Anger

AS many of you know, I occasionally stumble around my insulated world in an enraged stupor. Smashing items of value, cursing like one afflicted with Tourette's, beading sweat on my brow. Essentially making a fool of myself. My recent move has bolstered my lifelong attempt to quell this behavior: sunny skies, friendly co-citizens, a cushy job and an apparent end to the dark period of my academic career. Residual anger, in general, is now ventilated through exercise or gathered and dispersed in virtiolic packets reserved for The Man.

And yet triggers still exist. The father that I am gradually estranging from pesters me like I'm a child away at summer camp; prolonging his cowardly parenting strategies well into my quarter-life and in general being both counter-productive and self-pitying. I find that I only answer one out of his three calls, and that last one sends me into a glass-shattering fit.

The other trigger is a left-over task from my days as an academic engineer (see, although I'm employed as an engineer I work in a field that seldom leads to the blistering frustration of being hunched over equations that simply won't work or leafing through manuals arranged by retards). In the field of engineering (and my branch moreso than the others) it behooves you to attain what is called "professional licensure". This process is intended to make sure that the individuals that design the bridges you drive on, the buildings you work in, the water you drink and the landfill you throw your garbage in will not some day lead to your death. It's taken very seriously in the indusry and, in general, I have no problem with the concept.

However, what enrages me is the process of studying for phase I of the exam process. In October I will be taking an exam (and missing what will most likely prove to be a crucial day of my Fiction and Poetry Writing Classes) entitle "The Fundamentals of Engineering". It's not the most difficult exam ever developed (something like 70% pass it on the first try) and it's likely that if I can simply maintain my patience I will do fine. However, as I attempt to study it now I find that every single question falls into one or both of the following categories: "I will never use it" or "I have never learned it".
The issue leading to the first of these categories is that I work in a relatively new and niche industry that pulls none of it's operating principles from a textbook and applies very few of the "Fundamentals" of engineering save simple mathematics and an overall understanding of systems. The second category is aggravated by the fact that I graduated from a half-ass school that is on the verge of losing it's accreditation.
Beyond these two issues, studying for this mindfuck of an exam is further "enriched" by the fact that it's 90 degrees out and I have the choice between going kayaking, working on my novel, or relearning differential calculus. I must say my patience is running short.

Thus while I am happier in general out here I was naive to ever think that all of things I disliked in life would simply evaporate. And I understand now, more than ever, why I need to get back to school and get that second degree. And the third. And the fourth.

After this lament, though, I feel I do need to lend my anger some credit. Without my almost ridiculous lack of patience I would have accomplished a great deal less in my life than I have. My anger got me through school because I became so pissed with the rote tasks that what was at first simply my dissatisfaction turned into a fistfight that I refused to lose. In general, I have been able to turn what seems like useless rage into a tool for burning down obstacles and kicking in doors. The trick, I think, is to maintain that element of my volatility while somehow keeping it on simmer during the downtime. I need a way to increase the precision of this thing, and thereby reduce collateral damage.

(692)

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The Hive- I can laugh again

I'm going to have to handle this delicately . . . .

According to the Selfish Gene theory all of us, from a biological standpoint, are merely sophisticated machines constructed to insure the immortality of our genes. Over time, genes that produce machines better at surviving are successful in carrying on. Out of this arises familial love; because we share much of our genetic make-up with our relatives we have an inherent desire to protect them and care for them. However, so the theory goes (and I'm not attempting to refute it, this idea has literally changed my life) at the end of the day the purpose of our bodies is to prolong the existence of the genes that make us up.

This extends to all animals with the important exception of "hive" or "social" insects and corollaries in other animal families such as the naked mole rat. These species, typified by having not only queens responsible for reproduction, but a litany of other non-reproductive roles, do fit into the Selfish Gene under the caveat that they are essentially one organism. They share the vast majority of genetic information and essentially have become a cooperative team for the purposes of accomplishing the same goal that the individual organism accomplishes in other species.

It has been suggested that the Selfish Gene theory leads the believer to a sense of pointlessness. It certainly chips away at one's sense of self-worth; and is utterly the opposite of the idea that one is god's precious snowflake.

