dammit, and here's another one.
have you heard of the wireless space problem? there's a spectrum of airspace through which all kinds of things travel - tv, radio, internet - and the amount of space set aside for wireless internet has become way inadequate as smartphones and ipods and laptops have come to power. microsoft is looking for more space, and turning to the white space set aside between analog tv channels to keep old stations from interfering with each other.
that's all the real stuff. the story involves a religion based on the spectrum, and its possible sentience. i had an idea related to the eventual need to tap into the visible spectrum in order to transmit all the crap we feel the need to put on the internet (see this, this, and this (that's what's called a meta-joke)), that we'd start seeing wisps of internet followed by eventual eternal fog... yeah, there's a story buried in here somewhere.
what's that make? four stories now? five? someone loan me a cottage in the woods for two months, so i can go away with a smile and come back with a smile, a beard, and a stack of books for the world.
6.30.2011
6.29.2011
muse
also, mental note to self here, i gotta remember to write my muse's biography. she's been getting pretty insistent about it lately, what with her claim of contact with/influence over the likes of vonnegut, rushdie, f scott fitzgerald, etcetera. she says it's been an achronistic life, that she's pretty young right now and won't be rubbing shoulders with the greats until she's much older and wiser, and wants me to pay particular attention to how strange it must be/is to know your future yet be unable to access that level of talent aside from through my own occasional contact with her future projects. she's a bit temporally confused; i've caught her calling me by other names (men's and women's names alike), caught her beginning stories with me in the middle ("oh, sorry, i thought we'd already discussed and started this one"), caught her insisting on an idea's greatness only for us to later realize, together, that she's already covered that ground with someone else.
she also claims to have had a hand in the creation of some of the world's more elaborate true stories, but i haven't gotten details on that yet.
i need a month to myself in the woods to get all this out of my system...
she also claims to have had a hand in the creation of some of the world's more elaborate true stories, but i haven't gotten details on that yet.
i need a month to myself in the woods to get all this out of my system...
another idea for me
we've been writing and thinking a lot about what would happen if robots took over the world. but what if we created something else that could take over the world?
working on wording - see this, as well as post-mortem auctions of MJ's thriller outfit, tom landry's hat, etc. but the notion is that it is the future, and modern society believes that once we die our ghosts linger amongst our most cherished possessions, and that to honor the memory of those ghosts, those in close proximity to those items are obligated to live according to the ideas and morals of the dead. so if you walk into a club and a guy there is wearing the thriller jacket, you are expected to join in when inevitably he starts the zombie dance, even if you don't know the steps.
it sounds like a commentary on materialism, materialism interwoven (by time and human weirdness) with spiritualism. i guess.
i don't know what'll grow out of these seeds. i'll be as interested to watch them grow as you.
working on wording - see this, as well as post-mortem auctions of MJ's thriller outfit, tom landry's hat, etc. but the notion is that it is the future, and modern society believes that once we die our ghosts linger amongst our most cherished possessions, and that to honor the memory of those ghosts, those in close proximity to those items are obligated to live according to the ideas and morals of the dead. so if you walk into a club and a guy there is wearing the thriller jacket, you are expected to join in when inevitably he starts the zombie dance, even if you don't know the steps.
it sounds like a commentary on materialism, materialism interwoven (by time and human weirdness) with spiritualism. i guess.
i don't know what'll grow out of these seeds. i'll be as interested to watch them grow as you.
6.28.2011
gap
here's the pitch, the whole thing condensed into storytime for children in the future. there may be discrepencies, and it just sorta trails off at the end, but that is because i wrote it very, very late at night, while very high. i could barely see the screen by the end, and when i went back to read it the next morning, i was amazed that it wasn't pure gibberish.
it's called 'maybe rising tides', and you can read it by clicking here.
now, here's the research material, gathered both before and since writing that. my research material, as you can see, is about half pictures, one quarter news, and one quarter adventure. plus music.
