sticks and stones

Road Trip

2007-06-26T11:48:00.001-07:00

Baltimore is cool. It has history. Real history. It goes back hundreds of years. Has great universities. Has world class hospitals. And it's convenient. And it's not nearly as hot there with four seasons! Affordable too. Compared to New York and such that is. The architecture there is wonderful. Old and new. The harbor is great. Actually the inner harbor shares the some of the architecture of the Jacksonville landing. People are everywhere. Federal Hill is great. I have family that lived there decades ago. Their old brownstone is now worth over a million I'm sure. Really, Baltimore is a cool town. And it's smack dab in the middle of the northeast. You're a stones throw from DC, Philly, New York, and Richmond. If art is your thing that's a good place to be.

And then we meandered down to Lynchburg, Virginia. A small little town. 65 thousand souls. It has a couple of universities. Jerry Falwell's Liberty University is huge there. And everyone
loves and misses him dearly, liberal and conservative. Seems he did a lot for Lynchburg.
The only thing I could compare it to is how Tallahassee would react if Bobby Bowden died. It would be a sad day in our states capital. Anyways. I really thought Lynchburg was going to
be lame but it snuck up and bit me. It's affordable and historic. They've done a great job restoring their downtown. It's thriving. Loft apartments and little cool restaurants. We ate Indian for lunch. A really great children's museum called the Amazing Square. Also, I saw
a really great artists coop building across the street. Ten stories tall with contemporary art galleries and 25 artist's studios. Also housing an art store. Really, really cool. Right on the water. And there are hills, and it's really just a great little town. Liberals are thriving there. It's a miracle.

And then we stopped through Asheville. I want you to know I've heard chatter about Asheville
for close to ten years now and have never had the chance to visit. I expected a lot out of Asheville after all of this talk, and it delivered. It's just an amazing little town sitting right at
the foot of the gorgeous Blue Ridge Mountains. You can see wonderful scenes with billowing
mountains right from downtown. Breath taking really. Not to sound giddy. But it's really
awe inspiring for someone like me who's from Jacksonville to see mountains. And the architecture is great downtown. The very contemporary right next to the very old. People walking around all over downtown. All over. Musicians playing on corners. Jazz, blue grass, folk. Right there. Like waiting for a subway in Times Square. All free. All culture. We ate at a vegetarian restaurant that had an entire menu of wonder. Everything could be ordered vegan also if so wished. They even brewed 6 organic beers.

I mean if Jacksonville had a place like this it would be a landmark. And in Asheville it's just another restaurant. The parking was affordable and easy to get to also. To sum it up I was so impressed with Asheville that it took me a day or two for it to register. They even have a really cool arts district in a warehouse area down by the river. The only thing negative about Asheville I might have to say would be that it's too cool. One could easily feel uncool. I did feel a bit old.
But it really is made up of all types. Sort of like Atlanta, San Fran, or New York. A microcosm of culture at the foot of the Blue Ridge mountains.

And then we had a little visit in Greeneville, South Carolina which was an absolute surprise. I had no idea that Greeneville was as frickin cool as it is. I mean for Pete's sake they have a waterfall creek running smack dab through downtown. Kids and such playing all over swimming and screwing around. The river park goes for like half a mile! Along the stream are several band shells shaded by trees. The downtown is really developed. I mean many many blocks. Enough developed blocks that we were tired as hell after walking for three hours. There's a trolley car that goes all the way down Main street. There's even an arts district right on the river where several artists have rented studio spaces. I mean it's developed. Big money. Great restaurants. Great hotels. Very historic. Historic markers all over with associated statues. And while looking at the real estate for the city I found houses for 150K. New construction. Really amazing to find deals like that in a city with that much culture.

And if that wasn't cool enough after messing around in Greeneville for a few hours we drove only about a half hour or so and we were up in the Blue Ridge Mountains to watch the sunset. I want you to know those mountains are amazing. They aren't as impressive as the Rocky Mountains, but they are gorgeous in their own right. Not a bad batch of mountains to have in your backyard. The mountain biking there must be out of this world.

So anyways. That's it. A little road trip. Several cities with bustling downtowns. What are they doing that Jacksonville isn't? How long will it take before we can catch up? Are we playing catch up? If so, why? Hope you all get to get out of Jax for a bit when you have a chance. Check out the other cities. Get an idea of what works there, and bring that idea back here and implement it. Our Southern neighbors are doing it. Let's use them as examples of how it can be done here.

Cheers....

House Hunting

2007-03-24T17:46:00.000-07:00

The market is down, and there's lots of frowns. But we keep on looking. Looking for a house that's affordable, adorable and almost livable.

American dream, apple pie, white picket fence, and all. For all. Their are open houses all around town. Everywhere you look, homes are for sale. Balloons are a flyin. The reports have started tricklin. About adjustable mortgages adjusting thousands of incomes and weighing heavily on their outcomes of life, liberty, and the pursuit of their realities.

As the flag keeps on flying, as our kids keep on dying in the same old foreign lands. While walking on the same old burning sands. As their oil stained caskets get shipped back across the ocean. Back to their mother's land.

Even with all this confusion, a fusion, I'm still wanting in. I'm still wanting to have a place where we can plant our own seed. Where the children grow like weeds. Where I can plant my family crest and do my very best to be an honorable man. And try my very best to be a good example for the little ones around. But for now, I'll just keep looking in town.

Went for a walk today

2007-03-18T09:47:00.000-07:00

with my little girl. We have one of those backpacks for strapping your little ones in and just going. It is a sunny day in Riverside. I absolutely love the architecture here. It makes me feel like I'm in another city. That's a good feeling because Jacksonville can be a bit depressing at times. Especially when you know friends of yours are out and about in great cities like New York, Seattle, and San Fransisco.

We went to Memorial park after a stop by our neighborhood Starbucks. There isn't a mom and pop coffee shop in the area. I don't think folks would go there if there was anyways. Starbucks is so accepted by everyone. All types. Folks were there who just got out of Sunday school. Folks were there who were just waking up from a Saturday night binge drinking session. Piercings, tattoos, and Sunday school. All in one happy environment curated by the all knowing Starbucks cultural committee.

The park was interesting. My little girl Claire had a blast trying to get as far away from me as possible when I put her down. Walking fifty meters away then she was returned by the invisible leash she has for her parents, she has yet to understand. Security being something she needs. Something we all need.

Homeless folks were gathered in a little secret corner of the park. Picking flowers it seemed. I heard one mention a caterpillar. They were rough looking with beards, and such, but were picking flowers in the park. What a great scene it was. I wondered about the homeless situation in Jacksonville. I wondered about art making and how it fits into social issues such as homelessness. To be honest I feel a bit stingy directing my creative energy towards a canvas that folks will judge and talk about, and eventually put above their couch. I feel it is possible that artists owe it to themselves to use their creative energy for the good of mankind. Possibly?

My mind began to drift towards the issue of low pay for school teachers for some reason. That's an issue that everyone understands. Knows about. Talks about. Yet nothing is done. Folks have decided that that's just it. The reality is that if you decide to serve your community as a teacher you will struggle to make a living the rest of your life. I really don't understand why everyone accepts it as a reality and doesn't try to do anything about it?

I have decided that if we really want to make change on issues then we must act individually. Since our government will not make change on the issues that we care about then we must act publicly as a whole. Or not? What do you think? Can we make a change? Do you want to make a change? How should we begin?

You sure do have a pretty mouth.

2007-03-17T17:30:00.000-07:00

I've been wondering why I've seen representations of deer in so many visual artist's work lately?

I think it is one part fashion and one part folks getting tired of being surrounded with this modern world. I have observed more animals in general being portrayed since 911. The deer to me is a symbol of the way it used to be. Billy bob hunting with his cousin. The movie "Deer Hunter" makes me think of good old boys growing up in small towns, growing old, and being happy about the little things. Their favorite team winning the Super Bowl, etc.?

I did a series of work (click here to see) investigating this in 2001 before 911. The dot com bubble had burst, and to me their was a sense of getting back to my roots that I was investigating. I believe a lot of folks were doing the same at this time. I never hunted but I grew up in a small town in the south where hunting and fishing were as much a part of growing up as sports were. I somehow was able to escape hunting and fishing camp weekend trips with my friends. And really was just never invited. Maybe I wondered why, or how I never became a part of that lifestyle?

Deers are tough. They are roughed. They make me think of surviving. Feeding my family. Taking care of my own. Taking care of your own. Now the the icon of the trophy deer is on gallery walls, and kitsch campy t-shirts. It abounds as a truly American icon. Maybe in a few years American artists will see another icon as fashionable?

Maybe they will focus on the strip malls, and gas stations that are everywhere. Who knows really. One thing I believe is that there is a collective unconscious in the symbols that are used throughout from East coast to West coast. No one started it. It always was. We think together. We feel together. And now it seems Americans wants to go hunting together. Don't you?

brain drain

2007-03-17T17:18:00.001-07:00

ideas. invent. define. refine. this world.

I want to have roof gardens in Five Points.

I want biofueled RVs that are totally off the grid and can sustain life fully, forever.

I want to start a cooperative art boutique.

I want to curate local storefront windows with local contemporary art.

I want R.A.D.O. to develop an arts community that uses all green building supplies surrounded by sculpture parks and live work spaces for local artists.

I want to go to graduate school for arts administration in order to learn more about nonprofit arts management.

I want to start a nonprofit that develops an after school program that is run by emerging local artists.

I want to start a flourescent light bulb door to door sales program.

I want to open a green products local hardware store.

I want to buy a historic home and restore it fully.

I want to be involved in social programs that use art as a vehicle for social change.

I want to buy a trailer and use it as a traveling gallery of contemporary micro art.

Don't you?

Apology

2007-01-19T15:17:00.001-08:00

Clean eating. Clean drinking. Water. I apologize for my past behavior. I apologize for my rants and negativity. Into thee. I have such passion. A lasting. It keeps me motivated, and associated. Competitive in nature. I have become a bully. Praying on the week. And dishing out judgement and I'm tired of such activity with it's ferocity.

Teacher, I apologize for my outburst in class. I apologize for not raising my hand before speaking. I apologize for looking at you and silently judging. I apologize for talking about you behind your back. I apologize for looking at your life's work and snickering inside. I apologize for I have no right to. No fight to. And I give up.

What step am I on? The step where I wake up and realize I have been an asshole many times and have not known it. I have left dirty messages. Wondered why things couldn't be better. Why? Everyone is trying their best. Who am I to judge? Who am I to fudge on common courtesy? I am tired of dishing out negative synergy. I am tired of thinking I know best. I am tired of forming an opinion on everything. I am tired of trying to back it up.

I want to be involved in flow. Surround myself with those who are not struggling against the current. Surround myself with those who have given up and have let the stream take them. Surround myself with positivity. With friends who are not out to get anything from me. And in return be that friend to thee. This is my apology.

Horizon Line

2006-10-12T07:32:00.000-07:00

Approaching my birthday and I'm brewing in my stew. Of life. Of mights. Of my personal fights. How much do I have left in me? I look at my mountain top that I have not nearly climbed. I must reach the peek by night fall this time. I want to stand tall, and view the horizon line.

Ten years have quickly passed. And I have amassed a collection of adventures. Not many pictures. But many images that are in my head. Images I will take with me until I'm dead. And this mental photo album will grow and grow. Until a force data dump obstructs it's flow.

I'll illustrate animals for generations to come. Drawing the icons we forget as we grow old. Make sure the little one knows which ones will bite. Make sure she knows not to quit without a fight. She will not reach her mountain top for years to come. I hope when she reaches it she'll find us standing tall in the sun.

Little one we are all on this journey and sometimes you'll find yourself alone. Sometimes along the way you'll find yourself a home. Sometimes along the way you'll find yourself a friend. All you can do is pray that your friends stick around till the end. And hope when it's all over we will all find that same mountain top, that we all climbed. We can all look at the same horizon line. And we will see our life's work as it stretches through time. Then we can all pray for that moment not to end. Or maybe once there it will just start all over again.

Tower View

2006-10-06T11:45:00.000-07:00

I'm taken a back. Taking a wack to the head, Jack. I look in side and it no worky here no morey. Words are not coming out easily, fluently. I sit and stare at a blank canvas. A line. An idea that has little idea. And there is no beauty. And there is only hard work.

