| You'd Love Me |
[23 Apr 2010|06:26pm] |
Love is a lightning storm of curiosity
booming with the might of thunder and electricity
looming with a sight of wonder under chemistry.
So I ponder over this here blunder that's got you lovin me.
Well we're told what we ought to do
but that's against the rules.
Follow the fools singing the blues,
I know you'd love me if I could hit you.
You're an angel blinded by your beauty
so you ain't seeing me.
Would you bend down here, I'll open your eyes
with the straightening of my knee.
Well we're told what we ought to do
but that's not gettin through.
Wallow in tools, they proved this works too;
you know you'd love me if I could hit you.
Broken down you'll dampen the sound
of the crack against your spine
but I promise you this, when I know that you're mine,
well I'll step right(ha!) back in line!
Well we're told what not to do
and how I'd love to choose,
but when I see that bruise I know how you're used,
and I get confused when your lovin ensues;
you only love him when he hits you!
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| My War |
[16 Apr 2010|10:00pm] |
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I'm not sure what nature wants with me. We've been battling for some time, and it's saved me from my own wrath in laziness many times despite this. Understandably, the wonders of technology are not appreciated by nature. Excessive force, directed sloppily, prematurely, selfishly. Subjectively. But technology isn't always opposed to nature, just usually. Finding this existential line where they may exist harmoniously is its own war between morality and self preservation. It is well understood that nature remains the constant, inevitable victor of this ongoing war called life, so at what lengths should we go to merely delay defeat? Why is respect adorned to those who concede when they ought? A clue to the noanswer can be found in glimpses of objectivity, when we're able to back away from ourselves and see beyond the me. The conflict that is the strive of every individual's making it through this world bears its own seemingly insignificant weight on every other being attempting the same. For some, it's apparently significant. Value and worth can't necessarily be measured simultaneously. My own supposed worth is the General holding against the advancing value of those who sustain me. Innumerable casualties, every day. When we wrongfully determine our own worth to be higher than it is, we will destroy each other. Nature made me this way; what right do I have to say it was wrong?
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| A Nerdy Entry is Really Deserved |
[24 Mar 2010|09:46am] |
My first completely custom computer will be arriving in the mail in a few days, and I'm straight giddy. I've been running over parts and deals for a couple months now, scouring wide-eyed the piles of pages with the scrutiny and precision of a homeless seamstress, and optimization has at last been realised. For those that know what the hell I'm talkin' about, f33r me specs:
COOLMAX 650W SLI/Crossfire ready PSU
ASUS AMD EVO AM3 790X ATX MoBo
AMD Phenom II 955 Black Edition Deneb 3.2GHz Quad-Core CPU
2GB Crucial Ballistix Tracer DDR3 1600 (PC 12800) RAM
Western Digital 1.5TB HDD 64MB Cache (SATA)
Western Digital 500GB HDD 32MB Cache (SATA)
XFX Radeon HD 4770 512MB 128-bit GDDR5 PCI Express 2.0 x16 HDCP Ready w/ Crossfire Support
SAMSUNG 24x DVD Burner w/ LightScribe (SATA)
I already have the case it's all goin' in, which has 4 fans, so counting the ones on the PSU, CPU, and graphics card, there will be a total of 7 fans breathing air in and out of the beast. With the case being around 80 bucks, the total shipped cost of the entire rig (from Newegg) is under $800.
As this near-robot-machine will be going in my room, those of you wanting to permanently make your mark on my walls are close to losing the chance. Everything you need to paint is here, minus you.
Additional gnarly noticeables:
Chess
Books
Cheese
Boiled peanuts
Chicken chili
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| Blood flows where blood goes |
[22 Feb 2010|05:37am] |
Strangely enough, there's appeared a silver lining in my having to start taking pain meds; having tried a handful now, I've finally found one that doesn't obliterate my feeble appetite, and actually gives me a bit of the munchies. I'm looking forward to putting on a few pounds, though not for my brothers' sakes. For 23 years I've maintained moderate health with the aid of no prescription medication (outside of illness), which in our society should deserve an award, so for the past few years I've been casually dreading this coming time. Having arrived, I believe that proper meditation on moderation, on clarity and its negation, on the negation of negation, and on the noted good that cycles through its own modest ways, will make me on for the better.
David fixed the playroom. Music is easier now. Thanks David.