However, taking the concept of the hive animal, I propose a compromise. (someone is going to crucify me) I propose that, arguably with a feat of semantics, take on the label of hive organism. I think we may be trending towards this as it is, and certainly by taking several million steps back it certainly appears that mankind is working together towards one big. . . well, towards one big something or other. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

In the hive there is one reproducer, (the queen)constantly churning out spawn with very little genetic variation. Every other member of the hive has a specified, assigned role that is absolutely required for the stability of the community. It could be suggested that these animals live exclusively in carefully controlled environments because it limits the amount of roles required and thus simplifies overall organization. Thrust these hives out into the open and new roles may form (though it's more likely the community would simply die from the exposure). What I'm suggesting is that we consider mankind a hive of an infinitum of roles and an unlimited number of reproducers. I agree that this seems to directly contradict the idea of the hive animal, but listen. . . .

The hive animal works to support the proliferation of one set of genetic information. With a leap of semantics one could argue that mankind is, in general, working together to support the proliferation of one subset of genetic information. That is, the set of genes that make us unique and make us human. The 1% that differs from chimps, whatever. Our diversity in roles helps to insure that we are nearly impervious to any threat. Our revolutionary approach (at least amongst hive animals) to spread the role of reproduction is merely our understanding that it is simply another role and the undisputable fact that diversity (in the peripheral genetic information) is better for the hive in the long run.

Two major arguments that I can see coming against this immediately, and my half-assed answers to them:

1)With enough hot air you could extend this to any animal:
Not true. No other animal has constructed the institutions, language, infrastructure or government that we have. No other animal shows similar levels of cooperation (except for . . .hive animals).

2)Hive animals have one or two roles, easy to organize. If we have an infinity of roles, are you suggesting that there is some kind of organizing factor within us?
Absolutely not. I think that a set amount of skills have developed (scientists, artists, etc) that help us survive. At this point it's a crapshoot whether or not an individual will have skills relevant to the community. However, as any given skill exists somewhere in the gene pool, it's bound to surface particularly if it proves useful. Diversity insures new combinations that will, in turn, proliferate if they're proven useful

In short, do I think humans are hive animals? I'm not sure. And I'm not suggesting that I've proven anything or even neccessarily argued something I whole-heartedly believe. What I do think is that there are tendencies in us toward this behavior (and it should be noted that hive behavior is not only a highly convergent behavior, but it also occurs in mammals). Also, an adoption of a modified hive-like behavior may be truly beneficial.


Anyway . . .I put this out here to discuss it.

(824)

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Grilled Mahi Mahi

I made myself a romantic dinner tonight after an afternoon of climbing by myself. I had grilled Mahi Mahi (as you may have guessed), steamed veggies, roasted potatoes and some Cabernet. It was a lot of effort for one person to have one meal, and yet I can hardly consider it a waste of time and energy. The meal was coupled with the renewed understanding that I am completely responsible for everything that happens now. My mistakes can no longer be written off on youth and naivete, my job cannot be neglected via its status, my body no longer will stand to be a garbage heap for whatever food I get my hands on.

I've been adjusting to a fairly solitary life. I spend a lot of my time reading or exercising or writing. I had forgotten the myriad values of routine exercise. It makes one feel and look better, it contributes to one's health; but most of all there is an exhiliration in feeling one's weakness marginalized and finally eradicated. Not that I am now rid of weaknesses, but rather I am developing a different relationship with them in which I am much more in control. This, I believe, may lead to a greater control of weaknesses of the mind as well.

Writing is going quite well, and in fact I find myself organizing my thoughts more clearly and developing a more subconscious sense of what is needed. It's amazing what you learn about a thing by simply doing it.

As time goes on, I'm becoming more reluctant to join in the few available social activities. This evening, in fact, I'm debating venturing out to a BBQ my brother's co-workeer is holding. My hesitation, mild and questionable, comes primarily from the fact that I'm sick of engineers. Not to bring any disrespect on this craft, but it seems that this is the occupation of virtually everyone I know here. And it creates a cramped worldview. What, I think, was so satisfying about my previous living situation was the diversity in perspective. Core beliefs could even be alike, but there was a stark contrast in how each of our streams of consciousness flowed.

There is some suggestion going on right now that something very specific might happen. It's one of these things that seems unthinkable for a long time and suddenly becomes obvious. I'm rooting for this to play out the way it's being suggested (in fact I won't speak its name now out of supersitition); but if I've learned one thing it's that life-changing decisions are not to be taken lightly. But if I've learned anything else it's that we cannot be paralyzed by concerns about the future.

Some friends are coming for a visit very soon (if things go according to plan). I'm trying to come up with some fun stuff to do, and I think I have. Boise is a fantastic place for bar-hopping, hotspringing and relaxing. I hope it's hot enough to float the river. And it sounds like they might be bringing this little treasure:

(518)

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New Chapter

I posted a new chapter (C3Al) if anyone's interested. It hasn't been critically edited yet, so if you see any glaring errors. Thanks!