Wishing that things would flow. Like the flow of my fingers knowing where the keys are hitting the keyboard. Knowing how to, when to, automatically, auto pilot. Flowing water down mountain top drip through rock, stone, hard substance. Finding it's way. Drip. Drop.

Wanting ideas to shine, mountain top beam truth. Wanting to set an example for myself to live by but not wanting to make that example impossibly difficult, perfect. Know that you are going forth. Slowly finding truth, but not beating yourself up over it. On it.

Thinking of icons. Towers. Built for little nuggets. Chicken fried. Tied. Peeping out of their plastic side. vibe. I see it in the distance. It is perfection. We are all gathered round. Laughing. Well rested. Well fed. And it was all worth the test.

A Friend of Ours.

2006-09-04T11:40:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine. Fine. Long years, splitting ears. Splitting tears. I have grown up now. A family of my own now. A life of my own, and we meet again. As we sit here again. And realize that we have come together, and this can be NO coincidence. For instance,

You have gone your own way. Found your way. To find your way back in to my way, again. This instant in time with mine. Let's grow from this. Grow with this experience. Ten years of travels and adventure brother. Sister. Your little ones, and my little one, can learn from one, can learn from much coincidence that must be for a reason.

Some folks were put here to be united in community. United in their travels, learning, knowledge, and creativity. There was something of you back then that made me know that there was more to this chance meeting of you back then. That made me wonder where you went back when. And now we sit here again. Let's not make the same mistake again. Let's stay in touch and start a life time of truth seeking again.

Lets us begin.

The Soul of Apathy

2006-08-26T19:27:00.000-07:00

Pour my soul into a bowl. Into a character of him. Of a reflection of myself. Driving to work hearing these atrocities. Being force fed these horrific events daily. May he find his way, Lord. May all of us find our way. May he wake up and realize that life is worth living. That he has something to give back. That his apathy is a disguise for his disappointment. Disappointment in a life that has not been validated. Not allowed him to be part of the village our ancestors took for
granted. We crawled out of our village and found the city not needing our specialty. For we had to compete for our specialty to eat now. There is a whole slew of us special folks. And some of them are homeless. So I am just happy to have a job now. Just happy to be able to take care of my family now. Just happy to be able to stare at my Television and not have to think about the genocides occurring in some far away land that I will never see now. Thank you for this gift of apathy. Thank you that I do not have to solve the worlds problems. That I can just think of me. Now.

I am aware. I am not aware. I am aware. I don't care.

Boxing.

2006-08-07T17:22:00.000-07:00

Clear eyes for the tired guy. One drop at a time. Drip. Drip.Drip.

Staring at flat panel screen dream. 50 inch plasma, that's my Self. Staring at mirror images. Seeing fat cell deposits. Flesh. Apathy. Standing up tall. Yoga stance. Yoga prance. One vertebrae at a time. Sucking it in.

Tired of boxes. Tired of everyone talking about putting people in boxes. Thinking out of boxes. In the box. Out of the box. Jack in the Box. There is no box. Especially for fear of small spaces. Especially for tears in small places. Face this. Place this box out of your mind. Find time to breath fully with lack of boxes. Lack of limits. Infinite Spaces. Infinite Places.

Small town itch. Small town bitch. They don't know me. I am know one. I am everyone. I am mountain top. Anthill. Stream. River. Sea. The infinite minutia. Space eternal. Smiles and tears and fears and put this all aside, and stride. See the mountain top and climb. One step at a time. One pixel at a time. One brush stroke at a time. One word at a time. Climb.

4 generations of my new family.

2006-07-26T21:29:00.000-07:00

Fifty Cent Praises.

2006-07-25T14:48:00.000-07:00

Promises. Promises.

Truth be known. Truth not being told. All around.
Lies and spies and Jerico ties. Life is a game.
You play poker to win it. To be in it. Your sickness
is your addiction. Your attrition.

I have to take care of my own. Zone out on clicking
tasks that mask the virtue of a life lived taking care
of my family and taking care of my vast past
that isn't over.

The last laugh laughs last, past cubicle rows that sow
the integrity of speaking the truth. Of not holding
a grudge. Of letting go of fifty cent raises that
glazes the praises of one man rubbing the other the wrong
way.

I deserve my fifty cent raise. Fifty cent ways.
Slaves that click the time, tick off annuities not mutliplying.
Sliding down the pockets of larger charges. Larger Mustangs.
Larger stains. Debts to be paid.

Put your poker face on pal. Roll the dice. Are you telling
the truth? And if not, how can you live with yourself?

What gives Wally?

2006-06-30T08:59:00.000-07:00

Water slide. Tide. Cool Breeze.Freeze your intuition and listen. Observe.

Porous border. Dotted line. On maps painted and photographed from high in sky. Satellite motion detector deflector. We'll man the dotted line. We'll spend more money on protecting fear. Scared into submission. Mission. Just one more drink. One more toke off of the terror brew. Stew.

Don't choke. It's thick with good people. Working hard. Who are being served by decent people working harder and longer. Who deserve a piece of the apple pie. White picket fence Beaver Clever dreams. But maybe in their own country?

Maybe take the Fox by the tail and lead him to more jobs in his own country. Then lead the fox to water and force him to drink. Make him understand that this cow's been milked. And milk ain't free. And some of our cows are starving.

Clicking Hand.

2006-06-22T06:40:00.000-07:00

Refugees. You see. They have no place to go. No place to flow. Lie low. Don't pop up your heads. Don't look for bread. Bodies are lying in your streets. Their meat is cooking in the heat, you see.

Look out for your own. Hold tight to them. Fight for them. To each their own when the war comes. When the war came. When the waters rained and ran. Then the winds slammed their structures to the land.

And look at me. In my cubicle land, with my clicking hand. Trying to be a loving man. Raising my family the best I can. And I hear of this war torn land. Damn. And I have to tune it out. Try to focus on my fam.

I want to help. I want to get up. Stand. And motivate. And march. Grab my rifle. Find the enemy at hand. Fight the injustice, war, hunger of our land.I want to pull militia rights and fight but don't know what direction to smite.

So I sit here again. In my cubicle land. Clicking with my clicking hand. Wanting peace on this land. Wanting to take a stand. But no knowing where or what direction to man. As I focus and click, and click again.

What's in a title?

2006-06-18T11:13:00.000-07:00

My father was a real man. Not like me. When he walked into the room, if you were a real man you would size him up. Don't worry he would be sizing you up too. He fought in the Korean War at the age of seventeen. When I was seventeen I was listening to Pearl Jam, The Cure and trying to find my identity.

He didn't talk about what he had seen either, other than a small amount of information I was able to get out of him over time. He told me he was in the 1st Marine Division. Interested, I bought a book on the war and researched it while enlisted in the Army. After reading a bit about it, I understood why after seeing what he did, talking about it would not be a good thing. He had to have seen death. Thousands of deaths.

To make it back in one piece was a victory of its own. And what he had seen would be far better off never spoken about. One of the bloodiest battles he served in was the battle of the Chosin Reservoir. It was so cold during this push toward the Chinese border that winter that frost bite was rampant. Temperatures were reported of thirty below. Also, if you were at this battle and survived you got the nickname the frozen chosen.

This was one of the battles he faced and lived to not talk about. It was a miracle that he made it back in one piece at all. It was a miracle that he could return to have our family. To have me. To live another fifty years. To coach basketball to hundreds of children as a Recreational Director of youth ministries. And to truly make a difference in hundreds of their lives. Coach Mickey will be remembered. Shit. They even named a park after him.

So on this father's day, I think of my father. Not of myself as a father. My journey has just begun. This is my first father's day. I haven't really earned the title yet. Hopefully one day I will.

Honey.

2006-06-14T19:51:00.000-07:00

Dream mountains. Massive. Strength. Focus on glory. Focus on how to live this life, now. I want to illustrate a how to guide. How to live. I want to leave icons, monoliths, and magic for the little one to live by. Sprinkle bread crumbs so she can find her way home. Out of the darkness. Into our arms. Wherever we are. Wherever we go.

I want her to know that there is such a thing as integrity. Honesty. Love. Carve stone castles to protect her from the injustice of life. Hide her in her own ivory tower of self knowledge.

A strange metamorphosis is happening in this life state. I find definition of self through what I want her eyes to see. I want all the murder and mayhem of this society to be outside. On distant moons. Far far away. I want her to be protected. Cocooned.

Kevlar sheets of bullet proof self love. Dove wings flying. Gliding over the ravaged fields of our wars, our hunger and our homeless inequities. Straight to her mountain top. Where she will find us waiting.

Blood. Blood. Blood.

2006-06-07T20:12:00.000-07:00

Alive. You jive. Symbolic transgressions of a battlefield with wars lost, blood shed, and no war is ever won. How do you want to be remembered? Can you not carve your legacy out of the lard of life? Honesty, Integrity, Personal Courage.

I stand in front of monoliths and kneel. I see all of our heroes in it's black rectangular stature. John Wayne is a smiling and he wants us to kill the civilians. Kill them all. Let God sort them out. That's God with a capital G of course. The one and only.

John and Clint shoot first and then ask questions. There are bombs going off all around us. The media is pumping terrible news of death and destruction. Conservative or Liberal it is all negative. I want requiem. A place to go back to the innocence experienced while holding my breath waiting for summer to be over. Bored out of my gourd, playing kick the can till 9 p.m. I used to sit in a little corner of my yard and lay still like a sniper and wait for birds to land for just a second while I zeroed my scope of my 20 pump Daisy air rifle.

I would brag about how if I pumped it to 20 it was surely the strength of a .22 caliber rifle. I must have wasted hours shooting round after round. Learning to Kill. I joined the army after 911 in order to kill. I had bought in. Hook. Line. And sinker. I didn't go to war. I was stationed in California where I learned how to clean a toilet and buff a floor. And I now know that a police call is not calling any police, and a G.I. party is no party at all.

Several years later I sit behind another government desk, but now as a civilian. I never got to kill for this country. I never got to see death. I never got to see war. And I count my blessings. And I thank god. And I thank God. And try to be a hero. Now not for me, or for my country. But for my family.

Thank you God that I did not have to see death. Thank you God that I did not have to kill. Thank you God that my family will have me in their lives instead of some folded American flag. And please, tell John I said Hi.

La Cucaracha

2006-05-27T21:13:00.000-07:00

Upset. Steaming. Not beaming while gleaming the fruits of our countries labor. Our countries slave labor. I eat on the cheap. I'm in it deep. Drive through, instants. Drive through, cravings. Paving the path of another indigents sufferings.

Let them break their backs. Let them sleep three to a bed. Let them eat cake. Work Visa Lisa cleans for you while you sit in your cubicle mouse clicking, calorie counting your heaven. Air is a glaring. Baring down the exercise you get from walking to and from the bathroom. As the work that you would not want to do gets done everyday. Unnoticed. Unappreciated.

The cock roaches come in through the cracks in our countries floor. They eat the garbage that we throw away at night. Crumbs on the counter. Crumbs under our door. I hear them but don't see them. Don't see how many of them are packed in under my house waiting for a chance for our door to open and welcome them in to our family.

As the president says these are good cock roaches working hard. If only they had a crumb they could feed their cock roach families of which are growing at a rapid rate and could easily take lazy cock roaches out of their cock roach jobs.

They have been here forever. We stole their land from them. They had to go in hiding. Now we dangle our cock roach cheese in front of their cock roach mouths. Let them do the work that we don't want to do. Let them have all the freedoms we take for granted. Open our doors. Feed them our crumbs. Or spray them with Raid and quit talking about it. Do you want to work like a cock roach?

Carpe Borgum

2006-05-23T12:03:00.000-07:00

Active participant. Instant. Involved. Daily process. Workout. Exercise. Body and mind and soul. Pump oxygen. Clean out system. Dirt. Debris. Push filth through molded drainage ditch filled with all of your impropriety's. All of your sins and all of your polluted energies.

I'm skipping rope now. Skipping hope now. I will not wait for miracles to happen but stand on the sholdiers of legends and throw stones through stone mansion walls. Knock holes into gold pedestals of idols booted and scooted out of our American dreams.

Seizing the day. Seizing my life by making choices that will demonstrate, teach, tutor honesty, integrity, and lust for a better life. Lust for role models who model on the cat walk of the everyday life.

I remember sitting in the isle at Star Wars. I was a little child. I watched as the story scrolled by in large white text applied to a star filled sky. I remember watching E.T. as he nearly died and I cried. This was my heroic suburban epic told to me by Hollywood. Spoon fed and fancy free. Wrongs and rights given through stories told on screens more vivid than any Bible School summer day spent sweating puberty.

