Two Weeks of Insanity

He put the rock in his pipe and put the butane flame to the butt of the glass. It jutted out from his lip at a crazy angle and when the heat hit the small rock it smoked and fumed and drew the dirty yellow vapor into his lungs. There was a harsh, sweet smelling, chemical burn and his eyes were transfixed on the blue of the clear yellow lighter that was catalyzing his meth. The smoke was potent and he began to see the light blue waters of American Samoa float up and up and his eyes looked down to see the gummed up and dirty dry concrete beneath his feet. He felt the sun rays hit his orange New York City skin. He believed in white sand, bone white and the red and white empty potato chip bag that lay there by his untied sneaker, he was a friendly crab scuttling home to his crabby wife. A fine watery line of spittle fell slowly from his mouth onto the ground and landed with a little splat. As he continued to stare deep into space and the bristled edge of his sneaker toe he began to believe that his eyes were as blue and piercing as the shallow ocean around American Samoa, he believed that his eyes were becoming paler and more beautiful, enticing, alluring…he dreamed with his eyes open until his neck muscles relaxed and he hit his head on the top of the phone box.

be cool, its just a C-

My goals are modest and revolve more around the difference I can make in a community than any set number of dollars earned or clients served. The difference I want to make in the world with my MBA wont be measured in the number of new franchises opened or steak dinners I’ll be treated too. Instead I will satisfied to see closed store fronts lit up again with the hard work of an idealist entrepreneur. I want to see a world with less waste space, less expansion into nature and better use of the spaces already created by man. I want to use business and my knowledge of the workings of capital to efficiently and responsibly give people the ability to expand their ambitions from the realm of unknowing and imagination into the real world for the benefit of everyone in their community and beyond. I saw today a jet that will transport people from paris to Tokyo in just under three hours. But who benefits from such a machine? There will still be teaming slums in the suburbs of paris full of people who never have the opportunity to leave their daily troubles and foils, much less for a daily jaunt to Tokyo. I believe that as the world becomes smaller for some, the slums become more crowded and pressurized for others. The whole world of professionals is filled with pressure and stress. It’s imperative that you understand that I believe that these people are stressed. The high blood pressure and receding hairlines will not lie, a professional in a suit and tie staying late at the office is as stressed as any other man. I question though what it is that these people are stressed over. The world of professionals in the united states stopped producing things years ago. A twelve hour work day is not possible for those who have a physical aspect to their work. So those who choose to pursue professions that ask nothing of them physically are forgoing the world of the body, which is where instincts and humanity lie. Would any man work through the day if he valued the passage of time? For the people who work from sun up to sun down and well into the darkness of midnight the hours on the clock exist only to prove their dedication to work, however the actual quality of their contribution cannot be increased with each consecutive hour on the job. People require variety and spice in life. Money becomes a blinding driver of irrational behavior, dread and anxiety.

to get ahead of the curve

Well several shorts memories ago we could have hardly seen such a thing as the present moment. Luckily through advances in medical science and calmness we now realize that the time we are experiencing now is in fact predertimined not from some fantastical place in the future where we are one with the universe but in fact from the ignorance that we expatriate with every moment we are alive and curious. Time was when we did not know who we were or what time was, and as luck would have it gaining the knowledge of a definition of time or in fact more likely creating that definition out of free air did not in fact endow us with any true knowledge of the mechanics of this concept of time, much less the abiliity to manipulate it or move through it in a fluid manner. Rather we are a set of images hastily strung together by a brain designed through generations to create a fluid sense of the world for the purposes of survival and surface level sanity. The eye moves and the pan is edited out instantaneously by the brain. All things look smooth. All looks are seamless. even though optically this is impossible, truly understanding the mechanics of such a thing are beyond the scope of the human experience. Even knowing that there is a limit to the human experience is probably not an ideal trait in an ideally happy person, but I suppose that is not what I am going for and it never was. And to whom should I credit this great deal of knowledge and unhappiness. To whom can I attribute fault. Applying it to myself seems a little unwieldy since I have already imbibed and been of so much unhappy knowledge. None of what I have learned leads me to believe that there is a great god in the sky who is capable of handling the responsibility of my disappointment in the human experience. I think then, that I shall blame all my unhappiness on the next very fat person that I see on the street. Not only fat, but tall too. Someone behind whom I could be totally eclipsed. Only a person of that girth, who is capable of concealing and holding my entire physical being would be capable of holding my entire set of nonsensical disappointments and unhappinesses. I would be pleased to find this person and probably reward them with an unwieldy stare. They could hold all of my fears and all of my hopes in their heavy, slow moving frame.