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Revision to My Summer Challenge

I had mentioned that I wanted to revise the terms of the summer challenge I had made.
The new goal is this:

-75 pages complete on novel
-3 blogs per week of 500 words or more. At least one of which must be nonpersonal in nature

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Mankind

Recent developments (Brazilian Stonehenge, 250,000 year old tools, etc) have got me thinking about mankind again. The true history of our species is overwhelmingly unwritten. The accepted chronology of events is pathetically white-washed (and by that I mean caucasian) and understandably conservative. When anthropologists and other experts in the field peg something, like the discovery of agriculture, at 8-9,000 years ago they are doing so based on the oldest verifiable data that they have. This does not preclude earlier developments in agriculture, and in fact societies have been known to acquire and subsequently lose skills and knowledge based on their needs (who among us, for instance, knows much of anything about the cotton gin or the slide rule?).

In reality my interest runs deeper than that. As much as our cultural evolution fascinates me the really interesting thing to contemplate is how we made the leap from apes to beings capable of a complex culture? How did we become so adept at manipulating extra-genetic information and become capable of handing things and ideas down to future generations and sideways to our compatriots? What occurred inside our brain that kicked the door wide open for communication? How did we go from grunts symbolizing nouns to a language consisting of completely abstract components (syllables) designed to assemble into an even more abstract language?

The answer, I think, is psychotropic drugs. Envision a creature only marginally simpler than yourself. Capable of figuring out problems, outwitting lesser animals, possibly showing affection or otherwise expressing yourself. Take away the capacity for communication as we understand it. Allow for monosyllabic grunts that mean "food" or "water" or "fire" or "club" but not "family" or "boundary" or "swim" or "faster". Not that our creature did not have an understanding of these concepts or live within their meaning, but take away any ability to reference this concept to a fellow being.

Now add mushrooms. Or ergot or mescaline or any of the hundreds of plants containing DMT. When we, sophisticated, talkative, industrious, and expressive, take these drugs we are UNIVERSALLY overwhelmed with a rush of thoughts that is unrepressable, exhilirating and enlightening. Dosing a simpler (but only just) mind with one of these chemicals (a mind that has never been altered, mind you! or even understood stimulation beyond the forest floor or the serengeti) would cause a rush no less profound and no less forceful and creative. The meagre language we've developed to explain ourselves and our environment is hardly a match for a mild dose of mushrooms. Imagine if our creature and his tribe, unable to truly communicate, had an entire evening in which to try and explain the chaos inside their heads. Would they not begin to attach the abstract to grunts, if only as a placeholder? Would they not attempt to explain how they felt, not only in that moment, but in general? Would they not begin the process of attaching names to formerly unnamable and crafting sonic symbols for that which had never been uttered?

Let me know what you think.

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This place is quiet

There is a trickling return to normalcy. For instance homesickness does not plague me, nor does boredom find me lacking.

My brother talks, lately, about "getting It". He throws up respect for a surprising array of individuals we've all heard the names of. People who mastered their roles by reaching their potential and understanding that the only way they could ever truly ignite their flame is by paying strict attention to what fed it.

And yet, for many of us no single prhase leaps to mind. What is it that we truly love to do? Is it some latent genetic trait or the unintended consequence of a lifetime with eyes wide open? Is it possible to convince yourself that something in this wild world fits closely enough? If we try and fail, what is the recourse?

I said for the longest time that there are really two people in this world: Those with a plan and those without. Now this isn't a matter of one's superiority over the other, and we may even acknowledge that execution of one's plan is without relevance in the eyes of the universe. But what it does mean is an appreciation for the energy required to do these things one wants to do, and a willingness to admit that you have to start right now.

Anyway, its good to see this gleam in my brother's eye. He's learned for himself what makes life valuable, and what turns time into a tool rather than an obstacle. Rooming with him will do nothing if not encourage me that my own choices are valid, and irrevocable.

I've been able to start writing again, in degrees. Staring at skylines and taking evening bike rides to rouse some inspiration. This change in scenery has elicited the subtlest changes in my thinking, such that I've had to re-evaluate my objectives. Not on the whole, not in category or description or implementation. But rather in the words I actually put down, and the story I am trying to tell.