One day I will wake and take my life. Make my life with high obligation and high moral standing. Become immortal. While sitting in my screened in Florida room with my 50 inch flat panel monitor heaven, surround sound. While looking at my grandaughter's Kodak gallery. Give me back to the heavens. Lift me up to eternity.

XOXOXO

2006-05-17T14:19:00.000-07:00

Throwing out lures and kicking your spurs. Fishing with bobs and calling out mobs. Waiting for a bite that might, maybe, never come.

Playing the numbers. Playing your chance at the big time. The more you bait the more chances of bites. Chances of mights. Chances of rights. Once. Twice. Three times a maybe. When is the day that your ship will sell in? When will your words be deemed worthy? Your ideals deemed beauty? And when will you get your applause for your dogged determination. The question you have to ask yourself is, "Do you feel lucky?" Do you even play the lotto? Why do you need to win?

Running expecting more from life progam.exe. Compiling. [This program will make you expect more] You are programmed to want more. Now. Instantly. Gratify me. From the flicker of the television to the ping pong of data flying through space. To the happy meal, combo number 1's, 500 channels of emptiness, infomercials, lose weight while doing nothing. Find happiness while doing nothing. Happy pills.

Happy meals and mind numbing Blockbuster movies. As we watch Hollywood stars making millions off of make believe. Why can't you make a decent living off of your reality? To professional athletes signing multimillion dollar contracts. With the majority of our heroes being uneducated, untalented regular folk who have found fame by being at the right place at the right time. Having the right contacts. Having the right PR. And symbolically if not literally winning the lotto.

Wake and take control of system, data, position in space. Make it so. Run rationalization program. Consume jealousy. Want to experience a life full of fame, riches, worries not constrained to money, with dollars flowing. Not living from paycheck to paycheck. Run reality program. Delete jealousy program. Find value in the here and now. Human closeness. Human moistness. Flesh real. Sweat. Tears. Pain. Reality. Make it so. Hugs all around.

Blended

2006-05-13T18:49:00.000-07:00

Beauty and plastic dolls. The ideal. The teach me. Love me. There is a time and a place for discipline. I'll say "No" one day and she'll understand. She'll button up. Listen up. Stand at attention. She'll hear the sounds of daddy's feet thumping through household hardwood floors. And remember not to touch the stove. Remember not to eat things off the floor.

Months will pass. Years will pass. But not now. Not now because brain function. Junction. Biorhythms system. Ties that bind aren't tied. Aren't connected. Synapses are growing. Flowing. As I'm towing the line. As I'm mowing my lawn. Trimming my hedges and saying my pledges of getting my piece of the apple pie.

I hear of landslide, hurricane, war, hunger, Aids ridden, genocide planet on daily news blips and bleeps through unconscious radio news programs. I hear the end is coming. The end is near. But it hasn't come. I used to stand on the tip of the volcano and want the eruption. Want Y2K to end it all. All my single life searching uncertainty. But now I hold my wife's and offspring's hands and think of growing old with them. Searching with them. Learning with them. How wonderful a world it can be?

One day, if we are all still here, her synapses will connect. The paths will be made. And "No" will mean "No". "Hot" will mean "Hot". Lose ends tied and connected. The synapses will be grown and evolved. And she will wake and see and understand the beauty that is this world. I can only hope and pray for this, on this . . . Mother's day.

Roach Motel

2006-05-11T09:39:00.000-07:00

Course contract. Backing up systems. Copy files to make sure asses are covered. Smothered in onions and pecans, pork, South Beach Diet, rules. Shrink waste. Shrink taste buds, turn you into one hell of a stud. I'm staring at blank walls again. Blank time again. Making up worlds and hurdling pearls strung through Aphrodite statue concrete, plastic millipedes, while reading technical manuals.

They sneak into your house. While it's raining, and bite your ass at night. Taking away your virginity. Taking away the trinity of food, shelter, and disgrace in this place. Let's pile in on thick. Barricade ourselves in. We are being attacked daily, by cockroach dissidents heads rapped in rags, laying dead in the streets of our forefathers. Folks too scared to call it off. Too scared to admit wrongs. Turning the other cheek will get you slapped. Mapped by drones flying low to pinpoint WMD's that never did, maybe did, maybe hid, from existence?

It all hangs in the balance. Thin lines walked. Thin lines crossed. And never going back. Never admitting that you are wrong. Sticking by your cowboy guns. Sticking by your cowboy funds. I've written it. Signed it. The cockroaches keep coming. You can spray and spray. But they will keep coming in. Your borders are not guarded. They will sneak in under your door, and through your floor. You have want they want. And they were here first.

Sampled

2006-05-10T13:15:00.000-07:00

Statuesque features of molded time, evolved and carved.
Barbie doll smiles and grins while drinking gin. This is life.
Everlasting. Savior. My life. Your life. Together.
Blended. Mixed. Sampled, and given time to build out.
Evolved from one family recipe passed down from generation to generation.

You plastic envy. Your perfect skin that pulls me. Yearns me.
Towards thee. I look at you and see perfection, interaction.
Sacrifices made. Paid. And time stamped with blood, sweat, and tears. Pools of which can sustain life. That might go on forever with all but a glimpse of your advice.

Identity Theft

2006-05-05T14:01:00.000-07:00

Angel smiles abound around this town. She stands now and plans now. Brown eyes, loving eyes. Joyful eyes. Growing. Hunger. Fullness. She is everything to me, in me. Makes me. 19 pounds of heaven. I will look into her eyes and find myself one day. I will look into her eyes and find happiness one day. In her eyes I am laying concrete. Resting on couch, porch, swing, lemonade summers.

One week absence. Misses. Growth. System. Crawling. She will walk soon. She will talk soon. Missing growth. Missing laughter. Missing knowing that I am larger than me. Purpose to sustain not only my life, but her life. I am larger. Stronger. Part of something bigger than self.

Self is selfish. Self needs unit, pod, growth, construct system. System grows roots. Roots sink deep into soil. Grows foundation. Find self in soil. Find self in roots, construct on system. Find identity through growing unit. Unit grows self. Self grows identity.

Artist Statement

2006-05-01T19:51:00.000-07:00

Option #1

I am interested in the connection between our own perceptions and the unknown. I am interested in trying to percieve the pattern of the golden mean and to try and draw from it's energy. I believe that as a visual artist there is a great responsibility to attempt to capture beauty and truth.

I believe that these qualities are natural and pure and live below the surface of our consciousness, even in the worst of us. The goal for me is to take a step back. To detach myself from the activity or process of making art. To allow it to have a voice of it's own. To allow it to draw it's connections. To work off of my own internal rhythms. To work off of my own childhood dreams. My own adult awakenings.

In order to find a sublime subconsciousness that shapes my identity. Through this detachment I attempt to achieve perfection. An inner reflection. An outer reflection. A mirror of myself. A mirror of us all.

Retired

2006-04-30T18:57:00.000-07:00

Florida sun fun, one on one, by the pool, cool. Cocktail in hand man. Burgers for lunch. Sirlion for dinner. Gas grilled, drinks chilled. Screened in fenced in backed up to a six foot alligator's creek bed, he said.

Working on the yard all day. Retired factory worker. Organize size, eyes see nothing but blue skys, palm tree, sprinkler fed sand bed. Breeze blowing through suburban look alike prefabricated dry-wall heaven. I worked for this for thirty years man.

I remember when I was taking my apprentice training. I would sleep in the parking lot after work. And it was so cold. Philly is fucking cold man. I busted my ass to get this. Worked the night shift. Read chess books at night when it was slow. Shit. There was nothing else to do.

Now I have all the toys. A Harley in the garage. A Lincoln Navigator. A riding lawn tractor. Factor this in. This house could sell for 350 now and I bought it for 90. Extra side lot. All mine.

If I had enough money I'd get an R.V. and go to all the races. Shit man, maybe next year. We'll sell the house. Get the R.V. I'd follow NASCAR anywhere. Just party. Stay on the road.

And just party.

Office Chat

2006-04-27T19:32:00.000-07:00

I dress up now for work. Tuck my shirt in. Whistle Dixie. Shave my face. Coffee buzzed. I toe the line. Everyone morning. I toe the line, but a different line. Cubicles are not the same. But it's the same game.

Name blame. She said he said. What? That ain't right. Why'd that happen? Who's she? What did he do before? Did he retire from the military? Did you know that he swims two miles a day every morning?

I have a history degree. Then I worked for Bellsouth installing DSL for two years. Then I was a computer tech. I graduated in 1985. I've been here for 12 years. So and so is thinking about retiring.

Everyone loved him. He was so easy to get along with. I'm glad he's making more money now. You have to pay for the coffee mess. Did you get your parking decal yet? You know my son-in-law is a pilot in the Marine Corp. I've worked here for thirty five years.

I eat popcorn sometimes for lunch. It's not high on the weight watcher's list. It's low in fat. I have border line high blood pressure. I'm off this weekend. See you guys on Monday.

Forked Tongue

2006-04-26T17:47:00.000-07:00

Consolidated omnibus budget reconcilation act of 1985 states that the insured can continue converage for a limited period of time if the insured meets the applicable requirements, makes a timely election, and pays the proper premium. In plain english, "You sir are screwed." Good luck. Nice knowing you. There's the door and now we are going to make you pay for what you deserve. To be able to have affordable medical coverage. To be able to take care of yourself and your family and not have to file bankrupsy for a broken arm.

I have thrown alll caution to the wind. I pray that nothing happens between now and the next day I receive benefits. I pray that all my trips to work in the next week will be safe and uneventful. I pray that my choice to get the hell out of dodge has not bitten me in the ass and put me in the poor house. The poorer house. I pray. It may.

COBRA stings. Cobra bites. Cobra fights and mights thy sights. Of distant winds and seldom bends to all ends, to all wars and all sores that are allowed and not endowed until all scores are taken down and bound in this town or your town or all around. Abound. Abound. Abound.

Around. Around. Around.

V.A. Benefits

2006-04-25T19:17:00.000-07:00

Cushy. Sitting my rear dear, on other cushion pushing chairs, clicking new mouses. click. click. Meeting new people. Learning new dramas. Learning new file structure process upload refreshness. Freshness. New horizons. Not for a limited time. Not for a low low price.

I'm a government contractor. I don't sell anything. I don't pollute your mail box or inbox anymore. Indoor commercial contract subcontract sign on the dotted line. Security clearance clearness. I am working for the green machine naval base space supporting the freedom fighters mighters smiting thee down. Smiting the evil doers who will be judged one mouse click at time.

I have a photo I.D. Sliding it in and out of doors core, keyboards. I served my country. Cleaned my toilets. Over and over and over. Have you? Have you signed your life away and put your life on the dotted line online on time on mine. Found life, liberty and the pursuit to raise your family without having to worry about bills or wills or the next choice.

Information technology discount system tears. Drill deeper into my interests to support the welfare of a life lived investigating a just cause. Just falls on my back and gets back time spent buffing floors and buffing combat boots of P.T. tracks being rounded. Of having to put it all on pause. And finally having it all pay off.

Run Time Error

2006-04-23T14:25:00.000-07:00

I'm watching. Watching myself gain weight. My wife told me that I've gained more than I had thought. I've been in denial lately. I grabbed my stomach minutes ago and realized that it's gotten huge.

When I eat a big dinner I have problems sitting down. It hurts. I know all of the right things to do and I'm not doing them. Again. Just another statistic. Another overweight American.

I've gained 25 pounds in the last two years and it ain't pretty. Recently I was on vacation and at a friends house I looked in the mirror and thought I was looking into one of those fat mirrors at the carnival. It wasn't one. I'm an overweight father. Thank God I still have my hair.

Never thought it would come to this. Sitting at my computer eating Doritos I still thought I had the metabolism of a teenager. Not anymore. Thank you America for making us fat. Thank you for stuffing our stockings and stomachs every Christmas, every day. The land of the plenty has become a land of overconsumption.

I am programmed to eat twice the normal serving. I am programmed to sit on the couch and watch three hours of reality T.V. I am programmed to dismiss my obesity as a normality. Not anymore. I am on a mission to cut calories and regain my youth. I am watching. Watching my weight.