I eventually got around to printing out some copies of the Cripple Chronicles "Broken In Tin" (Yea, still just the first ten.) and bound it in a nifty sleeve thing that makes it look way cooler and more important than it is. If you still want one, you know where I'm at.
Come _____ with me.
A. Talk
B. Cook
C. Play
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| A La Cuisine! |
[05 Feb 2010|01:26am] |
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Anyone interested in participating in a modified version of Iron Chef, either competing, judging, filming, or narrating, is invited and encouraged to do so post all parties meeting and discussing said shindig. So, respond here, get with me, yell at Rudy, or poke a Berwick. Oh yea, Berwicks, you're down (right?). The later realization that the possibility of this actually being video documented is unrealistic will not hinder the eventfulness of the event.
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| I am |
[28 Jan 2010|07:36pm] |
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I'm sorry that I must fall on someone, and that my quality of life must so greatly affect yours. I'm sorry that I say hurtful things when I'm hurting. My frustration with you is usually just misplaced hate of myself; no one deserves having to keep me alive. Atop all of this, I'm having to deal with the inevitability of an addiction to pain pills. The choice of comfort or sober thought will hardly even be a choice then. The pills don't care if the pain is real, they coil around you the same. I'm sorry everyone. Please try to remember that I love you all, even when it seems that I've forgotten.
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| Jacked and ready |
[20 Jan 2010|07:50pm] |
My mood has been in the pits for quite some unknown time, and I'm sorry that some of you have been witness to the sad. It's funny though, what indirectly lifted my spirits a bit today; as cliche as it may be, it was realising what wasn't stolen from my (our) home last night. The losers didn't even get what they likely came for, which will not be named here. They did however still make off with some items of significant personal and monetary value: 6 guitars belonging to 3 different people and ranging in age from xmas new to someone's first bought guitar about 10 years ago; 3 acoustics and 3 electrics, one of which is a lefty. They also took my personal safe that I keep my meds in, and some other shit that's best not listed here. Evidence does point towards a certain group of people, but for obvious reasons I won't be disclosing that information either; just know that some form of justice is likely to be served.
When one does no harm to anyone, there are plenty to step up and do harm for one's sake when one has been harmed.
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| Be bothered, but subtle. |
[31 Dec 2009|03:50am] |
Times of change are expected, but I plan to keep surviving and pressing for something new just the same. Complacence is a terrifying place to wander into. I'd like that people would more completely embrace their tastes, though not to the point where they can't change, but where they're able to comfortably voice what they don't like, and more importantly – why.
I try to forget everything I know to find out if it's worth relearning. This works better with some things than with others. For instance, I've pretty much forgotten that I have a sex drive, but I've also misplaced the reasons to put up with certain people. I don't think we'll always know if we're doing what's best, even by our own standards. Is it better to be bothered by this, or just go with the flow? Being bothered seems so unnecessary most of the time.
My pain meds make my already nearly non-existent appetite even more skittish, and they make me sweat more. I've been putting more effort and money into eating and drinking healthier to help compensate for eating maybe once a day. I really hate that it's been made so difficult to not eat altered foods. Who wants to start a farm with me?
We'll be blowing things up and cooking meats over fires on new year's eve, for anyone that wants to join us. Let us not rely on holidays, nor the position of the planet to change our lives.
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| Pick a subject |
[28 Nov 2009|07:26pm] |
Too much drugs man, it's a bad scene. Every cocktail consists of at least pain killers and dxm; the rest are bonuses. My symptoms are atypical, making it difficult to determine my status and its direction, much less vocalizing it to those dealing with me. There are the body pains, which remain mild for now, as well as the congestion, which is odd. I can't take a full breath, though; I get about 60% through, and then there's the stabbing feeling.
It's funny, these are usually the times that I long for conversation and someone to be close to, but right now, I can't bring myself to care. Over this past week, I've not initiated conversation with anyone outside of the house. I wanted to see, of all the people that I talk to daily and semi-daily, who of them would talk to me. No one did. Now, don't go thinkin I'm gonna be all emo with this, as there are two possibilities that can be taken from this. The first, obviously, is that I'm a lame and dry individual. The other then, is that my breed, of conversationalists, is a dying one. It isn't for me to decide, so I won't.
Writing hasn't been happening. It pains me as it delights me, to say. The problem arises from expecting people to understand and care. It's dangerous, this business of expectations. When to care and when not to, I'll never claim to know.
