I don’t know what it is. The planets are in some kind of black alignment, my electrolytes are all wrong, I slept on the wrong side of my face. I am just ready to kill and eat anyone who gets in my way today. I’m trying to pick an appropriate soundtrack, but one can listen to only so much Godspeed before it gets embarrassing.

In a perfect world, I would stay home today and smoke trees while watching Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood and The Joy of Painting. Maybe that’s what it is. All the saints of my secular childhood are dead.

I just remembered I have to see my family later—and they so do not deserve this cliff of indifference I have for a heart today.

My condolences to those around me who cannot avoid spending time with me today. I really have no idea what it is. If it’s any consolation, at least I’m on your side.

All that blood sacrifice stuff the Mayans did makes sense on a day like today. “A snake will eat the sun unless I cut out your heart.”

There, that should probably drive off the handful of people who still read this thing. Aren’t you glad I’m posting more?

“In February, 1971, Apollo 14 astronaut Edgar Mitchell experienced the little understood phenomenon sometimes called the “Overview Effect”. He describes being completely engulfed by a profound sense of universal connectedness. Without warning, he says, a feeing of bliss, timelessness, and connectedness began to overwhelm him.”

read more | digg story

The above inserted with some neat tools digg.com has going on.

One of the comments on digg was along the lines of “they’d better not send religious fundamentalists up there for this study.” I agree, in practice (fundamentalists tend to have pretty much all of their figuring out figured out, and are closed to new ideas). In theory? Nah. Another guy said, in response to that, “if it’s physiological it doesn’t matter.” My characteristically long-winded and probably pedantic reply to both follows.

“I could just say ‘Go watch the second-third of Contact!’ but I do (at least partially) agree with RobertCrumby. Where I disagree is on the exclusion of ‘religious fundies.’ Regardless of whether we agree with them, the perceptions of those with whom we might ideologically differ is as important and illustrative as our own perception, be it secular or spiritual, in trying to measure human reaction when exposed to the immeasurable.

I need to make a dick and/or fart joke after having typed the above. I’ll think of one and get back to you.

And in response to rchargel, it’s a Cartesian philosophical issue, I guess, but unlinking the physiological from psychological or numinous experience seems like trying to tune in a radio station without a radio. We’ve got to use the tools we have to measure the things we can’t see, and spirituality and physiological response might be two words for the same thing. The issue, I think, is one of sequence.

Now that joke may need to involve poo or monkeys. I’m getting out of here before I get in more trouble.”

Still working on the monkey dick/fart/poo joke. Man that is a bad string of words to put slashes between.

I bought the shortwave radio about two months ago and it’s enormous fun. I’ll post more about it later.

I’m overdue to update—I’m overdue for a lot of things—but I’m carving out more time for myself and for the things that are important to me (and shutting the fucking door on things that aren’t, or shouldn’t be). More later.

I think I’ve talked myself out of buying a shortwave radio, which I’ve wanted for something like ten or fifteen years. Maybe longer, I forget how old I am. This kind of makes me feel shitty, but then I think of what I’d use it for and it’s like “lol internet” except for the numbers station broadcasts, and really … how fun is that? “Oooh, a secret code I will never crack!”

There are too many social networks, networking devices, etc. I can’t even get regular calls or emails to my family and friends, let alone keep an apparently indifferent and apathetic internet informed of my various (boring, pointless) activities.

That said.

I’m going to try to stay up to date  with facebook and this blog more than I have, as I’ve discovered I can link blog entries there. If you’re on facebook and I don’t know it … uh, let me know.

And what is up with this all this shit on my desk and how the fuck did I end up with two Japanese horror movies that are both almost three hours long from Netflix at the same damn time on a Friday. Not that I’m done with all my usual Friday nonsense, but the idea of being able to sit down and unwind (ha ha ha) and watch a movie on a Friday is at least something I like to have hanging around like a sad ghost in my imagination as I rush around not getting enough shit done and mentally beating my own ass for not working harder and more consistently throughout the week. I’m looking forward to watching both of these movies, but … it’s like six hours of Japanese horror. And I should be in bed in about (fffffffff—) two and a half hours. Yeah, we all know it’s not gonna happen, but that doesn’t make it any better.

I have started to dread the weekends (the culmination of my work week) because there are far too many things out of my direct control and I feel like I’m riding the same stretch of white water over and over and every week, come Monday, I say “fuck it, that’s it, I’m done” and then during the week someone manages to convince me to ride it one more time until we get the opportunity to go down to the river with some dynamite and blasting caps and move the big rocks so the ride’s a lot smoother. Every week.