Take a chill pill

2006-04-22T10:55:00.000-07:00

There's a little pill I take each day. It's small and pink and smooth. I bite it in half because a whole one would knock me out. Knock me down. Down and out.

This pill calms me. It breaks down and adds chemicals to my brain that I do not have anymore for some reason. My head decompresses. The pressure exits. It allows me to think again. It allows me to not worry about politics. The war. World hunger. World peace. My life seems in order now. My eyes are focused.

I take care of one thing at a time now. My baby girl needs her diaper changed. I change it. I get hungry. I get something to eat. I need to exercise. I go running.

Life is much easier now. Easier to deal with. Easier to manage. I'm medicated. I'm part of a statistic. Our numbers are growing.

After my father died of a massive heart attack I went into a real funk. I cried all the time. Not just in bed by myself, but at the drop of a hat. I was in the Army back then. I found myself crying while I was sweeping the floor. While on guard duty. This is not something a grown man should experience.

I talked to my family and they told me maybe I should talk to a professional. Turns out some of my family members were experiencing the same issues. My father was our rock and we all went to him with our problems. Now there was no sounding board for us. We all became bottled up emotionally.

I dismissed it at first. I researched it and read about all of the side effects that are possible on the different medications. But then one day I was coming back from P.T. with my squad in the shift van and I started crying for some reason. I didn't know why. I wasn't upset. It was a very odd moment. Others noticed even though I tried to hide it.

My life changed that day. Soldiers are strong. Soldiers kill with no mercy. They don't cry for no reason. They don't cry around others. This isn't something that was acceptable to me or to the U.S. Army.

I went to the doctor and told him my symptoms. I was started on the first of several different types of antidepressants that I have taken over the last few years. The symptoms subsided. I got out of the funk. I was able to focus back on the issues right in front of me instead of on the past. A diaper needs to be changed I change it. When I get hungry I eat.

Medications are definitely not for everyone. You can abuse them. You can use them as crutches. But I do not cry anymore. I take care of my problems. One by one. And I make solutions. One by one. I do not look for wars that do not need to be fought. I do not start problems that are really not there. The world might be a little better if more of us were medicated. One by one.

Say Cheese

2006-04-20T07:27:00.000-07:00

Thirty one, sun, and fun, and it has all just begun. with one smile. for a while my face was stuck. in place. with a frown.

The sound could pulse and vibrate through all synapses. pleasure receptors firing on all cylinders. life's moments. snap shots. frozen in photo album library glory.

categorized and chosen, decades passed and I amassed one blank tough guy stare that did not fair well on anniversary candle light memory spells. Easter Sunday 2006 was the first day I smiled from ear to ear, and did not fear.

She held my hand and guided me.

Thank you Jesus.

2006-04-16T08:00:00.000-07:00

Vacation station. Sitting at another desk. Clicking another mouse. At another job soon. Life is a series of multiple choice questions. I choose everyday to be better. To improve myself. I do one thing a day to improve. I do not make lists. I do not try to make my goals impossible to achieve. I do not know how you should live, but today I will do one thing positive. And if I can get one good thing in then it's just a plus if you can get in another.

I'm going to pump some iron this morning and skip church. Try to get my heart rate up, and shed some unwanted calories. It's Easter Sunday and I'm a little upset that I don't want to go. A little. My family will be there and I should too. Right? Well to each their own and I have not been feeling Churches. Especially the one I grew up in. My father was an active part of the church. He was a youth minister and recreational director there. He taught the majority of adults there how to play basketball, baseball, and tried to help develop in them a sense of morality. My mother is a deacon and sings in the choir. As did I for many years.

My life has changed. I am an adult. By all sense of the word. With a family of my own and health problems to boot. It's hard to be around all of those people and know they know all of my secrets. That they have asked my mother how I am doing and she has told them everything, most likely. They aren't secrets really, but to me not everyone needs to know everything. So there they are thinking about me, praying for me and my family. Hoping we would return to the church as we are heathens by now. Praying for our souls. If God does exist and the power of prayer is legit then I'm glad I have them in my corner. But I'd rather not play any sort of social game in order to get a leg up in heaven. If it exist?

If I showed up they would all want to know how I am doing? How is the baby? Where are you guys living? If I had the gumption to go today, I would be prepared by having a taped conversation of me telling all the sordid details of my life. Where we live? How old my baby is? What her name is? Where do I work now? Etc. Etc. Then I could play it over and over to all of the folks who ask. I'm not too sure if they really care about me, or if they are just asking so they can tell their friends and carry on the soap opera that is most Churches.

I hope they care. I hope it is not all a lie. I hope that we will die and go to heaven and that Jesus did rise from the dead. But on this Easter Sunday I will carry on that hope as a personal reflection on religion, church, and my Southern Baptist upbringing. And I will do it from the comfort of my garage pumping iron. Thank you Jesus.

Combo No.1

2006-04-14T19:19:00.000-07:00

I am sitting down with my friends tonight. They are in the box and they are from the seventies. I feel like I am taking my brain out of my head and putting it in a blender. It's liquid. And I like it. They sit in their basement and talk about nothing. Talk about getting laid, and making money. About nothing really. Nothing has any real content. I've been wacthing it for three hours. It's a Seventies Show marathon. And I'm still running. Not finished yet. Making good time. Haven't hit the wall.

Another episode is starting. They are my friends tonight. I must watch. They could be my friends forever. I could buy the DVD collection soon. Watch them on my death bed. Decorate my house like the show. Raise my kid the same way. Talk about nothing but the show. My friends could assume Seventies show identities and we could go to the Seventies Show Convention. We would all love Kelso. We would wonder how he got such high cheek bones? We would wonder why Mr. Foreman was such an asshole while his kids are smoking pot in his basement. We would think about Point Place. How cold does it get there in the winter?

What was that decade like as a young adult? I could remember watching Star Wars when I was a rug rat. How it was sold out and I had to sit in the isle. Remember the white copy rolling across the screen and the stars behind. Remember Elvis dying and how our mother's cried. Remember the Space Shuttle falling out of the sky and how we all had jokes about it the next day. Remember how we all were just a little more naive back then.

Remember how good it felt to not worry that much about your government's choices. About where the next meal was going to come from. About where your next billable hour was going to come from. Remember? That wasn't heaven. It doesn't even come close to my own personal definition of it. But it was much better than this extreme awareness that we are all trying to practice. Who are you to have a valid opinion? Your opinions have been programmed. Your opinions have been brought to you by a local advertising agency who sit in their war rooms forcing fried chicken down your hungry impatient throats at a new low low price.

Jade for President

2006-04-12T20:58:00.000-07:00

Reality show flow. Three hours ago. I sat my ass on the couch and tuned it all out. Singers. Documentaries about race. Becoming a Super Model. Or going to space.

How can your life be turned into a show? System flow more indie bandwidth dial temple dragons. On candy tile garage pad lock all systems go.

I'm voting for my favorite model. I think super models could save the world. I'm thinking our President should be a super model. Sit there and be pretty and don't speak. Smile really big and show your bleached teeth and reconstructive surgery cheek bone temple pilots.

I'm hoping Jade will win now. She's a real super model. Like a super hero. Real. Just look at her photo shoot. If she only had super powers man. If she could fly and eat bullets. We could win the war. Sick our super models on the insurgents. Sick our super models on our enemies. Problems solved.

Repetition

2006-04-11T19:54:00.000-07:00

I'm planning to be a hero now. I have a garage in my backyard with my dad's old weight bench. I started pumping steel. Looking in the mirror I listen to angry music and pretend to fight shadows. I need to hang a punching bag so I can practice what I would do if I caught a bad guy. I wonder who the bad guys are? Are they my neighbor? Are they you? What would make you do something to hurt someone? What would make you take something that is not yours?

When is that line crossed? Is it crossed gradually? Do you inch closer to that line daily? Or do you cross it daily? What is the line? Who defines it? Is there really a wrong and a right? Or is it defined differently for each person and each culture? I don't know or I know then I forget or I redefine it. Or all at the same time. Sometimes I'm liberal. Sometimes I'm conservative. Sometimes I'm good. Sometimes I'm evil. Sometimes I'm plain confused.

When will there be point blank judgement? When will I look at something and know exactly where I stand, all the time? Never wavering. Always solid. Standing fast.

I know my little girl is an angel. She is pure. Perfect. Untainted. I can look at her and believe in virtue. Truth. I can look at my wife and know that what we have is meant to be. Real. Kismet. Cosmic. I can define wrong and right according to them. That all I want is the best for them. That they deserve something holy. Sacred. That through my love for them I can define myself. That I can look at them and know that something is real. Tangible. Concrete. I can hold them in my arms and know that they exist. I can hold them in my arms and know that I exist. Sticky. Sweaty. Flesh and bone. Family.

Neighborhood Watch

2006-04-10T16:47:00.000-07:00

I ran down a pick pocket the other day. Pulled my U-Haul over and ran after the bloke. It was instinct. I didn't think. Just pulled the 17 footer packed with my family's belongings and ran after him. Didn't think about how I could have been shot. How he could have stabbed me. This was my neighborhood and this wasn't going to happen here. Not anymore. Things were supposed to be different now. My buddy who was helping me move told me to pull over, actually. I don't even know if I would have done it otherwise.

I didn't think after I started running. I ran down the alley and the girl who was screaming bloody murder about her purse being stolen was picking up her belongings and the pick pocket was sprinting onwards, out of reach. I ran by her. Just wanting to catch him. Make him pay for what he had done. This woman could have been my wife. She could have been anyone's mother. I ran faster. Put my all in to it. My buddy was a little behind me. I got close enough to see the guy really well. He turned around for a second and said, "What the fuck are you going to do?" I shouted something like,"Drop her money. Stop. Stop." I tried to sound full of authority.

I kept on running after him for about a block. I rounded the next block and I realized he was a good block and a half ahead of me by now. The guy was quick and lean. Looked like he might be able to play basketball all day, and I would be lucky to get a game to ten in. I stopped at the corner. Was a little overwhelmed at the whole thing and how quick it happened. My life could have changed if he had had a gun, but I didn't think about it.

After my buddy caught up with me, we looked down the block and people were poking around in the U-Haul. It looked as if someone had been shot and the driver ran the truck into the corner as half of a lane was blocked by the truck. We ran up to the truck and everyone was interested in why we parked the way we did. I told them I was trying to be a Hero. That I wasn't in good enough shape to run anyone down. That I needed to work out more and maybe I'd catch him next time.

As we got in the truck and began to drive off my buddy told me that the girl had been screaming Nigger the whole time. Something like, "Get that Nigger. That Nigger stole my purse. Get that Nigger." I couldn't believe it. He was closer to the girl because he was further behind. I couldn't believe I was putting my life on the line for this closed minded individual. To her it had quickly become an issue of white versus black. To me it was an issue of wrong versus right. Nothing but that. I was just trying to help out my neighbor in my neighborhood.

I could have left behind my wife and baby girl that afternoon. Sad that I had to learn this. But next time, I will let the pick pocket run off. Next time I will not pull over the truck unless someone is getting beat down. Unless it is life versus death. I would have possibly gotten her credit card and cell phone back. She can cancel the credit card. She can get another phone. But I can't get back my virgin curiosity to help a person in need. Next time I will question and not act. Next time I will think about her, and then think about my family. And the pick pocket can buy his bag of weed. No harm. No foul.

A Shitbag's Journal #1

2006-04-09T19:50:00.000-07:00

New CQ today. Our all day mission to guard the 2nd floor hallway. Drill Sergeant Fernandez is on post downstairs. What a delight he is. We've still yet to phase. Something should happen soon. Either we fuck up or they're by the books and we get phased. Some of these soldiers don't look too together when they wake up. This is a Sunday so most soldiers are sleeping in. Shammers all the way, and blue falcons.

For some reason we have this blue falcon bit. A blue falcon is basically a buddy fucker, not literally but someone who's only out for themselves. A good example of a blue falcon is, for instance, this morning we have to report for CQ 15 minutes early. Now out of 7 soldiers to report, 4 were on time, 2 were 5 minutes early, and one was 25 minutes late. Now that's a blue falcon. You don't do that to your battle buddies. See your time isn't your time. We were to relieve the other shift, so those soldiers had to wait around until the relief came, after pulling an eight hour shift. That's a blue falcon.