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| Cripple Chronicles: Issue 10, The Good Die Young |
[14 Nov 2009|05:16am] |
And I'm the best. I was diagnosed with Type 1 Spinal Muscular Atrophy, also known as Werdnigg-Hoffman Disease, at eight months old. My parents were told that I wouldn't live past two, and with good reason. Infantile onset (Type 1) is the most sever form of SMA, with the highest mortality rate, and the disease itself is the top inherited killer of children under two. A small number of those diagnosed with Type 1 survive to their teens and early adulthood, which is exactly where I'm at, and there really aren't any statistics representing those who go on beyond this.
The main reason for the high death count has to do with the (disease's) weakness' effect on the lungs and throat. A very weak cough combined with Dysphagia, a secondary condition that results in having difficulties swallowing, leads to a dramatic increase in the chance of battling with respiratory infections and pneumonia. I've had pneumonia eight or nine times; it isn't as cut and dry as it may seem. My white-blood count has been as high as 50,000, and my blood-sugar has been as low as 25, while conscious and talking even. I've lost count of how many stomach viruses I've had. I'm a VIP at Mobile Infirmary's ER, which gives me exclusive access to an imaginary Fast Lane. My familiarity of the hospital and its policies rivals that of the staff, and my comfort with needles hints towards a heroin addiction, or diabetes. I could write a short book detailing my experiences with I.V.'s and having blood drawn. I can usually tell what's being injected into me with my eyes closed. Saline is cool and accompanied with a light salty smell on the back of your throat. Phenergan has a mild burn that soothes as it lingers. Demerol tinges just enough for you to feel it make it fade away, and tastes like the smell of a clean lab. Potassium feels like lava, never again.
I'm close to death often. I've accepted it – my dear mother, I put her through hell over that so many times during various hospital stays; she's always there – some say you're never really prepared for death until it happens, but even if you aren't by then, it's still goin' down. It's hard to say how valuable resolve is, but I have it in spades. I hold onto life like I'm going somewhere, and there's at least a hundred years of shit to be done, but I may only have just a few left to complete this time machine.
What, then, will we do with the little time that we do have? Oh yes, that involves you too! That is what this is all about after all, knowing one another, so that we might enjoy one another. I only want you good people to know me enough to find the chances worth taking. I adore the awkward moments; they nearly all grow into great stories. I just want the stories. The memories. I have some damn good ones already, so here's to you helping me make some new ones, and perhaps not remembering some of those times too, if we do it right. Here's to doing the undone and saying the unsaid, and to pretending that's even possible! Here's to makin' it to the Singularity! Here's to trying!
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| Late night announcement |
[14 Nov 2009|05:15am] |
I've decided to temporarily stop writing the Cripple Chronicles. You're devastated, I know. This is so I can more easily concentrate on other trivial projects, and in the meantime, figure out where I'd like to take the series from here, if anywhere. I'm telling you because for a limited time only, I'm offering hard copies (printed, that is) of these first ten issues! Not because they're worth it, but because of a couple requests from people that don't like reading off of screens. Anyway, if you want one, it's pretty easy to let me know.
Oh yea, the tenth issue, I give you with absolutely no ado...
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| Cripple Chronicles: Issue 9, Trust the Cripple |
[06 Nov 2009|03:51am] |
People can not be trusted, unless they must be, that is. This is when we encounter trust, when we have to; when there's little else to choose from. A cursed few delight in knowing that their well being, or their property for that matter, is directly controlled by the actions of another. Expectedly problematic psychological tendencies arise due to being constantly reminded that, with or without trust, we are not the only deciders of our worlds.
There is apparent glory to be found in self-sufficiency, as we grasp at fuzzy strands of it like spoiled children, but counterintuitive as it may be, the urge remains strong in most to prove, at least to themselves, that they don't NEED anyone else to... (this is where it gets tricky) be happy? Make it? Survive? Compete with? And then on the other hand, there is the blatantly transparent and coincidentally comparable longing for love and companionship that the general audience exudes so awkwardly. Do we not trust that others will love us? Should we? I don't see why we should, other than because of patterns, of people being together, working with each other, and loving one another for thousands of years. These truths offer none of the vague guarantees that always follow “trust” around, but they say something of us humans and how we often tend to interact with those around us. They tell me that people are going to do what it takes to meet their desires, and often times, there exists someone else that, by having their own, similar desires, allows the two to meet their own desires more effectively by aiding one another. I find that the essence of trust and friendship fall from these base observations.
