Livejournal Style or "perpetual motion machines of the second kind"

Listening to: Blackalicious - Alphabet Aerobics (The Cut Chemist 2 12 Minute Workout)
Mood: Moody

It's the end of the world, or at least the current world. Soon we'll be on to another one. 2005. Damn. How time flys through and all around you while you're busy living.

Older people always used to tell me time went faster as you got older. "Bullshit" I thought. But, it's pretty true, at least most of the time. Time in general is speeding up on one track. Processes are faster. Event duration keeps getting cut down to almost no time. What do we do with all that spare energy? Does it just fly out the window and burn up? "Energy can be converted from one form to another, but it cannot be created or destroyed."

(I <3 Wikipedia.)

Probably not. I think people fill that time with more shopping. But seriously, technologicaly we are getting more advanced - but to what end? Endless entertainment? A diversion until the planet blows up?

Don't panic.

There is another way.

This is a gigantic chunk of my thinking. A kind of third way, a middle path between techno-oblivion and luddite counter-revolution. A melding of archaic practices and warp speed innovation. All the peices are here. It will only take design practices that don't exist yet, and almost can't be grasped.

Merry Christmas

I'm listening to Steve Reich

Sometimes it all just clicks. One day you are crying over your Captim Crunch sobbing "why lord" and the next moment it all starts to come together.

That's the way the flow feels right now. It's not about Christmas, or maybe it is. The grinch is not going to steal it, the world will never end, there is a Santa Claus.

Amen.

But seriously.

Dude, so fucking player. Dude.

"If you want your life to be a magnificent story, then
begin by realizing that you are the author and every day
you have the opportunity to write a new page".
-- Mark Houlahan

It's like going to a party and only talking to the people you already know.

which I do, and that's just fucking insane. Join the party!

My liver must be made of industrial grade stainless steel. And copper. Bolts. Maybe it's in the genes. My family has several long dstance running champions...endurance motherfucker. My grandparents on my fathers side lived to be fucking old. From what I remember my Mothers father had a full head of hair. That's where you get the hair gene...I'm so damn lucky-MAKE GOOD USE OF IT.

Bad poetry is the order of the day.

I am a character from a William Gibson novel. I'm not real and I'm real. Cayce Pollard and that Lacy guy from All Tommorrows PArties. Disembodied like that Green Velvet song, floating away to outer information space. This singer Her Space Holiday is dope. OMG. Hangovers feel like what radiation sickness feels like, supossedly.

If you woke up alive, keep smiling.

I wanna hear it on a BIG LOUD SYSTEM. No more shitty computer speakers



Surprise! I'm hung over. Really? you say with mock surprise. Yes. But I'm happy.

um

Brennan Green=genius go listen to his set

"Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!"
that guy is one bad ass motherfucker.

Foggy grey area near the redocean of blood near route four.

edge of orgasm, edge of a sneeze. a foot in both worlds. It's the back and forth, almost giving in but not quite feeling. Edge of the cliff hot to cool sheets. I'm floating in this netherworld between depression and..not depression. I'm so in my head all the time. I can barely socialize or talk for that matter. it's perversely pleasureable like smoking or shoplifting..and it's all I know right now.

it's almost like i want to slit my wrists ritchie tenenbaum style every morning and every night and float away on a sea of warm blood. but not exactly. work is like a video game, not my real life..where did that go? it's almost relaxing to work at my hyperstressfasttimes job then it's back to my non existant life.

I discovered this book through some great new people this weekend. I'm a four. Bohemian four. It's so so true. Maybe more later.

I got this cool lamp for my room. Junk dealer on broadway, crazy. Makes me feel like Marcel Proust (i think that's his name) or that guy who wrote that book where he secludes himself in his mansion, smokes opium and puts jewels on turtle's shells and coats the whole place in velvet fabric. I gotta get out more as they say.

the future is so bright i gotta wear shades and it's all about vegan slo food green design and zero emmision cars and it's all bout all this amazing shit that i can see but can't seem to output. I'm like a mute paralyzed psychic living 5 hours in the future, and a stuck up hellen keller who is "like" so far above, but in reality so far below the popular culture.

visiting freinds on the weekend is like having an affair or the martha stewart real simple version of a coke bender and a car chase with a trunk full of guns. it's like cheating on my lame life or going on a feild trip.

speaking of which, i should go to dc this weekend. beth has the studio rockin. i'm listening to Thomas spin-and he's dope but we are there, and it's a continual shame.

I wanna thank all the amazing people i know, and the new ones that blow my mind and keep me from blowing my mind.

I ran over a rock with my car tonight. The rock came out of nowhere, didn't even look like a rock. I choose not to swerve left-car coming in the other lane. Why not swere right? No room on the shoulder i think. Bent the rim and puntured the tire. Out of the night this friendly stranger came to help. He offered to drive me to wal-mart to get a tire patch kit. He even ran back to his house to get a hammer to bang the rim back into shape. Real meaning of Christmas motherf**kers. You know. Not limping out of Target at 7 at night with an overflowing cart. Wheezing because the holidays are so stressful and you need to shop away the pain. This lawyer-young dude, seems like an asshole probably only cares about money. Volunteers at a soup kitchen. Domino. Fuck. Give it away, give it away now.

I have this weird cosmic synchronisity with a particular Hollywood video. I rent movies from it and strange things happen to me based around these movies.

Get down, down down to business.

I have no time to watch movies anymore. This technology has eclipsed our capacity for it. Time is of the essence. Or not.

Slightly disturbing is the news. Or not. It can all be a good thing. Perhaps an underlying truth exists in all the poetic code passed around through the years.

Building my fake life

My old post got deleted.

Here is the short version:

I want to punch things.

Fuck Sallie Mae.

Fuck Mittens. I will beat him up on the spot if he does anything stupid.

Kate is so alone.

There is nothing left.