I hear the Drill Sergeant talking downstairs. He seems pissed off all the time. Any question or comment coming from a soldier in training is responded in a generally piss poor mood. They all have the attitude that we should know the answers. I don't understand how it would be a question if we knew the answers. The main problem here is a lack of information or the propensity for misinformation. That's what makes us dumb privates. Maybe they try to keep us ignorant so they can continue to have the power? It's not really that they physically abuse us. It's not that they ask us to do impossible things here. It's the fact that they have the power. And they continually remind us.

See if you do something wrong you get smoked. A smoking usually consist of 20 minutes or so of good old fashion aerobic activity. Front lean and rest position. Move. The frogger. The bicycle. Flutter kicks. The crab walk. You see exercise could be fun if you do it yourself. But if you are forced to, it sucks. The same with this eight hour CQ detail today. You see I would usually sit on my ass for eight hours on a Sunday, but the fact that I'm forced to, makes it mentally challenging. Power. Control. All issues they make you deal with by throwing it in your face. Constantly.

Letter of Resignation

2006-04-06T19:57:00.000-07:00

Dreams and goals on the horizon. Here is my resignation reflection. Whole lots of folks, set in their ways. Not full of life. Just wanting to stay. Biding their time. To pay on their mortgage. Walking the line. Playing dress up for their porridge.

I've been a puppet. My strings have been pulled. I do my little dance. With smiles all about town. You put me in my box and you opened a wound. Dangled your cheese in front of my mouth. On with my life. On with my dreams. I resigned today. Never look back. Always look forward.

Not knowing what the future holds. Not knowing what it will bring. But knowing that in three months, I will be well in to it. Another place of work with different politics. I will learn everyday, to add to my skill set. Life will go on, as it always does. I will work to make my mark. And I will work to be proud of it.

Click my mouse.

2006-04-05T19:04:00.000-07:00

I sit at my cubicle and scratch my head. Pick my nose. Look at my watch. Check my email. I hear multiple voices behind me. They are all talking to a coworker who sits behind me. I can't think because they do this all day. She needs her own office. I stick in earplugs so I can filter them out of my head. My buddy who was fired last Friday burnt me a C.D. with a ton of really great MP3s. M. Ward is my new favorite band. I think about his music. It's melodic, like a folk singer. I heard a really good Bob Dylan song the other day called the Masters of War. It is very relevant to today's current events.

I wonder when the work will get to me so I can do it. The Art Director has not farmed me any of the Photoshop files. I'm getting very little guidance on this project from anyone. The deadlines are getting closer. My wife is packing all day because we are moving into a new house on Saturday. This is life. This is reality. My baby girl is getting bigger. She's getting harder to pick up. I look at the clock again to see what time it is. I think of my buddy who got fired on Friday. About my buddy who quit last month. About all of the people who have left the company lately.

I wonder what I will be doing a year from now. Where will I be living? My baby girl will be talking by then, almost. My wife and I want to live around more culture. A larger city. A larger job market. I want to do great creative work. Do wonderful things. Work on great projects. Learn as much as I can. Technology is growing too quickly to keep up with it. I have to specialize on what aspect of it I really want to learn. Get really good at that one thing. Learn as much as I can. No one appreciates art. No one appreciates a creative background. Not in Jacksonville.

I think about my time in Brooklyn. How hard it was. About my time in the Army. Think how glad I am that I don't have to clean toilets after my shift is over. Think about how far I have come. Think about how far I have to go. Evolve. Every day. I get an overwhelming urge to go to the bathroom. I hold it as long as I can. I check my email. I check my blog site. I turn up the volume on Windows Media Player. I think about the deadline getting closer. Having to work here this weekend. Having to sleep here.

The camera would be stationed behind my computer chair. You would never see my face. Just the back of my head. I would type. Click my mouse. And you would hear what I was thinking. It would not be funny. It would not be glamorous. It would be reality. Mundane. Quotidian. Every day. Average. Life. This is my reality show.

Do you want to watch?

I voted for Elliot

2006-04-04T18:38:00.000-07:00

I voted tonight for my Idol. He has the most talent. Gifted. Uncontested talent. Maybe not the best looking. But he can belt out a tune almost as good as Sinatra. Most likely, he will not win. The good guy never does. Right? Talent goes undiscovered. Such is life. Maybe parents should prepare their children for that reality sooner. Remind them that Hollywood is Hollywood. Movies are not realistic.

My baby girl is babbling now. She is forming language skills everyday. I growl at her like a dog. She's used to it by now. We are animals after all. I'm getting her ready for the grueling road ahead. If she gets picked up by a pack of wild dogs she will already speak the language. The wolves will give her a better life even. She will learn life skills. How to hunt. Make a shelter. Hide from predators. I will teach her human social skills. How to throw a ball. Click a mouse. Maybe I can instill in her that she is not as special as my generation was programmed to think. The ME generation.

Maybe I can teach her that she must find fulfillment and mental health outside of the television. Outside of Hollywood. Outside of what our society deems worthy, attractive, and talented. Maybe I can teach her that she is special and unique by her own self defined values? Maybe I can teach her to stand up straight, take a deep breathe and know that her own self worth is held by herself not by others?

That she can redefine herself daily. Also, if she is lucky I will teach her to hide from predators (as soon as I learn to myself), and click a mouse at the same time. Be the primitive modern. The walking paradox. Be the thinking, knowing opposite that is mankind.

I can see, hear and smell you

2006-04-02T15:08:00.000-07:00

All my friends are virtual. I project them from my phone and there they are in my living room. Sometimes I drink and have dinner with old friends from college by projecting their image into my dining room. I love this new technology. Holographic Voice Video Imaging has really changed the way I perceive the worlds.

The last H.V.V.I. device to come out had an advanced upgrade. We can now smell what we see and hear. There are over two hundred scent variations that can be mixed to fit any visual or auditory occasion. Sometimes we have our friends over from Portland, some 3000 miles away for dinner. Very rarely are we eating the same meal, but with a little planning the same recipe can be eaten on both distant ends.

This technology has really taken our idea of community to a new level. I feel as if my friends are really sitting next to me. It's the next best thing to having flesh and bone friends. I've heard stories recently of some tribes in the Antarctic that have never met anyone from the outside world yet have received Ivy League college degrees through H.V.V.I. They can go to class and see, hear and smell the same input that students can that are actually there.

Being there has become overrated. Attendance at athletic events has decreased fifty percent in the last year. You can now be anywhere you want and be with anyone you want from the comfort of your own home. Who would argue that physical contact or physical experience is any better? H.V.V.I. is now said to have helped correct global warming as gasoline emissions have been cut drastically with the advent of this new technology.

My life has really changed dramatically. I had felt an absence in the last couple of decades with the Internet becoming my main means of communication between friends and family. Now we feel as if we are sitting right next to each other. Thank you technology. Thank you Internet. Thank you for giving me my friends back. I knew it was only a matter of time before technology and community would unite.

Flesh and Bone Friends

2006-04-01T16:36:00.000-08:00

One of my best friends got fired today. He sat in the cubicle next to me. We would throw spit balls over the cubicle wall and we would call each other on the phone even though we were close enough to hear each other whisper. We would go to lunch every other day and he would order, "A no.1 with cheese with a large lemonade please." Everyday the same order. Little things about him made coming to work fun.

He will move away. We will not see each other anymore except for the occasional chance meeting a few years from now. All communication from now on will be through the internet or by phone. I would have liked him to see my daughter grow up. See his family. Have barbecues. Grow old with him. Along with many other friends of old that have gotten misplaced along the information superhighway of life.

When will community become reality? When will I have friends that I really want to talk to and really know and grow with? When will these friends live within walking distance? The job market has become so specialized these days that folks have to go where the jobs are. And the jobs are not here.

I want to surround myself with flesh and bone friends. I wept last night. I wept knowing that our friendship was at a crossroads. My wife comforted me. It was an odd moment. I believe that the internet does allow us to stay connected in ways that would have never been possible even a decade ago. But there is something missing also. When will my community be physical again, and not virtual? I thank you internet, but I question your motives. There is something missing in my life and I want to fix it.

Broken Mirrors

2006-03-31T11:34:00.000-08:00

Nostalgia. Looking in mirrors and seeing ghosts. Ghost of the past haunt hard. When families were together. When both of your parents were alive. When the future was the future not the now. A child reflecting about whom he would be as a man. I would have a flat top and of course be a tough guy that no one would mess with or suffer the consequences. I would wear a tie and carry a briefcase to work every day. I would not take the lord’s name in vain, ever. Solid. Trustworthy. Dependable.

With all that said, the future will bite you on the ass. It will sneak up and put you in a burlap sack and beat you until you are black and blue. Time is elusive. We are transient energy floating on a rock in space. I do not wear ties to work. I do not carry a briefcase. I win my battles not with my fist but with my words. I have broadened my definition of myself. Learned to be flexible with my self discovery. However, I am still trying to be solid, trustworthy, and dependable. Still trying. Are you?

thinning out the herd

2006-03-30T11:46:00.000-08:00

I’ve never been popular. I walked by all the kids
in the hall at school. The jocks. The preps. The alternatives.
The surfers. The nerds. I saw them all and they saw me, but I just
kept on walking.

I have looked for a sense of community my whole life. Belonging.
How is this sense of community accomplished?
The groups begin to select who they want in the group.
Who is a valid part of the group? Who has something to add to the group?

A group is comprised of those who have common goals
and vision. To a teenager it might be seen as similar clothing
or taste in music. To a soldier it might be seen as similar
career goals or places of origin.

Community is what you make of it. A community can be physical,
mental, or virtual. Or a mix of all three. I am engaged in the process
of inventing my community. To surround myself with like minds. To
surround myself with inspiration.

There must come a time in our lives when we select from the population our own group. Where we define ourselves by the company we keep. If you are not with me on this journey, you are not against me. But you are not one of me. You define yourself as such. I see you as such.

Delete function in progress.

Ace is Dreamy

2006-03-29T11:18:00.000-08:00

Feeling flat. Flat to give. Flat to take. Running
out of gas. Running on empty. The fuel light is on
and you just want to see how far you can go.
How far can I go on empty?

I feel like I’ve given so much. But it’s never enough. Never enough
when you feel there is so much more to give. So much
more to aspire to.

Feeling the Monday blues on Wednesday.
I haven’t invested enough time in this process or that process.
Never enough. Always more.

I’m hooked. I’m twitching. Twitching to do more. Be
more. See more. Experience more. Weaned on Atari.
Programmed by Nintendo.

And cracked out on Reality T.V.
I rush home for it. I schedule my night around it. Becoming a
statistic. Just another number. And loving every minute of it.
Ace is dreamy. Paris is sassy. Elliot can really sing.
Mandesa has soul. Taylor is a real musician. And I’m just
watching. Hanging on ever minute. Every high and low note.

The reality is we have a war still going on. I don’t make enough to buy a house.
My health can be an issue at any moment. There will most definitely be another terrorist attack in the U.S. The planet is over populated. My career isn’t going quite the way I would have hoped. But thankfully I have a wonderful new born baby girl and a loving wife.

We don’t know where we will be one year from now, or even tomorrow. But on Tuesday night my show comes on. And we can count on that. We can count on not thinking. Not worrying for an hour. And stop everything with 40 million other viewers and watch American Idol while everything keeps going on around, in and about us. Globally. Politically. Strategically. Environmentally. The world keeps on a changing.

Change may be constant. But when one becomes inundated with it on a daily basis human coping mechanisms seem to tune out what is important and turn on what isn’t. And the wonderful thing about it is, I am not ashamed. I have something to look forward to.

Ace is dreamy. Paris is sassy. Elliot can really sing.
Mandesa has soul. Taylor is a real musician. And I’m just
watching. Hanging on ever minute. Every high and low of life.

TGIM

2006-03-27T10:29:00.000-08:00

Words move outside vast systems. Merge loyalties. Draw relationships.
Cover warm bodies. Protect from winter winds.

Sleep in this weekend. Miss you. Need you. In this place. Misplaced because one and one makes three.

One and one makes you and me and together we make three.

Enjoy simple pleasures. Return here asap. Healthy. And wealthy and well put together.

Host

2006-03-26T08:03:00.000-08:00

Teeth grabbing food like fingers. Touching everything with sensitive
wonderings. Teeth like fingers of an infant in my mouth. Bleeding. Pain.

Build up scrubbed and picked dry. I had my teeth cleaned today. It was a massacre. Four years of decay clinging to my insides.

Growing and building their forts. To take over. One tooth at a time. Building a castle in me. Offense. Defense.