It's been stated that I'm forced to trust people. Hardly. I'm forced, instead, to attempt to master the ancient and nearly lost arts of relations and civility. I know, an odd claim coming from such an asshole, but trust isn't necessary if all parties are clear on the consequences regarding their actions. Miscommunication and misunderstandings are at the root of distrust and seemingly selfish acts; honest and concise speech is usually enough to avoid such casualties. People are selfish by design, to survive, and not by fault; understanding this trait of self preservation removes some of the negative connotations tied to the term “selfish.” There is no selflessness. Being named doesn't make something real. The most selfish thing a person can do is try to be selfless.
It's much easier then, for me, not to trust all the people that I must have help me to not hurt me, but to know that they know that it's best for all of our situations for them to try not to (hurt me). Others need not trust that I won't wrong or hurt them, as they should know that my weak ass has no business startin' shit. Trust doesn't make bad things not happen; it's merely accepting that interests can align, and can be encouraged to do so.
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| Post post-holiday post picture post |
[02 Nov 2009|03:18am] |
Nazi Jesus, post smores. Kyle's finger.
Jeff, possessed Nazi Jesus, Kyle.
Wilson, the Jolly Anarchist, and Stallon "Stacy" Little Rat Shit.
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| Predictable post-holiday-post |
[01 Nov 2009|03:23pm] |
With the exception of three shrimp, I've eaten nothing but candy and smores for some 30 somethin hours. And don't nobody lay out a smore spread like this body do; there was regular milk, dark, almond, and Symphony chocolate - regular, strawberry, and coconut marshmallows - regular and chocolate gram crackers. That's 24 variations of smore with just one piece of each! I Think! You start mixing and matching and the numbers become too mystical for me to even pretend to calculate. I said buffet bitches. We kept a fire burning till near day break. There was much smoke. I cast my general indifference on those who should have dropped by.
I've been playin on a mic more lately. I've lost count of pseudosongs, but there's now a handful of audibly tolerable noises been assembled that just lack proper recording.
In tuning the left, let us not forget that the right remains. Don't confuse what you allow, understand, and justify. Do not let your way lead you, but let it show you where you might step.
Am I the only motherfucker that likes eggnog?
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| You missed me, I know. |
[26 Sep 2009|06:08pm] |
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Yesterday was spent in Starkville, Mississippi with Kyle, T, Jeff, and Bikeman for a free Third Eye Blind show at MSU. Dear lord, does that campus put South's to shame. The concert was intense, and the crowd was the tightest and largest that I've yet to be swallowed by. My right arm was casually pulverized as I couldn't keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle due to constantly having to turn my chair off from people, thankfully mostly attractive females, bumping/grinding against me and turning it on; only a brief moment of my chair being on in a crowd like that is enough time for someone to move my joystick in a manner that could unintentionally start a moshpit/kill small children. Also, James Brown was there.
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| Our manner is the hard part. |
[07 Sep 2009|04:54pm] |
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I'm currently frustrated by the apparent futility of my efforts; I should be apathetic, like I am with so much else. That's what the teachings say. It's difficult not to care sometimes. I'm also having a hard time finding activities anyone wants to do with me other than smoke and watch movies, of which I've seen several good ones recently. It's nice outside. I think I'm about to get my hair trimmed.
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| Yes, math will haunt you in your dreams. |
[31 Aug 2009|10:33pm] |
Did you know that waking someone up involves math?
When you sleep, your brain and ears maintain a reactive filter to help you get your rest and not wake up to every little noise. The body is constantly trying to determine if it's being “alerted” or “disturbed,” and this distinction dictates if you wake up, or just roll over. Obviously, if the body feels that it's being alerted by some noise, it will awaken. However, if it's under the impression that it's just being disturbed, it does more than simply stay asleep; it labels the disturbance, specifically, the noise, as an annoyance in an effort to keep it from being detected to the point of alerting, to the point of waking. In essence, the sensitivity to that specific stimuli is slightly lowered, thus shifting the consideration of said stimuli from “alert,” and towards “disturbance.” This effectively increases the amount of the noise that is needed before it's reconsidered to be an alert. Now, because this process is reactive, every time that the noise is presented, and it's not the required amount of the noise to alert, the required amount of the noise to alert increases. Here's where the fun (read: math) comes in:
If x = required amount of noise present to be considered an alert,
and y = amount of noise presented,
then,
if y < x, then x = y +1.