Anyway, hope all is well. I'm excited by an approaching visit. And I can't tell you the relief in a satisfying work environment. There is the feeling that once some final blocks fall into place (paychecks roll in, school starts again, I find a steady DD, etc) I will really be able to thrive here. Watch out.

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Listen to Dead Prez

So the Supreme Court has decided that it is acceptable for police officers to enter your residence (with a warrant) without notification, without knocking, and without the traditional "Police! Open up!". The focus of this decision was to make it easier to obtain illicit evidence, and reduce the possibility of a police officer violating your rights and thereby spoiling a case against you. This panel of silver-spooned shitbags, and trust me wealth has prevented these assholes from ever even meeting a police officer, cited increasing police professionalism as a major reason to slacken the restrictions on what type of evidence gathering is admissable in court. What is most interesting about this justification is that the ONLY thing that has possibly contributed to some subtle increase in "police professionalism" is the fact that they've learned a sloppy search can lead to a guilty person going free. Take away the possibility of an officer ruining his case and this supposed air of "professionalism" (a supposition that is decidely uncited in the report) dematerializes immediately. How is it that the brightest minds in legal thought can't understand the cause-and-effect of precendents set down by the institution they're representing. This case reeks of racism to me, and the self-righteous retardness of 6 people that have all been skull-fucked by the devil to achieve their status.




I can tell you this: as a fairly nonviolent person I would shoot a cop that kicked my door in without knocking. And I would go to jail for it. And that would be fine.

At some point this shit has to stop, but I have no idea what to do about it. Our country is being fucking ruined by the second. THIS IS WHY THE SUPREME COURT NOMINATIONS WERE SUCH A BIG DEAL. WE ARE ALL GOING TO BE IN JAIL BEFORE THIS IS OVER


I know a lot of inidivuals will respond with the by now classic retort: "But if you're not doing anything wrong, then you have nothing to worry about." This is utter shit, on the face of it. We are virtually ALL law breakers. How long before the RIAA begins to lobby for it's increasingly strict ideals to be enforced by law, how many of you smoke pot, how many of you are 20 and have beer in the fridge. Of course it goes beyond that, because when combined with the more startling information that our communications are also being tracked and monitored its growing more obvious by the day that this is no longer a free country. That means a revolution, though maybe still a generation or two away, is nearing. How easily will it be supressed when the telecoms are willing to hand over our communication, the moral majority is willing to hand over their children for questioning the almighty Bush, and they can kick in your door without even asking. We need to burn this place to the fucking ground and start over.

End Rant.

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workworkwork

So, I'd thought I'd put up a post about work as it the Detroit tribe asks about it.

I'm currently working on 3 primary projects, although some others tend to creep in as well. The first is a transit study for the state of Idaho. Basically, Idaho has something like a dozen different agencies that provide public transit around the state (mostly rural with the exception of the provider in Boise). My company is determining what types of technology would best fit each provider to save money, increase efficiency, reach more riders, increase safety/security, etc. What this essentially means is that very soon I am going to be traveling around the state and meeting with people to help them figure out how they can better serve their community with technology.

Another project is updating the Intelligent Transportation Systems plan for Boise metro. The goal for this is to update a plan made in 1999 for automating/optimizing traffic operations using technology like cameras, vehicle detection, electronic signs, actuated signals, etc etc. This is going to be somewhat gratifying, as every new person I meet that asks me what I do for work responds "Yeah, something really needs to be done with traffic here". And with the valley geography of Boise, building new roads is something of a last resort.

The others, suffice it to say that depending on how our proposals go I will be traveling to any/all/none of British Columbia, Utah, Montana or Oregon sometime this year. Should be a cool way to see the region. The job is really interesting so far, and I'm being given a really long leash. Of course with that comes some responsibility and expectation; but I think I have been doing really well. When I was expected to simply be reading some things I started in on the next steps and my boss was pretty impressed. My advice to anyone in college anticipating going to work after graduation is to get a job before you graduate. I don't anticipate using anything that I learned in school anytime soon.


I also bought a kick-ass phone/PDA that is keeping me uber-organized. I might get sick of it eventually, but what it amounts to is having the internet in my pocket at all times. I read an article on Wikipedia while having a bowel movement today. I can use Microsoft word, instant messenger, Excel, etc etc. I can write a note for work, and in the blink of an eye move to revising a chapter from my book. SG: I just made a purchase that is going to save me time in virtually every task I do.

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Tupac Shakur died when he was 25 years old

How old are you?

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never intend to finish.