Gums bleeding for the battle was long and nonmedicated. Four years of tooth decay scrubbed bare leaving sensitive teeth to touch food with bare infant fingers.

We are life forms hosting other life forms. Living on a life form who is hosting other life forms. And no one wants to leave here without a fight. Not even bacteria.

Weather Report

2006-03-25T18:15:00.000-08:00

Blowing wind. This weekend. Cold and breezy with a 100% chance of chill. To the bone.

Phone home when you get a chance. So we can advance our plans of the future. Of the creature comforts we seek and will find.

Find you miles away. But mentally close to my thoughts. To my interests. Invested and saved. Closely watched and cherished. Always.

the revolution will be downloaded

2006-03-22T20:39:00.000-08:00

Cross platform browser issues tie up time.
My time. Not your time.
You go online and browse on your dime.

How useful.
How powerful. Everything I need.
How wonderful.
As I build it each day so my family can feed.

Blood, sweat and mental tears.
On browser ranks.
Blood, sweat and mental tears.
On browser tanks.

.jpeg, or .gif, or. png?
As I slice and I dice and I build out my sites.
As I download, and upload and FTP.

I believe in it's purpose to bring us together. I believe in it's evolution that it will live forever.Bring us into a place where ideas are power. Where we can find unity and meaning and a sense of community. All dictatorships will soon fold because terror and evil are against our plan.The plan of the simple hardworking common man. Because every voice will be heard and no atrocities will stand. Blog on.

One click. One voice. One Internet under God.

error. delete.

2006-03-21T16:40:00.000-08:00

this operating system has an error. this program has found a mass thesize of a walnut in it's right hard drive. time is not healing this error.time is not detecting any more errors. the error is not growing.

insurance coverage for the operating sytem is good. other companies will not except programs with past errors. it is necessary to have insurance on all software and hardware. the error has not caused operating issues. the error has not proven to be an issue.

should the error be erased. deleted. this operating system has an error. this program has found a mass thesize of a walnut in it's right hard drive. time is not healing this error. time is not detecting any more errors. the error is not growing.

insurance coverage for the operating sytem is good. other comapanies will not except programs with past errors. it is necessary to have insurance on all software and hardware. the error has not caused operating issues. the error has not proven to be an issue.
should the error be erased. deleted.

scribble dribble.

2006-03-20T18:27:00.000-08:00

Reading between the lines that bind the time that holds it all together. I sat in traffic today and drew lines with graphite precision describing the animals and species that do not exist on this planet. History channel had it nailed. They didn't have hands, and they saw with their ears.

I scribbled and saw animals and mother and child and everything in a scribble dribble. I heard today on NPR that America should not go to war with Iran. I heard we should get out of Iraq. No one knows how any of this can be avoided. Our gas is going to shoot up to eight dollars a gallon. The world population is tripling as we get more hooked on reality T.V. Hooked on apathy. Hooked on the now. The reality is that we are not prepared for the future.

The reality is that we need to get off of this planet and start a new human population before it's too late. We do not have enough soil or resources to fuel our growth. The truth is, that it will get worse before it gets better.

You can count on that... And that American Idol will have more viewers tomorrow night, than America had voters in the the last Presidential election. Priority here. Priority now.

Genes

2006-03-18T10:01:00.000-08:00

My dad was a coach.
My dad was a Marine.
My dad fought in Korea.

My dad made a difference.
He taught kids to never give up.
To keep on trying.

My dad was a man.
He believed in God.
He believed in morality.

My dad is dead.
I am alive.
I will never give up.

Mickey King Park

Work Space

2006-03-17T16:11:00.000-08:00

I was really poor back then.

I lived out of my car for a few days to get my bearings. I had to go. I was young, and you only live once. Right? New York. Brooklyn. It gets under your skin. There is something about that city. And there is something about moving there with nothing and knowing that anything could come true. There is something about being on the train and seeing all of that humanity. All of that culture. And know they are all doing it. Making it happen one day at a time.

I lived in a warehouse in Williamsburg. I didn't have any heat and it was a cold winter. I rented a work space and I wasn't really allowed to live there so the whole thing was sort of sneaky and adventurous. The landlord would knock on my door at 2:00 AM because he saw the lights on and wondered if anyone was there. I would have to wake up and rush to the door and act like I was in the middle of some large project and was pulling an all nighter. He knew what was up. I was really poor back then.

There was no shower, and the toilet was down the hallway. I showered at the Metropolitan gym ten blocks away. So needless to say I didn't shower every day. As I said earlier it got cold that winter. In the teens. I had plastic wrap for window pains. My dad had given me an old military sleeping bag, and that was the only thing that kept me from freezing to death that winter. Literally. I had all of my kitchen supplies in a big blue plastic Rubbermaid box. It doubled as my only piece of furniture. I could sit on it, and use it as a table. I had a hot plate in it, and ate noodles and tuna almost every meal.

Sometimes I was so broke that I walked around the block looking for change in order to get something to eat. I had such faith in my purpose and reason for being that I felt that I would always be taken care of. And I was. When I looked for change I always found it. Always enough to get by. Always enough to make it through to the next day. I was really poor back then.

I was so alive back then.

My New York Photos

Landscaping

2006-03-16T11:28:00.000-08:00

I grew up in a house in Mississippi. A year or so ago I went by it, and the present owners had cut all of the trees down that I used to play in when I was a kid. All of the trees. The whole yard had trees. Oak trees, and pine trees. They are all gone now.

I used to climb this old Magnolia tree that my folks planted when I was around two years old. It grew like wild fire and by the time I was able to climb it, it was thirty feet high with strong thick branches. I would climb it and swing from it like a damn monkey. When I was up there I would pretend that no one could see me. That I was the look out. That I was a soldier, or lion, or something hiding. Something ferocious. It made me feel like I had a place to go that was mine.

My dad also built us a fort that went up three stories, with bunk beds and electricity in those same trees. There was even a working phone, and a cable swing that ran a hundred feet or so to another tree. It allowed me to be full of dreams. It allowed me to live in a fantasy world.

There were also some bushes that ran along the fence on the side yard that were thick and you could just disappear in them. I used to hide in there and make believe I was a hunter as I tried fruitlessly, to kill birds with my Daisy pump pellet rifle. All of this happened in those trees.

All of those trees are gone now.

Burnt Apple Pie

2006-03-15T11:26:00.000-08:00

You can see the apple pie cooling off in the window. Your clothes are out to dry on the clothes line outside. A smooth breeze blows over the hillside and through your house and rattles the front screen door. You can hear your kids playing in the backyard. The bark of a dog off in the distance. No sounds of automobiles. No sounds of anything or anyone but people you wish to surround yourself with.

Humble. Peaceful. Your birth right. All in this simple ideal. Land. Liberty. Space. Having a secure area to raise your children and grow your vegetables. I dream of this. I dream of having enough money to afford a home with a porch with a yard. I dream of finding this ideal and making it true. Of having my little piece of Americana that I can call my own. Apple Pie. White Picket Fence and all.

I dream of an economy that pays its workers enough to afford the simple pleasures of its ancestors. This is my birth right. This is your birth right. Seize it.

Mornings

2006-03-14T14:14:00.000-08:00

Setting elaborate traps to fill in the gaps of I want to walk on water, of I want to wake up with a smile. Hating mornings. Hating the mundane transfer of energy on an exaggerated repetitive stance. Standing in morning formation. Standing up tall and straight in uniform with your boots shined waiting for inspection. Waiting for your turn.

Waiting to find it. Looking for it everywhere. In the clouds. In other's input and output. That something that makes it all worth while for a while. Can't put it into words. Can't describe it. But when you see it, when you feel it, you know it. I see it in my baby girl's eyes. I feel it in my love for my wife. I want to be surrounded by it. Bath in it. Drink it in.

Another morning.

tick tock

2006-03-13T11:17:00.000-08:00

Time constant. Elaborate on time. Time on my heels. Time a ticking. Clicking away the hours of productive input and output. Love thy neighbor. Love thy family. Love all around. Time is the enemy and living one moment at a time is constant, fixed and necessary. Focus. Focus on your family. On your health. On your now. It's fleeting. Hold on to it. Grab it. Don't let it get away.

Organize time. Chart it. List it. Fold it up and put it in your pocket. So you don't lose track of it. So you don't lose track of your child growing up before your eyes. So you don't lose track of your partner's needs, wishes, and desires. So you don't lose track of your needs, wishes, and desires.

Guaranteed, if you lose track of time it will lose track of you.

Time. Time. Time. Is not on your side. Yes it is.

Time. Time. Time. Is not on your side. Yes it is.

The sun will come out...

2006-03-11T13:42:00.000-08:00

River Run Fun. Pack it on. You can wait all year to run. You only need to run this weekend and then it can validate all of your slothful ways.

March Madness fatness. Drink it up. Let's make as many excuses as possible to drink, eat and be merry. You can drink for every game. You can drink two pitchers of beer, and eat 30 buffalo wings today. Because tomorrow is another day.

Be wary. Wary of excuses. Excuses not to exercise good judgement. Living for tomorrow when your diet will begin. Tomorrow morning when you'll start your exercise routine, again. Tomorrow morning when you'll do something constructive, again. Tomorrow morning when you'll make the right choices, again.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I'll start a new life Tomorrow. Tomorrow's a brand new day.

Operating System

2006-03-10T10:50:00.000-08:00

Let me look at my Availability. Do I have the bandwidth for this? Can we work it into our workflow. Into our timetable. Into our functional unit. We are all execution units. We are the source code. We look at the human-readable binary data and extract it's core. It's said that text files have a low entropy rate, and that the data is necessary and sufficient. That we can believe in if and only if logic. That it is connective between statements.

Which means that the truth of either one of the statements requires the truth of the other. Thus, either both statements are true, or both are false. So there is a black and white. There is a wrong and right. Some things are sacred. Some things are real. Some things are objective.

You can trust in that. You can believe in that.

Click

2006-03-09T18:51:00.000-08:00

The power to change things. The power to transmit data and ideas and communicate. The power to reach out and touch someone through the transfer of Megs and Gigs and interface with your yourself and others. You do it all day and don't realize how often.

It populates your daily soundtrack. It is the sound of work being done. It is the sound of interfacing with your world. It has all come down to this. Millions of years of evolution. It can extend your body and mind and soul. It can instantly give you the power to reach, teach, and entertain. It gives you the power to build and destroy relationships.

With the power of this. With the power of this, click . . . click. click.

on hold

2006-03-09T15:19:00.000-08:00

Hurry up and wait. Sitting on it. Sit right there in that chair at your desk. We want it now and we want it yesterday. Rushing to multitask. Click. Send an email. Answer the phone. When did you want this by? I'm almost done. That's not fast enough. Click. Take on more. More. More jobs. More promises.

I can do it. Click. Almost done. Click. Click.Quality? Quantity? Choose your poison... I want quality. I want to pad the timetable. I want to be realistic. Let's be realistic... Let's tell people what we can do and what we can't do.You finish the job. You send an email. Click. Click. The job is done. The fire is out.

The response: No response. Click. Click. No response.

Hyrule Memories

2006-03-06T17:52:00.000-08:00

Group Think controls imagination and Fairy tales. Write legends. Remember playing The Legend of Zelda at twelve years old on a summer afternoon. Rubbing your thumbs raw after hours of joystick pistol clicking. Packing on the weight eating Doritos. Tuning it all out as you explored Hyrule.

Rockstar game designers are shaping our cultures one first person shooter, one role playing game at a time. Making fantasies in 3-d wireframe environs they are teaching children to escape their realities. Teaching children to to live inside thier heads. Inside their imaginations.

Teaching soldiers how to kill and fight in an urban settings. Teaching soldiers to not shoot the innocents. Teach soldiers that there isn't anything friendly about friendly fire.

Teach us all. Teach us to believe in ourselves again. Use your technologies to evolve us, shape us, make us into our Utopian potential. Clean again. One again. Alive again. One video game under God.

Things

2006-03-06T15:17:00.000-08:00

Rush. Drive. Traffic. Sit. Click. Click.
Input. Output. Data flying through endless
constants. Constant improvement. Constantly
wanting more. Constantly consuming. More data.
More input. More output. Dump it. Save it.
Recycle it.

More things. All around you. Things
in your closet. Things on your desk. Things
in your garbage. Saving it for that rainy day. When
winter comes and you will need twelve sweaters.
Ten jackets. Ten pair of shoes.