Ideally, one wants
x < y < z,
where z = amount of noise necessary to wake the whole house.
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| For you're judgmental pleasure: |
[24 Aug 2009|03:45am] |
Shinraunit: been watching starcraft alot lately
Shinraunit: hotels and stuff
Shinraunit: cable has 24h starcraft channels
TheMostUniqueSN: lucky
TheMostUniqueSN: alot? seriously dude?
Shinraunit: well
Shinraunit: no
Shinraunit: which was zero
Shinraunit: but now that im home I dont get SC channel
TheMostUniqueSN: a lot, dumbass
Shinraunit: You're in no postion to criticize my typing
Shinraunit: and I've been using 'alot' for decades
TheMostUniqueSN: i'm not?
Shinraunit: you typed 'lookin' earlier
Shinraunit: Where's the 'g' bro?
Shinraunit: Where's the motherfuckin G???
TheMostUniqueSN: that's slang, not a word that doesn't fucking exist!
Shinraunit: alot is slang
Shinraunit: look it up in the fucking slang dictionary
TheMostUniqueSN: alot is wrong
Shinraunit: You're wrong.
TheMostUniqueSN: no, your is wrong
Shinraunit: you mean 'yourS' is wrong?
TheMostUniqueSN: no, I mean your's wrong
Shinraunit: your don't use an apostrophe in your's
Shinraunit: dumbass
Shinraunit: like this
Shinraunit: "Yours is wrong."
Shinraunit: that's it
TheMostUniqueSN: your doesn't use an apostrophy ever
Shinraunit: you use apostrophy with yours
TheMostUniqueSN: bullshit
Shinraunit: [17:27] TheMostUniqueSN: no, I mean your's wrong
TheMostUniqueSN: right, I said it was wrong
Shinraunit: But I never said "yours"
TheMostUniqueSN: no, but your "alot" was wrong, too
Shinraunit: why did you bring up "yours" if I never said it
Shinraunit: You are trying to cover your ass because you said "your's" genuinely and are trying to pass it off as if you're merely correcting me and its not your actual words
TheMostUniqueSN: because "your's" is wrong, and YOUR "alot" was wrong too, you notgettinthejoke motherfucker!
Shinraunit: I don't get the joke but I do get the bad CYA attempt
TheMostUniqueSN: uh huh, we'll see what the internet says about this
Shinraunit: the answer is at the end of the internet.
TheMostUniqueSN: I was thinking livefacespace
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| Kathryn, I found your foo cup. |
[20 Aug 2009|03:06am] |
I woke up to the sounds of a strangely energetic blowjob. Warm wetness is slapping against my face rhythmically; a large, cool, blackness brushes lightly behind it, going up and down, up and down. It keeps interrupting what fuzzily appear to be two beautiful, big, brown eyes, so full of eagerness, and yet only half open and awake. G'mornin Wilson; I love you too, but please stop tearing microscopic pieces of flesh off of my nose now.
I haven't been sleeping well. Certain instances are easily enough explained by whatever the hell I was doing that day, but the consistency of the issue, I believe, may be unrelated. I've acquired some sort of (muscle) tension that I consciously have to relax away, usually several times, before I can sleep. I can't pin down the root this is stemming from, though the top suspect is physical stress. I think I took for granted the many years of relative comfort, and am now having difficulty acknowledging and expressing the progression of physical pain I've been experiencing. It's troublesome to think of where this could so easily lead.
There are things in our heads that we show only some, and surely, only some can see these things. I think that the two do not overlap as often as they ought.
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| I'm disgusting |
[14 Aug 2009|09:00pm] |
What are your preferences, and why should I prefer them over mine? The fact that they are yours is not reason enough, as it's just that, a fact. You don't have to defend or justify them, but if you can't, why have them around?
Can anyone tell me what attraction is? Or even what it's not? Is it biology? Love. Lust. Good. Useful. Distracting. Necessary. Pain. Hope. Any of these, none, or all? Are we really all this insecure? I guess it's just a chance to defy, or prove, that we are.
It makes sense, I suppose, being a man of discrimination, that I constantly see these possibilities, that something might work, that some mutual level of understanding may be present and enjoyable. But what is a possibility without initiative or intent? An acceptable loss. And the contrary? An annoyance. Do you live in the middle?
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