My last post was probably DANGEROUSLY MISLEADING. It’s nothing about my personal life at all, it’s professional life related stuff, and it’s boring and it’s still in flux. That is all.

Case is sitting on the couch watching the weather channel and bursts out with “WHAT? How can it be FIFTY?” (which would be 10 for my centigrade friends). She misses last week, which was 80ish (26.6ish). Also, expected to be windy today. Trading sunburn for windburn in less than six days. Peanut butter, motherfucker, indeed.

In other news, I’ve been hammering the shit out of facebook the past couple of days, just clicking ALL the damn buttons I could see. I discovered that some of you are on facebook using your real email address but aliases (lol whut?). Cue Hank Williams, faintly in the background, singing “Your Cheating Heart.” Shame on you fuckers (alright, so you’re probably just avoiding students or coworkers, that’s fine).

And now, for breakfast beer and pills. Shit, I’m almost out of both. This is an emergency. Send St. Bernards and Paris Hilton, immediately. And have the dogs bring a gun and some ammo (Paris won’t be coming back).

I read a book about how to attract people to your blog. Headlines that belittle and offend them was hint #3.

Quite a fucking lot is going on lately, but there’s a fair amount I can’t write about openly because of pending uh … man, I can’t even describe it adequately without risking someone finding it and complicating matters by spreading it around. That sounds really bad, probably. Nothing major, everyone in the inner circle is healthy, reasonably happy (or reasonably unhappy, for the Freudians in the audience), no one’s getting married, divorced, killed (yet) or anything “status changing.” Email me if you’re really interested, or call, I’m trying to be better about answering the phone. I know where it is right now, for instance.

Couple more cryptic notes on the off chance that those they’re intended for check in (very fucking doubtful).

J., I owe you many calls back, I hope you’re not taking it personally, I’m just flaky on a level that adderall can’t seem to touch. I’ve got a huge collection of CDs to send you, you come up in conversation almost daily, all the usual much love shit.

K., sorry to hear about your loss. I never know if it’s best to call with belated condolences or if it’s just opening fresh wounds, so I tend not to mention it when I find out later. I know it was a long struggle, and I know how close you were, and I’m just … so sorry.

T., how’s the kid? I owe you email, I have video of some really interesting lectures to send you, I instantly thought of you, your work, and your new mom status when I saw these.

L., I really owe you a call, and we really need to clear time to hang out and just chat. Every time I think “I should be writing” I hear you berating me for not doing it on any of the numerous occasions you’ve done it, and I’m grateful to you for that.

I’m forgetting people and leaving some out because a) as is usual on a Friday, I should have been in bed several hours ago and b) I really don’t think too many people read this.

General thought of the day. The market changed complexion four weeks ago when the Sunday market split—the old location opened, and most of the “old location” regulars went back there, leaving the “new location” regulars and people who think it’s the better geographical choice (and really, is just fucking is) behind. There are a lot of other issues involved in the market, which I won’t go into, but just the change, not seeing some of the same people every Sunday—and these are years-long relationships at this point—has changed the entire “feel” of both days. And I suppose it’s inevitable, but a certain amount of eye-opening has occured, and it’s just all a bit sad. Both days are less enjoyable now. Maybe it’s just the weather, but we’ve discussed it and we feel a palpable “and that was the end of a golden age” sort of moment. Though golden age is stretching it—more like brass.

We’ll be at the annual street fair down the block tomorrow, by the way—in what looks to be constant rain all day. We are driven more and more toward brick-and-mortar.

Thirty-nine today. I don’t celebrate it, but other people do, so thanks to those of you who somehow found out and remember what day it is, and to those of you who didn’t know: keep on not knowing, it’s totally cool.

It’s sweet to be remembered, but I neither deserve it nor expect it. I did get this awesome print from a friend at the market that I will post in this space as soon as I show it to my photographer friend at the market (the one who sets up and sells—you still count, Jane, but you don’t set up yet).

Anticipating some questions: I don’t feel older. I don’t care about the number, it’s just an imaginary concept used to measure a non-linear progression. Not dreading forty (couldn’t give a fuck). What else … I didn’t do anything special today (work day, so I worked). No, I really don’t mind. Honest. I had cake on Thursday (mom and dad).

That’s probably all for now. Watch for the awesome print.

Shit like this always freaks me out, but also fills me with a pale, sickly sort of hope for a better (if creepier) future.

The blob of nerves forming the brain of the robot was taken from the neural cortex in a rat foetus and then treated to dissolve the connections between individual neurons [excerpt taken from here].

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