serious shit goes down.

Then I want the ability to travel internationally for at least two months each year, maybe every second year depending on how much I snowboard or in the case of going to Japan, an entire winter and spring - but only in the case that I could afford to spend the winter living like a ski travel writer, and the spring as a poor tourist.

I'd want a small place where I could call home that both needs work and that I could afford to work on somewhere in the city. This place would be fairly central and I could rent it while traveling. I wouldn't be too attached to it though, since I'd try to move around a lot. (I would just rather not totally waste money for however long I stay in one place.)  The best parts about this place would be: that I could buy the loudest and highest of fidelity stereos and rarely let the music stop, the living room, the firepit, and the constant parade of people through it.

Where ever I am I want  a large workshop, preferably about the size of a three car garage, where I would slowly build rat-rods that look and smell so dated you would assume getting vd would from the car would be as easy as starting it up. I'd fix old bikes, and build furniture - integrated units mostly. The first place I'd probably start with something like that would be in Calgary, anywhere from where I would make plans for one day having a winter home somewhere like fernie, but could anywhere in North America that's a lively ski town... it couldn't be the same as the cabin though, you could get here by car, and it would just exist to provide a perpetual crash pad in Cory Kyle (maybe Ian if he get back into snowboarding) and I's favorite ski town.

The best part is I came up with this whole scenario during a course to help me find out what kind of job i should do - i still have no idea"

It's kind of a recycled idea from what I had in career counseling - minus here I neglected to talk about how wasted the whole thing would be, how many motorcycle crashes,  and how much general shit would happen.

Being honest I added the, "stockpile of supplies for when some serious shit goes down line," after the fact, because I was thinking about how when this happened, the mountains would probs be the only place I could hide from the climate wars without drowning in a pile of mutated zombies.