Sip coffee.
Click. Click. Waiting till this work day is over to
get more things. Store more things. Dispose of more
things. Click. Click. .... Click.

The Waiting Room

2006-03-04T08:26:00.000-08:00

Flesh and bone and spirit. Strong from years of toughing it out and dealing with the pain. Dealing with doctors. Waiting rooms. Living with it. Living with knowing that you have a medical issue. That the doctors can only slow the process. You must wake up and know that things will get better. You must wake up and know that the end is not near. That things will get better even if realistically they won't.

Realism is not acceptable here.

Believe in science. Believe in the progression of new technologies.
Believe in stem cells and nanobots. In miracles. Believe in science fiction.
Believe in science faction.

There is the glimmer of hope that something will take and ten years from now a cure will be found. But never give up. We all know someone who lives with a medical issue. We all hope that their issue will be resolved. Rarely do we think that the end is near or what if it gets worse? We rarely believe that the issue is real until the end is near. Hold on to that hope. Hold on to the What Ifs.

What if it's not as bad as the doctors say it is?
What if it's not really as bad as I think it is?
What if science finds a cure tomorrow?
What if I will learn what I can while I am here and make the most of it?
What if it is all just a test?

What if I just live each day to the fullest regardless?

What if?

First Order Logic

2006-03-03T19:36:00.000-08:00

Value semiotics. Lexical linguistics. Acrolect ritual rites of passage puberty, weddings, menopause, and death. The liminality of the social class occupation is disambiguation. Parsing Programming languages and Data structures into one Algorithm is of further consideration. A Bachelor's degree in first order logic is undecidable if any quantification or uniqueness quantification would be desirable.

Because I am attempting to formalise the notion of something being true.

Attempting to formalise the notion of the me and you. Seeing the structure and all it's housing. Seeing the compact plastic shell of voided refunds and coupons collected attempting to save pennies and time. Time being now. Saving time. Saving me. Saving you.

In mathematics and logic, the phrase "there is one and only one" is associated with unique existence. There is one and only one, and that one is you.

The Daily Program

2006-03-02T20:19:00.000-08:00

Work fosters growth through group collective. Amass wealth through buying into the company. Buying into this way of life. The believers know who they are. The believers know who you are. You are either one of ours, or you are one of theirs.

Group think leads decision protocols.

Write new program to run system without group queries. Identity protocol in question. Reboot operating system. There is a syntax that ends with the wrong if - then statement. The logic is construed.

There will be a time when we all will wake up and realize that we do not know who we are.
There will be a time when we all will wake up and realize that we do not need the group to maintain original thought.
There will be a time when we will want something more from life than being force feed our identities by our daily programming.
There will be a time when we see the wrongs in the world and we try to correct them.
There will be a time when we repeat the error.
There will be a time when it is too late to correct the program.

Scan disk in process. End program identifiers.

Cutting Strings

2006-03-01T19:19:00.000-08:00

Invisible strings been holding things.
Together. Sinking ships a float, bloat and
swell, and blow holes in young talent's brains.
Drain union workers who died for 40 hours
a week. Expectations of our grandfather's
fathers burnt asunder for the almighty dollar
and dreams of making it big one day.

Invisible strings been holding us together,
dangling. Dangling mortgages, jobs, futures
choices controlled by an ignorant few. Who place
the moneys of the their few above the moneys of
their crew. Invisible strings can disappear and
then it will all unravel. Invisible strings been
stitching this thing together, but not forever.

This Time...

2006-02-28T20:42:00.000-08:00

Cries through stucco walls. Cries of hunger. Milk pumped, pulse system, correct errors, immune system strengthens, fever burns. Blood. Crawling through carpet spills, spit up, drink, spit up. Grab glasses, groan, grunt, and moan. Life.

Time pulses. Pump evolution of story into bone, flesh, hair, grow with breath roll toys walk soon. Masterpiece of all things good and pure rolled up in you. Genetic make-up carry on life's seed, need this to go on. Thank you, for you. Thank you for giving us another chance. To do it right this time. To make sure you get what you need this time. To prove that we are worth-while this time.

We have made our mark with you. With your groans, moans, chrome dome skin pure fullness, of fruit of earth of all the potential of everything. When the time comes we will look back and we will see you. All the memories of you, and we will laugh with you, because you made it all come true, sweet pure child of mine. Sweet pure child this time.

Building a Village

2006-02-26T09:13:00.000-08:00

(A young Army Private was once asked while standing in formation by his Drill Sergeant, "What is the hardest thing to find." The Private sounded off loudly, "To find happiness Drill Sergeant." The Drill Sergeant immediately called him a faggot and made him do push ups. The Drill Sergeant's answer was to be a leader. He was obviously insulted by the Private's answer. Strangely the whole formation didn't laugh at the Private's answer, as they were miserable and happiness seemed a distant dream in their current setting. As that Private came down the next morning for formation at 5:30 A.M. he noticed someone had written on the chalk board in the barracks front lobby, Happiness is Elusive. It seemed someone had been listening.)

Not knowing. Not knowing what the future holds. Where you will be tomorrow? Where you will live for the rest of your life? Wanting the best for your family. The best schools and social environment for your children. The least stressful environment for yourself and loved ones. Trying to surround yourself with family and friends that support you, love you and help you to grow mentally, spiritually, and creatively.

This should be easily attainable. You will need a village. A village where your friends and loved ones live. A village where your skills and talents are needed in order for the village to prosper. A village where you can find happiness without taking medication. Where you don't need a pill to level you out. A village that naturally levels you out.

Where you can depend on and trust your neighbors. A place where you don't have to lock your front door at night. A place where you aren't worried about your kids playing outside. A place where you aren't worried about retirement, because you know you will be supported and not abandoned.

Find this, and you will find happiness, Drill Sergeant. If you find this, then come find me. I will be the first to follow.

Title Wave

2006-02-24T21:34:00.000-08:00

The revolution is upon us, and it started with this bloke named Billy. Billy realized he had a voice. Realized that his life spent working for the power plant, and his time spent at Off Track Betting was interesting. That his 25 year old tiger tattoo really did mean something and that the pain was real. That it talked to him when he got it, and it talked to others at the bar when he showed it off. Even though, he picked it out of a book and it very closely resembled clip art.

Billy realized he had a voice. He might not be special, but he is Billy, and there is only one of him. So damn. I guess he's special. And in collecting his thoughts and writing a sentence or two of English, although it be broken and bastardized, he feels validated. And somehow it all becomes worth while for a while. His mark can be made. One word at a time. And the interesting thing is, that he has a following. That there are a thousand folks like him reading his blog while sitting in their trailers using their mom's old 400Mhz Dell, cursing to themselves because they are still using dial-up.

As they read, they realize that they are not alone. That they too, have a very similar tiger tattoo, and that they picked it out of a very similar book at a very similar tattoo parlor. The only striking difference is, that their tiger tattoo has a very different story and it too, is just as significant.

Ivory Pedestals

2006-02-24T19:01:00.000-08:00

Do a little dance. Do a little song. American Idol is on tonight. Human combustion machine seen on boob tube glossy miracles of I believe in the dream of I can get the record contract. Of I can be famous. That I can be rescued from my meaningless pointless repetition of 9-5 constants. Of winning the lotto. Of my ship coming in. Vote for me America. Vote for my bleached smile, and surfer haircut. Vote for my boyish good looks. I want to be talked about around water coolers and coffee machines in company break rooms for this entire T.V. season. I want you to tune out your everyday repetitive life and focus on me. I can be your savior. I can be your idol placed on ivory pedestals holding up your 50 inch flat panel, next to your plans of expanding your Florida room because you don't have room for the jacuzzi . . . and the pool table.

You can talk of me when your family gathers for Thanksgiving. We can reminisce about times spent huddled around having family time while you saw my shooting star and grabbed it. And for one moment we were all united. George Washington was watching tonight. He was proud of us as we came together for a moment to see that the roads really are paved with gold. That the roads really are paved with opportunity. Of there being wonderful things here in this country for believers. Our cup does runneth over. Tonight we had the chance to unite and combine our hopes and dreams into one person's future. One person's dreams. We can make them. We can break them. We have a choice. We have a vote. And this time, it does make a difference.

Atmosphere

2006-02-24T08:24:00.000-08:00

Click. Click.....Click. Phone ringing. Layered sound. Air conditioning whining. Coughing in distance. Someone cursing to themselves. Phone ringing. Outlook alerts you to another email. Click. Click.....Click.

Car goes by outside. Air conditioning is whining. Bellowing. Typing all around. Forced, angry typing. Click. Click.....Click. Laughter in distance. Mouse clicking. All mouses clicking. Another car goes by outside on the interstate. Lunch time is near. Papers being shuffled. Click. Click. Click. Typing. Deliberate thoughtful clicking. Someone cursing in the distance.

Phone ringing in the distance. Car goes by on the interstate. Air condition is whining. Someone drops their pen. Someone uses their stapler. A piece of paper is being crinkled up to be thrown away. Another piece of paper is being crinkled up to be thrown away. Someone is talking about a new job order they just got in the cubicle next to you. Laughing about a story about when they were in school. About how good it was back then. Someone is ripping a piece of paper out of a notebook.

This is your life. Listen....

Drowning Slowly

2006-02-22T18:10:00.000-08:00

Crowded into a lunchbox that has fleas, maggots, and the occasional smoke alarm detector not going off with smoke filling your room, filling your throat, filling your lungs, while you are taking a nap and trying not to think about your problems. This is my apartment.

Sometimes it is best to pay a little extra for quality. That would be a good idea for Wal-Mart shoppers to remember as their purchase puts out another mom and pop shop and pushes more of the American dollar's overseas. I am laughing. Laughing at the cheapest price point. Me, I'm a slave to the cheapest price point. How can one really pay more when you are living paycheck to paycheck, and your baby girl has fleas on her face that have snuck inside from wild dogs that run around in the backyard alley?

We woke up today with our kitchen sink overflowed from the upstairs neighbors mop bucket being dumped into the sink above. Maggots were all in the water, and they began to crawl up the kitchen wall. However, our lunchbox is covered in vinyl and has wonderful character. It' a Spanish lunch box with red trim on a really interesting street. We wake up some nights and can't breathe due to mold being pumped from the walls after years of growth. It's a feeling like drowning. Breathing liquid. Breathing water. Breathe in your life. It is all around you.

Drilling

2006-02-21T06:30:00.000-08:00

Into your eyes. Into your ears. Into your head. Into your mind. Over and over. Over. Over. Nagging. Nagging. Buzzing. Buzzing. Piercing. A Piercing flock of gnats flying around your head. Slicing through your mind. All at once. It is cutting. It is burning. Slicing through your mental landscape. You try earplugs, mp3 players. Space. Pure Space. Wall space. Pillow space.

Try and tune it out. Piercing. Nagging. Buzzing. Over and over. Over and over. Slicing through your physical landscape. No thoughts can manifest, but escape. You can't Hide. You can't Run. It grows louder. Louder. Louder. Hours. Hours and hours. It controls you. It breaks you. It makes you. Welcome to the sounds of your seven month old infant girl. Your little angel. Welcome to parenthood.

If You Tried

2006-02-20T19:07:00.000-08:00

Pipe dreams. Of having talent.
Of working in your field and folks taking notice.
Of your opinion being worth something.

Pipe dreams. Of waking up and loving what you
do for a living. Of being excited to go to work.
Of not living for retirement.

Pipe dreams. Of not being controlled by fear.
Of not making the logical choice. Of following your heart.

Pipe dreams. Because you think you are not
special. Because a thousand people are waiting
to fill your shoes. Because you are scared of the unknown.

Pipe dreams. Because fear is the controlling factor.
Because you don't know anything else. Because you don't
act on your dreams.

Pipe dreams. Because you don't have enough money.
Because you chose to stay close to your family.
Because what if you didn't make it if you tried?

The Citizen's Test

2006-02-19T10:19:00.000-08:00

Ranting. Panting. I have an opinion and it's always correct. I listen to NPR. I know Bush lied. I know there were no weapons of mass destruction. I know it was all to get their oil. To take care of something daddy started and didn't finish.

Or do I really? Do I know anything? Should I be entitled to an opinion when I don't have anything to back it up? Should I believe in the news I get that is filtered and stained then spoon fed to the starving uneducated American public.
I am an empty vessel.

