march 31, 2004 - 00:51
i have never been so heartbroken in all of my life.
i knew we had problems, but i thought all of the cards were on
the table, and that we were working through them. you know,
as a team. i mean, that's what couples do, right?
—i could have never possibly imagined the depth of her betrayal.
even now, now that she's told me, i can't comprehend it.
broken.
march 30, 2004 - 07:55 - long distance pillowtalk
jack's recommendation for the truly masochistic:
find, then fall for, a partner with a definitive predisposition for talking
in their sleep. careful screening in this regard will eventually
yield a pillow-talking accompli effortlessly capable of breaking your heart,
even whilst unconcious.
march 28, 2004 - 06:45 - what about the fashion show?
even event specialists are shocked at the recent advancements in the art of
'the-crappiest-saturday-night' implementation...
| 18:30 |
customer activates 24x7 line. i answer. |
| 19:30 |
the girl gets home from work. |
| 19:45 |
datastore corrupted, advise reinstall, hang up. |
| 20:00 |
sit down on sofa, eat dinner with the girl, watch mcqueen via netflix. |
| 20:30 |
the girl is bored, puts on red pants and eyeliner, goes out alone. |
| 23:00 |
netflix movie over. too awake to sleep. go to bar, see band play. |
| 01:15 |
turn down drink offer from stranger in toe-showing shoes.
|
| 02:00 |
return from bar, sms the girl, go to bed. |
| 04:15 |
the girl returns home, return initiates part 5 of 'the conversation.' |
| 04:27 |
the girl passes out, mid sentence. pull covers over her.
|
| 05:00 |
finally fall asleep |
| 06:13 |
customer activates 24x7 line. i answer. |
| 06:40 |
server back online. hang up. post this stupid list. |
march 26, 2004 - 16:09 - it rains two ways today
i drive around, i walk around in circles
'cause i've got no sense of direction
and i guess i've got no sense at all
...
i ride around, and let the darkness fall
because i got a sense of perfection
and nothing makes much sense at all.
- all the umbrellas in london, by the magnetic fields.
march 26, 2004 - 06:15 - perhaps only she will understand
it was innocuous enough, the realization.
in retrospect, it could have been the deep, swallow-you-whole-type sofa
casually comprised of worn black vinyl. it could have been
the lonliness of a back room
lined with giant mirrors that recursively reflect nothing but us, an
infinity of us, each iteration smaller, and another step farther than
the one before.
or maybe, maybe it was simply an emotion derived from a single
semantic component within installment 4 of X, X being the
undefined (but growing) duration our ongoing 'talk.'
i guess it really doesn't matter though; once this GIANT, UNeSCAPABLE,
REALITY-SHIFTING realization was there, it was all that mattered.
i leaned forward, first reaching up, then out, of that stupid sofa,
placed the watery remains of a white russian on the table, and
realized, "i think she has hand."
hand. oh, what an elusive relationship dynamic that is.
the funny thing is, i'm not really sure when i actually lost it, and
even more frighteningly, i don't think i actually mind. —which,
of course, is probably the most damning evidence that it's actually gone.
march 24, 2004 - 18:12 - invisible evils of telecommuting
it's common knowledge that most of the difficulties of life—
including, but not necessarily limited to, work—are somewhat
more tolerable when things are going well in the home.
thusly,
home = escape from work, or
H =~ e( W )
(home, used crudely here as an overloaded term that might
refer to a relationship, a private space, a calm centering point; basically,
the very foundation you use to evaluate the world around you).
consequentially, it's also a familiar phenomenon for those that stumble
through the murky ambiguities that define complications of the
home to hide from it, often times exhaustively immersing
themselves in work.
as if to imply
work = escape from home, or
W =~ e( H )
what then, of the missfortune that befalls a telecommuter who
has complications of either home or work. despite
the most dilligent of efforts, these two exclusive entities eventually
become hopelessly intermingled, so much so that one can see the
difference between them only whilst viewing from a healthy distance.
a distance, i've determined, that can be measured in units of escape, (e).
at first, i found a solitary city block to be an exceptable denomination of
(e); this base measurement, observed as a minimum radius for walks
that circumnavigate both home and work, provided the necessary distance
to develop perspective, relativity.
as an aside, i've only recently discovered that although the progression of
their complication: (i.e. problems at home, or work) might be linear, the
corresponding value of (e) necessary to provide perspective is in fact geometric.
..........
i.e. with things fucked—as they are currently fucked—at both
home and work, i find that i can't really walk far nor
fast enough to acquire the necessary perspective, or (e). furthermore,
i strongly suspect that the 100mi radius that bounds the limit to which
i currently trust any of my road-worthy vehicles to reach and return
successfully, is also wholly lacking.
clearly, stronger tools are necessary to balance this equation.
corresponding note to self: jack needs new wheels.
..........
in closing, i'd like to apologize for the wannabe equations above; i
suppose it was my original intent to try to walk through this analysis
and produce some type of pseudo-scientic expression that defined
'escape,' but i guess if such a feat were possible, it would have been
done already, and the entire world would be peaches and cream and
nobody would recognize 'escape' as escape, or much less
care about such a stupidly obvious equation.
so fuck it. i'm going for a walk.
march 14, 2004 - 07:10 - faster
(dragonspeak warning)
yesterday, i saw a pre-screening of "faster," a truly awe-inspiring documentary regarding
the world of Moto GP racing in general, and specifically the
2002 season. honestly, this film makes almost all other
form of motorsport competition seem like a grannie ride to the drugstore.
perhaps ewan mcgregor says it best: "This film
fucking rocks."
—of course, you can't take his
word for it, he was the damn narrator and is clearly prejudiced.
check it yourself: [ zoooom ]
march 9, 2004 - 22:24 - warm and sunny days
We've been surrounded
For it was genius
There was no other way
And we know we won't escape
All of our time
Spent on warm and sunny days
From you there's nowhere left
I want to run
– "warm and sunny days," by the dears
march 7, 2004 - 09:10 - $WHD == /dev/hell;
(dragonspeak warning)
another weekend, another 2 day, post-keyboard cool-down that beckons
the dull resonant ache of wrist hurt disease like icebergs calling
sheet metal from deep in the fog.
it's when i stop, and let things unwind, that it really really hurts;
right now i'm about four handfuls of ibuprofen into the worst WHD flare-up
of recent memory. no scooters, no swinging, no sleep.
observing my failure, yet again, to sleep even the slightest bit
longer than a lab rat dosed to ld50 of clinical grade meth, the girl
coerced me into trekking north to seattle with the doe-eyed ambtion
of visiting IKEA and aquiring a standup desk.
(i seem to recall her citing something about the implied change
in work station ergonomics helping to alleviate symptoms. )
—though readily willing to concede this as an intelligent course of
action, i can not help but to doubt its ultimate effectiveness...
i mean, after this many years of micro-breaks, macro-exercises,
accunpuncture, yoga, shock-therapy, cortozone injections and
arthritus perscriptions, i've learned that self-medicating with bags of frozen
(and melted and refrozen and melted) peas is the best short-term
remedy, and have begun to realize that the probabability of a long-term
remedy is asymptotically bounded to $WHEN_HELL_FREEZES_OVER.
then again, it was a nice day to go for a drive, and i've always
been a sucker for a woman behind the wheel.
( more )
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