Piece about the tiny island of Nauru
Piece about island nations worried about rising water levels
Photo essay about a Mexican ghost town
Photo essay about extreme weather in the past year
Indie journalist recounts Vancouver riots, with pictures
Wiki entry for the album 'At The Soundless Dawn', by Red Sparowes
Youtube link for the first song off said album
so go ahead and check all that shit out, and come back in a month or four to see how it distills... though i've got some other shit on backburner that might happen first.
related note: i've been asked to do a reading at the Liquid Burning of Apocalyptic Bard Letters sometime in july. i was actually asked to do it for june, but with only a few days notice i couldn't get off work. i might do a slight rewrite of rising tides for it. so if somehow you have that magic combination of 'reading this' and 'live in chicago', maybe i'll see you there.
it's called 'maybe rising tides', and you can read it by clicking here.
now, here's the research material, gathered both before and since writing that. my research material, as you can see, is about half pictures, one quarter news, and one quarter adventure. plus music.
Piece about the tiny island of Nauru
Piece about island nations worried about rising water levels
Photo essay about a Mexican ghost town
Photo essay about extreme weather in the past year
Indie journalist recounts Vancouver riots, with pictures
Wiki entry for the album 'At The Soundless Dawn', by Red Sparowes
Youtube link for the first song off said album
so go ahead and check all that shit out, and come back in a month or four to see how it distills... though i've got some other shit on backburner that might happen first.
related note: i've been asked to do a reading at the Liquid Burning of Apocalyptic Bard Letters sometime in july. i was actually asked to do it for june, but with only a few days notice i couldn't get off work. i might do a slight rewrite of rising tides for it. so if somehow you have that magic combination of 'reading this' and 'live in chicago', maybe i'll see you there.
6.23.2011
moment
there was a moment last night, after we'd stripped off clothes and finally crawled into bed sometime after 3am, when we looked at each other, and each opened our mouths to speak. there was the feeling that we were both about to say something meaningful, something to tie us together a little stronger.
though nothing was said, i felt closer to her anyway.
though nothing was said, i felt closer to her anyway.
6.22.2011
6.16.2011
change
how can you ever expect to change things unless you begin changing things? says the prodding, here at the end of the night; the nag, the itch in the back of my skull, he says such things often, in unguarded moments, the last muscle to relax. tonight i respond: i believe i change an appropriate amount. one must at least keep pace with the world around oneself, but this is an unwinnable race, a speed i can never match. what direction to turn from the meadow at dusk? where to turn, when you have fallen into a crossroads in which you have seen all things occur? where could further interest possibly lie? it is the death of curiosity, the final playing out of original sin.
promise
tomorrow, i promise that i will most likely greet you with the same growl and snarl that i did today. do not take it personally. i direct my anger mostly towards circumstance.
6.10.2011
bed
and this is my last night in a bed for a while. people: do not underestimate the importance of having your own bedroom.
6.09.2011
waiting
"i felt like i spent today waiting for something," i posted briefly on facebook, before i took it down. "i guess not," that was the second line i backspaced through. no; too direct, even with just the first sentence. then i threw up some ellipses, which i came back to erase an hour later. or maybe less.
i got stood up. again. last night was an accident, i could understand your mom showing up uninvited to take you home from work. i was only sitting on the beach, cracking into the first of two pepsi bottles i'd carefully but expertly partially filled with rum in the navy pier bathroom, trying to figure out the coolest position to be in when you came up from behind me - would it be if i was laying down, sunglasses off, eyes closed, hands behind my head, smiling aimlessly up at the sun? or if i was sitting upright, letting all the normally-unseen bits of my tattoos glare in the light, drinking from the rum i'd promised her, knowing it'd draw her like a fly to honey? but suddenly it didn't matter, and you were heading home, and i was still sitting on the beach, the solitude no longer comfortably temporary, now slightly menacing. paranoias creeping in; i am drinking in public, after all. time to move, time to walk, walking and looking for maybe any cute girls walking or sitting alone, formulating the conversation in my head as i walked: "hey," as i'd sit down heavily, the smile not altogether fake, following up with some combination of the words "lonely," "bored," and/or "drunk." of course, it didn't happen. it rarely does. instead, i think i gave a girl wrong directions, and i met a small dog which climbed unbidden into my lap and began nibbling at my fingers.