Fishes? Vietnamese Nonsense? Fuck Yeah!

Air Waves "Humdrum" from Megazord on Vimeo.

Dippity DO IT

Yesterday I got my wisdom teeth out. An 11 o’clock appointment and the day off work. So the morning was naturally a gut wrenching affair. There was the high of not having work, and the gut wrenching of having an appointment for a tooth chiseling later. I rose with my girlfriend as she got ready to go to work. Normally I would have made myself a large and sweet breakfast but because I wanted to be put under for the tooth removal I could not eat before my appointment. So instead of making a breakfast, eating it, and cleaning up in the hours I had before the dentist, I decided to get a workout in. I threw on some shorts, a fleece and a hat and busted out the door. I had a nice little workout with some high knees stair stepping, a little weight lifting, and most lovely of all no meatheading. Then, with about an hour to go before my appointment I removed myself from the gym and headed home. On the short walk back home there is a stretch of sidewalk that is, despite new york law, perpetually un shoveled from the snow. It’s a stretch of about 30 or 40 feet with one trammeled path way and the accumulation of a years worth of snow on either side. It is, to say the least, quite a hindrance for the able bodied. And for those of feeble strength of ability it is an impassable obstacle. Well, on this particular day I found a member of our society who met the description of someone perfectly incapable of passing such a daunting test. As I turned the corner to face this dicey path my eyes met on the other side with a very old woman, maybe five feet tall at most, with a cane and a walker. She stood befuddled at the edge of the shoveled walkway trying to muster a strategy or the strength to navigate a path through the snow. My brain clicked into philanthropy mode and I sprang into action. I walked over confidently in my running shoes and shorts and asked the old lady if perhaps she needed a hand. She replied in the affirmative and I began by carrying her walker over the path, then I returned for her. I took her gingerly by her gloved hand and we began across the path, her walking down the trammeled path which was no wider that two feet set together, and I stomping through the powdery stuff. A man came the other way while we were making our way across and seemed quite befuddled as to why we didn’t get out of his way, this old woman and I. It didn’t come as a total surprise that this man expected the weak and feeble to move at his discretion, as he, like most people of this city was a self centered asshole. He eventually saw his only route was to move into the deep snow and around us. We then continued on our way and reached our destination. She requested I bend down, which I obliged, and she gave me a nice old lady kiss right on the cheek that was to become swollen and sore after my surgery.

Toney Bagels

The single best part of my day, any given day, is saying the term 'bitch maid'. It just brightens everything up.

Yesterday I was waiting on the elevator in my apartment to go get my laundry in the basement. Upstairs one flight I heard some commotion, someone banging on someone elses door. Then I hear a yell from up there 'aye man, hey bro, hey'. Well, that isn't ever a good sign and its never something I respond to. But, I happened to have some flip flop sandals on, so the mans voice yells again, 'bro, sandals, do you know where D3 is at?' Well, this is interesting, because a. I live in apartment 3D, and b. my girlfriend was expecting a package. Now, it is 1030 at night, and this person, were he a delivery man, is more ambitious than any delivery man I have ever encountered. But my interest was peeked. So I walk over to the bottom of the stairway and ask this person if he is delivering a package. The look on his chunky unshaven white face said fuck no, and his mouth said; 'nah, my ni--a lives there, I cant find him'. Aha, of course. 'Ok, well I dont think he's around here man' I say' 'why not yo, where the fuck is D3' 'well, I live in 3D and I dont think your...I dont think your friend lives there'. At this point the elevator shows up, small, cramped, slow elevator that it is. 'Hey wait, hold that elevator' the man says, and I do. He rambles down the stairs and comes right up to me. He is sopping wet with melted snow, he goes up to my chin and smells like cheap sweet wine. 'So you dont know Spanish rick?' 'no, I dont anyone named rick' so the man gets in the elevator, and though I think for a second about sending him off into the night on his own, the elevator is very very slow. So I decide to get into a compact space with no immediate escape route along with this intoxicated distraught stranger. 'my mans went to court today and I haven't been able to find him since, damn, I'm trying to find him' 'oh, wow' 'when I find him I'ma beat his ass' 'aha'. I had directed the elevator to the basement, and the man, drunk and distraught as he was, had neglected to press any buttons. So we arrived in the basement. 'where the fuck we at?' 'this is the basement, I'm getting my laundry' 'alright, be good' and the elevator doors closed and he was on his way.