I should have no opinion on politics, because I am uneducated on social problems, and current events. I cannot form an intelligent opinion. I am a reflection of the image of the typical American, raised by television, drive-thru's, and Nintendo, not by Shakespeare, or Socrates. We are a crowd easily incensed, easily disturbed, whose opinions are easily vocalized.

We are not well read. We are not tracking current events in Jerusalem, the former Soviet Union, or even in our own backyards. What gives us the right to voice our opinion or even to vote?

We should all have to take a test. A citizen's test. A test for all Americans who want to voice their opinion. It should be given annually and cover our country's history and the year's past current events. If opinions are like assholes we would have a lot less assholes, and possibly a more educated public opinion.

This change would be drastic, but would help to educate the public and help to enforce a standard of intelligence that could help to propagate the revolution we all yearn for. Be it to the left or to the right. Democracy has the potential to breed ignorance unless our citizens intelligence is policed.

The Golden Warrior

2006-02-18T13:56:00.000-08:00

I'm a warrior. Like a mythical warrior with golden locks of hair. My armor is thick. Really thick. And I battle body copy, price points,and legal all day. Sometimes I walk into a conference room, and I can overhear people say, "there is the mythical warrior with golden locksof hair." I blush. It's hard to take sometimes. But when my pricepoints ring true $14.99, $19.99, for the first three months, I can't help but think how much worse the world would be if people had to pay the full price for those first three months.

Sometimes when I'm migrating databases, and talking to programmers I think maybe I'll use some of my magical powers of mind persuasion and make this programmer work faster, and then I hold back. I know that that would be against the mythical warrior with golden locks of hair code of honor. When I was sworn into the legion I knew that this was it for me. That I had found my calling. That I had finally found a group of warriors who all had golden locks of hair like me, and really thick armor. It's hard to find people with the same hair and same armor.

And then when we do the secret hand shake which entails shaking hands while reciting the best way to make a selection in Photoshop, which of course is by using the pen tool to draw your selection, going into the path window then choosing make selection, I knew that I could take on the world. I could take on all the price points. That the logos and body copy would be so easily dealt with knowing that I had the backing of the mythical warriors with golden locks of hair. But then one day, there was this price point. It glistened. $29.99. It was way too much for me to handle. I had been very lonely battling price points. I was overcome by a strange attraction to its height, and the way it wrapped just right in a certain block of copy. The Art Director had put a wonderful gradient in it, that made it just pop out against all the other price points.

I didn't know what to think of myself. I had been programmed for so long that I was never to take allegiance with a price point. That they were evil, and that my job would be more complicated as amythical warrior with golden locks of hair, if I took sides with any price points, logos, body copy, or legal. But I could not contain myself. And then it happened, my golden hair started to fall out. It all fell out, all of the gold and all of the locks.

And then one day I got the invitation to the annual mythical warrior with golden locks of hair pep rally. That morning came, and it was hard to get out of bed. What would they think of me now, without my golden hair? What would they think of my bedding down with $29.99. We had started living together, and I had a dresser drawer over at$29.99's apartment next to the legal copy. I could put my really thick armor in the drawer when we engaged in relations. Sometimes I knocked her dollar sign right off. It was nice.

I felt like I had finally found what I had been looking for all this time battling logos, price points, body copy, and legal copy. I didn't care anymore. I didn't have golden locks of hair, but I went to the meeting anyway. Hand in hand with my price point, with that wonderful gradient. The dollar sign of $29.99 was much bigger now.At that point $29.99 was in her third trimester, and we were expecting a little $14.99 at any moment. It was a strange pep rally this year. They didn't even acknowledge me. I didn't even wear my really really thick armor and all my golden locks of hair had all fallen out. They made us sit in the back of the auditorium. It was a scene.

And then at the last moment my dear $29.99 screamed in agony as she was grabbed from behind. Another warrior with golden locks of hair had her by her first nine, as another warrior with golden locks of hair grabbed me from behind and pinned me down. I was upset that $29.99 was being so mistreated. How could they mistreat a price point when all she wanted to do was have our little dollar sign and give consumers a deal on their first three months?

Then it occurred to me, warriors with golden locks of hair are programmed from birth. Their really really thick armor keeps them strong and unsusceptible to the gradients and dollar signs of any price points. All I needed to do was to work harder, grow my golden locks longer, and wear thicker armor and I would be fine. The warriors with golden locks of hair all attacked after that. It was awful. Like a pack of rabid programmers sitting around doing nothing, not responding to your emails, leaving you hanging on projects that need to get out the door. It was too much for me to handle. My precious dollar sign and price point were now being eaten by the pack of golden warriors with golden locks of hair. My family's future were all down the tubes. I trembled in fear.

Then all of a sudden, I realized. She is just a price point. That once you are golden you are golden forever. That no price point or dollar sign can ever come between me and the magic of being a mythical warrior with golden locks of hair. I mean seriously who would trade being a mythical warrior with golden locks of hair just to be with some price point? I screamed out, "Anything but me. Don't sacrifice me. My hair will grow back. I'm one of you. Please. Please. Kill $29.99. Not me. Eat the dollar sign."

After that day it took several months for me to get my head straight. My doctor says I'll be Okay in a few years. I'm on meds now, and everything is much happier and brighter. I don't dare think of relations with price points, but I still can't get the image of my precious price point being eaten, and my dear dear dollar sign. But sometimes if I go to my happy place where I'm surrounded by golden locks of hair, and really really thick armor then I feel much better. Do you have golden locks of hair and really really thick armor too?

Mantra

2006-02-15T20:45:00.000-08:00

Day over. Another. Again. Again. Do it again. Lifes circular rhythm. The alarm clock goes off. NPR is on the radio, muffled through clogged ears. Oh, I don't want to get up. I don't want to go to school. I don't want to go to work. I don't want to do this all over again. Again.

Hit the snooze button. One. Two. Three. Four. One hour passes. I knew. Knew it was going to be mundane. Again. Again. Again. Searching again. Searching for truth. Truth be heard. Truth be known. Tomorrow is another attempt of making the right choices. Of being what you know you can be. Of not letting yourself down. Of treating everyone like equals. Of treating everyone like friends. Through the connections we make on a daily basis, we can make this worth while, for a while. I think. I know... Brush your teeth. Get dressed. Start your car. Drive to work. An Emergency light is lit on the interstate. Traffic is slow, five miles to the JTB exit. NPR is droning on the radio. Another day. Another glorious day.

Killing Games

2006-02-14T13:18:00.000-08:00

Radio waves reflecting off of rectangular uniformity. Soldiers trying to find solace in their requiem. There is no room for individuals here. Walk around the post. Find time to not think. Try and block it out by sitting on sweat, spit couches, and watch Hollywood take it away by mimicking the life you try to escape.

Soldiering skills are built by joystick pistol clicking. Play killing games to forget about the chance of you one day being involved in killing games. But we want good jobs. We want to feed our families, and we see the big green machine one day feeding and dressing our queens. Cause your lady wants diamonds, Gucci, and Ralph Lauren, while gorging her face, and taking phen, phen. Soldiers, mental health isn't
found in a bottle.

Flowers and Candy.

2006-02-14T06:33:00.000-08:00

Invisible. Intangible. Can't put my finger on it. I found something I can believe in. I found something I can't live without . I found my unit. I found my I-Pod family cohesion. Adhesion. Glue. In you.

We live our whole lives to find meaning. Something. Someone. Conference Call in ten minutes. The admin. site is ready for the first tour. We have been waiting for this for six months. I want to add, delete, and link with one breath. One step. While Cheney has shot someone while hunting. Valentine's day lead pellets flying through the air finding their target in human fleshy fat deposits built on drive-thru French fry moniker. Love. Bliss. All with this kiss.

The Ideal Deal.

2006-02-13T22:00:00.000-08:00

Spit shined and polished ideals. You gave us apple pie. You painted the whitewash fence. You prepared Thanksgiving dinner, and wrapped it up under the Christmas tree. Under the ideal deal we made for this utopian society. You ignored the hunger, and racism surrounding you in order to present us with trophies. Trophies showcased in glass boxes for everyone to see. And for this gift I am proud to strive to be what you wanted us to be. Thank you Mr. Norman Rockwell. I will envision your perfect world for my own children, and pray that it is a possibility. Good people. Working Hard.

Hindsight is 20/20

2006-02-13T19:21:00.001-08:00

Indigo Flamingo sprinkler junky. Funky salty brackish water flowing North Nile St. John's Wart city. Urban sprawl shopping district mystic feel the sales, Jedi. Feel the $9.99's, and two for ones. The NOW only for a limited times. Constant absent minded homegrown Americana. Where we not only intimidate, but outweigh. If we can't beat you, we'll out eat you. Stuffing our muffins with genetic antiseptic crafted in laboratory glory, by scientific graffiti. Stuck on by super glue stick mystic transgressions of an unholy time. U.N. glory mind. Where bully's lie in shame.

No Faults. No Alarms.

2006-02-13T19:21:00.000-08:00

A pound and a half of tri-tip nip, and dip, in my belly. Fry day on Saturday. Hands smokey. Taking out the trash. Taking out the always present disposition of negativity overflowing here. I'm dreaming of new beginnings. I'm dreaming of packing up and checking out. I'm dreaming of foreign lands, and lengthy train rides to green pastures. Greed pastures of golden herb. Growing in tranquil halogen packed herbicide ridden science project. Yielding pounds of freedom. Yielding pounds of I do what I want, when I want, always. I'm dreaming of France. I'm dreaming of calling political asylum. I'm dreaming of us taking a trip, and not coming back. Border countries. Flying, driving, train, thumbing it. But leaving. The grass is always greener. Things always get better. Then in retrospect. Nostalgia for lessons learned. I have a scar for learning that. And It is very noticeable. The grass was dead when I got there. It had turned to earth. The earth had turned to sand, and nothing would grow. Nothing but scar tissue as far as the eye could see. I am not receiving my transmit. It's getting all looped. We have to put up a simulation, to see if the distant end is getting us. Looking for all green. No faults. No alarms.

Impress me Harley Davidson

2006-02-13T19:19:00.000-08:00

Can't get right was late again, late in life, and luck, and found himself homeless again, and hungry. As the cell phone rings from Whitey. Rings from quotidian complaints of driving constant improvement. Constant consumption of programmed reruns, of I want a Fat boy, all draped in leather studs. Impress me Harley Davidson. Impress me with why I should buy you. Why I should find freedom in your persona, all dolled up, and chocolate coated. Of why I should want to find escape from success, as I drive by the failures, and know that they wantme, and know they are jealous, because I have found IT, in your chrome coated American Dream.

Cornbread

2006-02-13T19:17:00.000-08:00

Click here. Submit. Upload a new file. Make it work. Make all the information fit in one box, but think out of the box while doing it. Rub your head, and pat your belly. Now do it counterclockwise. Mix it up. Talk on the phone, write an email, schedule a conference call, make sure you have gas in your car, go to the doctor, I still have to go running. Make a list. You didn't forget the milk did you? I did. I forgot the milk on the top of the car. And it spilt on the road, and I cried. Cried like a baby. I could not hold back.

Apathy is Running for President

2006-02-13T19:13:00.000-08:00

Elitist beist here. There are content people somewhere. Somewhere under the rainbow lays a pot of gold merriment. In Suburban Utopia strip mall supermarket sidewalk heaven. I saw it on the Tele. They were smiling and looked well fed when we found enemy number one shivering and gaunt hiding in his spider hole. America turned the channel quickly too, because another reality show premiers tonight where TV emulates a reality of overpaid prize winning glamour contestants who live together in seemingly careless workless realities forged by the blood sweat and torn scarred body's of another countries indigents. Implying hope, tranquility, and a peaceful content country. Apathy is running for president. He is promising nothing. Nothing but the truth.

Snap to Guides.

2006-02-13T19:10:00.000-08:00

Surgeon. Split and slice and dice the file to fit the space. Guides
and rulers and optimize and fit this space. Fit the clients review. Fit in. Please everyone. Please yourself. Wonder where smooth smiles of times spent sipping tea on rocking chair porches free of cell phone escapes went? Smooth breeze blowing through wide open fields of knowing who your family is. Of having an intimate relationship with them. Seeing them evolve in mind and body. Look within the dream of better days. Of better days having long talks surrounded by the people you love. They are all around you. And they want the best for you. Not attacking. Full of care. Old wounds healed. Always and forever.