but none of that, of course, bothered me that much. whatever; drinking alone on the beach suits me. it was the promise, later that night to meet up with me the next night. which is tonight. right now, actually. you might notice that i am on the computer, not enjoying the comfort of beauty.
i even saved some rum.
i got stood up. again. last night was an accident, i could understand your mom showing up uninvited to take you home from work. i was only sitting on the beach, cracking into the first of two pepsi bottles i'd carefully but expertly partially filled with rum in the navy pier bathroom, trying to figure out the coolest position to be in when you came up from behind me - would it be if i was laying down, sunglasses off, eyes closed, hands behind my head, smiling aimlessly up at the sun? or if i was sitting upright, letting all the normally-unseen bits of my tattoos glare in the light, drinking from the rum i'd promised her, knowing it'd draw her like a fly to honey? but suddenly it didn't matter, and you were heading home, and i was still sitting on the beach, the solitude no longer comfortably temporary, now slightly menacing. paranoias creeping in; i am drinking in public, after all. time to move, time to walk, walking and looking for maybe any cute girls walking or sitting alone, formulating the conversation in my head as i walked: "hey," as i'd sit down heavily, the smile not altogether fake, following up with some combination of the words "lonely," "bored," and/or "drunk." of course, it didn't happen. it rarely does. instead, i think i gave a girl wrong directions, and i met a small dog which climbed unbidden into my lap and began nibbling at my fingers.
but none of that, of course, bothered me that much. whatever; drinking alone on the beach suits me. it was the promise, later that night to meet up with me the next night. which is tonight. right now, actually. you might notice that i am on the computer, not enjoying the comfort of beauty.
i even saved some rum.
6.04.2011
6.03.2011
re: off-topic dammit: "dammit."
oh, Mxxxx, how could we let this happen? i'm sorry, sorry belatedly and in advance. i could've said this so long ago, but i listened to everyone else, and decided that in this one case i'd let societal norms (specifically, the god-damned "bro code") dictate my actions, or i guess the lack thereof.
i'd like to start by saying, "somehow, somewhere in the last few years, i fell wildly, uncontrollably in love with you," but it'd be kinda a lie, because i know when, and how, and where. it was the basement, where we hid from the brutish realities of the city, thick walls and no windows between us and that vicious summer sun yet plenty of drug-dealer echoes bouncing their way into our sanctuary, rubbing around in our ears and leaving permanent markers, little ingrained twitches to accompany shouts of "lights! lights!" even though we had no worries, nothing to hide... well, some worries, some things to hide. i'm drifting again, so let's get to the point in the next two sentences.
we'd decided to let Sxxxx live with us, which he did quietly until one day he brought you home with him. you came in, took a hit from our blunt, sat down, and joined in on mario kart.
i remember looking to the side, squinting a bit through the smoke (illuminated by the light from the television, there were no other lights on - at least that's how i remember it, because i barely remember lights ever being on down there), and wondering where exactly you had come from. Sxxxx hadn't told us he even had a girlfriend, not your name or what you did or anything; as far as i could tell, stoned as i was (and by this point i'd finished with most of my hard drugs, all the acid, all the speed and coke, that was all in the past already), you'd fallen from the ether, pulled in by nothing more than my desire for a gorgeous female presence.
oh, christ, how i'd have fallen all over myself if i'd met you in any other circumstance! i'd have lost my shit, all that stereotypical name-forgetting and grammar-mangling, "what job have you?" and so on. if i'd been using a knife, i'd have lost a finger. if i'd been driving, i'd have crashed. i know i forgot to breathe for a minute, probably didn't introduce myself for a full ten minutes.
