Nuetrinos

I don't actually know what a nuetrino is really. Whenever I hear the word I think of Douglas Adams, though small nuetral particle might be appropriate.

So, first post... I choose this background cause it looks like a hostel in purgatory, and while I think Arkham Horror more implies that being lost in time and space is somewhere in the cracks of space, outside of reality, and scratching the walls of history as seen in black and white films flashes - all discordant and focused on dust, as a visual metaphor, it still kind of works.

I Bought a cooking text book weeks ago, and reading it chapter for chapter has renewed my interest in watching shows like masterchef, to see if I've deciphered any of the implied tehcniques. This morning (and by this morning I mean this afternoon at two) I was watching the food network with Jaime, and seriously annoyed that all the hosts were disregarding elementary principles of cooking. I know it's arbitrary, but I loathe almost every niche artisan culture cheaply shaved off of time honed skill. I think its because It reminds me of how much I suspect the world is hidden behind clouds of octrine colored dust (purple-greenish.) turning mystery into caricature, and inventing depth behind cut outs. This all sounds like its circling back to a lighting metaphor... which I'm certain is tremendously out of character for me.


I mention it like a point of pride, but I'm actually kind of embarrassed about how driven by lighting and situation my life if. It's a bit strange. If I didn't loathe both the setting and lighting of commercial lighting, I should probably have done that with my life, but alas, I hate bright lights, I can't stand the smell of the radiant heat - how the air seems to be bent by electricity and spectrums of colour only produced in my brain when its appreciating the texture of a migraine induced vomit.

So, on a totally different subject, I'm reposting the chorus and verse of an email I sent earlier, and then stopping typing after sharing a kinks link.

We all know what it means to love each other more than we can say, but we're terrible at making our relationships remarkable, constructive and perpetually engaging. Remember the supper club? The Dalcastle Parties? Those things felt like the earliest inclination of momentum: I feel like since we were younger together we all have been through a genesis of dreams; where we had our individual paths to pursue, and we spread ourselves thin; like tributaries long before the lakes they feed, and have never come back to the confluence, muddying and collaborating our ambitions into something greater. We run in parallel, but still separated by the wells and walls, distracted by the ring of self doubt in our echoy lonely ambition.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=omd1IwCNJj4

 (I don't actually know how to add a link... wait. I found it... which leads me to wonder why this sentence is still happening? Oh, right, because I wanted to hint at my ineptitude, but not actually ever mention it. Shit. It just keeps going.)