or maybe not. i might've been suave as hell, as suave as one can be when playing an 8-year-old video game and smoking weed in the basement one calls home. at least my parents didn't live upstairs. but my memory reconstructs things as it will; i'm not sure our first meeting even occurred like this. it might've been different. but it's how i remember it.
but time went on, and i hated how he treated you, said as much quietly, to myself, in neutral zones to unnamed parties (such as: facebook, blogs, this right here, etc.). i don't know what exactly i could've said about why you and him being together was wrong, specifically, but that's because i was just jealous. i wanted you.
then the space started growing, and he started drinking again, and the space grew more, and it was months between sightings of you.
whatever. this is starting to feel emo as hell, so i'm gonna bail. i love you, in a way i haven't felt for years. i think i love you enough not to subject you to that whole experience, though. i can be a little overwhelming. i can be a little vacant. but maybe, one night, i'll get drunk and forget about all that.
and, Mxxxxx... i could love you still, if only you'd give me a chance to do so. it's not gone yet; it flares back up a little, every time our eyes meet. but it's like a concentrated effort has been made to prevent there being any history there. there is so little shared feeding whatever fire is there.
*bail*
i'd like to start by saying, "somehow, somewhere in the last few years, i fell wildly, uncontrollably in love with you," but it'd be kinda a lie, because i know when, and how, and where. it was the basement, where we hid from the brutish realities of the city, thick walls and no windows between us and that vicious summer sun yet plenty of drug-dealer echoes bouncing their way into our sanctuary, rubbing around in our ears and leaving permanent markers, little ingrained twitches to accompany shouts of "lights! lights!" even though we had no worries, nothing to hide... well, some worries, some things to hide. i'm drifting again, so let's get to the point in the next two sentences.
we'd decided to let Sxxxx live with us, which he did quietly until one day he brought you home with him. you came in, took a hit from our blunt, sat down, and joined in on mario kart.
i remember looking to the side, squinting a bit through the smoke (illuminated by the light from the television, there were no other lights on - at least that's how i remember it, because i barely remember lights ever being on down there), and wondering where exactly you had come from. Sxxxx hadn't told us he even had a girlfriend, not your name or what you did or anything; as far as i could tell, stoned as i was (and by this point i'd finished with most of my hard drugs, all the acid, all the speed and coke, that was all in the past already), you'd fallen from the ether, pulled in by nothing more than my desire for a gorgeous female presence.
oh, christ, how i'd have fallen all over myself if i'd met you in any other circumstance! i'd have lost my shit, all that stereotypical name-forgetting and grammar-mangling, "what job have you?" and so on. if i'd been using a knife, i'd have lost a finger. if i'd been driving, i'd have crashed. i know i forgot to breathe for a minute, probably didn't introduce myself for a full ten minutes.
or maybe not. i might've been suave as hell, as suave as one can be when playing an 8-year-old video game and smoking weed in the basement one calls home. at least my parents didn't live upstairs. but my memory reconstructs things as it will; i'm not sure our first meeting even occurred like this. it might've been different. but it's how i remember it.
but time went on, and i hated how he treated you, said as much quietly, to myself, in neutral zones to unnamed parties (such as: facebook, blogs, this right here, etc.). i don't know what exactly i could've said about why you and him being together was wrong, specifically, but that's because i was just jealous. i wanted you.
then the space started growing, and he started drinking again, and the space grew more, and it was months between sightings of you.
whatever. this is starting to feel emo as hell, so i'm gonna bail. i love you, in a way i haven't felt for years. i think i love you enough not to subject you to that whole experience, though. i can be a little overwhelming. i can be a little vacant. but maybe, one night, i'll get drunk and forget about all that.
and, Mxxxxx... i could love you still, if only you'd give me a chance to do so. it's not gone yet; it flares back up a little, every time our eyes meet. but it's like a concentrated effort has been made to prevent there being any history there. there is so little shared feeding whatever fire is there.
*bail*
shrug
i don't know what to say to you anymore. i guess i'd like to just stop talking all together, have a silent relationship, let all the dirty foolish words be reserved for others. complicate their lives, for a change; let ours' be a little simpler. can we not communicate all we need to via touch, via the songs we choose, via shared love for the dog? i understand you best when you sleep, all the little needs and worries voiced and solved in the space of a caress. arms around me, now, for no more worries will haunt you tonight. if i can help it. (i can't. i just talk a big game.)
ah, but those wings i so love have carried you far off again, far from the beach we didn't relax on, far from the love we couldn't admit, far from this city and its stifling summer ceiling, dropping lower and lower each day, surely infinite to our eyes but constrained and...
(...running out of steam in that direction...)
...i worry: perhaps i do have within me the capacity to control the minutiae of our lives, but i just can't bring myself to care enough, most of the time... let the world run itself into the ground, but let it leave me alone, yeah? that's what i always say, and that's how it always seems to go, so remember that the next time i bitch about being lonely... god, i'm a one-trick pony with a one-track mind, a one-truck redneck with a one-treck daily limit.
yeah, i misspelled trek. fuck off, imaginary friends. (i love you.)
and here is an off-topic dammit: "dammit."
ah, but those wings i so love have carried you far off again, far from the beach we didn't relax on, far from the love we couldn't admit, far from this city and its stifling summer ceiling, dropping lower and lower each day, surely infinite to our eyes but constrained and...
(...running out of steam in that direction...)
...i worry: perhaps i do have within me the capacity to control the minutiae of our lives, but i just can't bring myself to care enough, most of the time... let the world run itself into the ground, but let it leave me alone, yeah? that's what i always say, and that's how it always seems to go, so remember that the next time i bitch about being lonely... god, i'm a one-trick pony with a one-track mind, a one-truck redneck with a one-treck daily limit.
yeah, i misspelled trek. fuck off, imaginary friends. (i love you.)
and here is an off-topic dammit: "dammit."
...right
yeah, you're too nice to everyone. THAT'S the problem, here.
if only sobriety were a little more acceptable... we'd all be rich, we'd all be fed, we could mostly stop working and maybe even find some time for love... yeah... yeah...
...yeah, right.
instead, let's regress. let's go back, let's travel the roads we swore we'd never travel again. yeah, let's go make all the same mistakes we made before, relive that stunning aftermath, swim through the wreckage when everything shatters and goes to hell. yeah, let's, let's...
...until the wind blows back in our faces, and the sails invert.
may all roads crumble and fall to dust.
if only sobriety were a little more acceptable... we'd all be rich, we'd all be fed, we could mostly stop working and maybe even find some time for love... yeah... yeah...
...yeah, right.
instead, let's regress. let's go back, let's travel the roads we swore we'd never travel again. yeah, let's go make all the same mistakes we made before, relive that stunning aftermath, swim through the wreckage when everything shatters and goes to hell. yeah, let's, let's...
...until the wind blows back in our faces, and the sails invert.
may all roads crumble and fall to dust.
6.01.2011
well
uh well i didnt really expect the pieces to fall like this, though you can't build a tower like this one and not assume it'll eventually shatter. theres enough foundation left that i can't really see the need for panic, though i might burn it down anyway. the tower was unsteady; why rebuild on the same foundations? but i will anyway; blame ocd. i do. the funny thing though is that im no longer restricted to my own soundtrack; others have their say, and i find myself outvoted on occasion.
...i kinda wish you were here more.
instead im talking to you at the same time as the girl i couldnt have. i just made you both laugh at the same time.
...i kinda wish you were here more.
instead im talking to you at the same time as the girl i couldnt have. i just made you both laugh at the same time.
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