After a few years in school, I got a "good paying job in the city" as I always liked to say. I've stopped fighting back the image of loping down from a tree and leaving my parents essentially behind. They just weren't fit for this world, and thus settled into a chilled transition. Each day the same, only slightly less important than the last.

The new financial windfall and the tweak in the "obvious conveniences" of living with the folks provided a clean getaway from the suburbs that had tortured me lo those many years. You see I had gotten into an increasingly frustrating series of disappointments, set into motion primarily by the legal system but also by a tremendous dissatisfaction I felt with the vitality of my community and environment. I had good friends, yes, and a few of them were more than willing to drag me into their filthy drug habit. I, however, had wanted to move out since I first learned to walk. It's a curious situation to be berated for the majority of your adolescence and formative years for the cushy life you've been provided by an individual who refuses to let you hack at palms with your own machete. Sorry, pops, as tough as you wanted me to be any hint of cowardice likely comes from smelling yours.

So I knew these guys in the city, a bit rough around the edges and heavy on the beer. And not only was that my style, but they all had that gleam in their eye. Or at least the small group this was eventually whittled down to. They coaleseced in a way that shifts the word "individual" from noun to adjective. I can hardly describe them as a group without leaving out vast quality and characteristics. For that I can only think to describe how I felt about them as time went on.

I had always made some subtle attempts, in my fairly frequent run-ins with the guerillas, to make some sort of impression on them. Out of sheer respect and admiration. They had all the rambunctiousness, the carefully timed fuck-it-all attitude, and the subversively cool attitude I had always been attracted to in people. And yet there was something a bit more, there was, if not a defined purpose, a certain swagger in the confidence that when that purpose was illuminated these fuckers were going to murder it. I always wanted to get invited to their events and even once or twice redrove to Detroit to drink beers and actually slept in what would eventually become my room. Something special happened there, and it revitalized my faith.

A while later, when I went looking for that room to rent, openings occurred in their massive party house. I had replace a soon to be ousted forger and busker with tense relationships. I didn't know what to expect from this, moving out of the 'rents into a dilapidated mansion with more people than I had stored in my cellphone. My excitement is nonpareil even to this day. They had accepted me, it seems. And I knew from casual conversation that they did not accept just anyone.

The love of my life re-entered my life at this time as well, and the entire world was gauzy to me. Everyone in stillframe, every conversation the slowly faded intro to some poetic masterpiece. I felt more at home than anywhere I have ever felt in my life.

continued . . . .
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A Spastic Memoir, I

I can't think about the book right now, my thoughts are way to focused on my own life. Call it selfishness, but now's a time of great reflection. I msy live in shame by the end of the summer, unless a modification can be accepted by the committee.


A few years ago, before anyone reading this really knew me, I lived in a cramped suburb of Detroit, suckling good times from whatever narcotics passed my way and secretly writing a big stupid novel that anyone who wants can read here . I was going to write some comment on these years but realized this highly fictionalized account explains my mind state at the time better than any truthful attempt could. It's a mess, 40,000 completely unedited words on one page. Good Luck.

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Talons Ish

I've put a summary of Talons That Go Unnamed here. 4 chapters, or approximately 32 pages of the book are also available to read here

I haven't had much time to write, unfortunately, still acclimating myself. I have something of a workstation set up now and my computer has started behaving, so hopefully I will be starting to write more very soon. I'm getting antsy.

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What's Love?

Love is giving up every Saturday for 3.5 months because, it seems, the only thing that matters is the Word.

Love is making $45,000 a year, living in paradise and deciding that your best bet is to spend every free second honing a craft that brings no rewards.

Love is leaving everything you know behind because if you really want to do this, you need to be as free as a bird. And so does she.

Love will return to you when you've earned it. And Love will stay alive because the world can't hurt it.

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" . . .shall ever remain Nameless"

Let's see if I can still do this . . .

I've finally made it out of Michigan just in time to realize it wasn't quite the firetrap or Loyalist enclave I thought it was. Nevertheless, one can't neglect the sense that by heaving oneself out of their hometown that they have somehow further deconstructed themselves. OUt of stubborness or laziness or fear we often stave off change; claim we're gathering resources, building armies or perfectly happy. My most current convienence is that I have no choice but to embrace the far-fetched and turbulent. On a conveyor belt, anxious as the machinery catches up.

For a second or third time I drove across a huge swath of this tremendous country and I can assure that every misstep and corruption occurring in the City goes almost completely unnoticed in the Great Plains. This is not from conversation, I admit, but from the stark realization that our nation is split into an infinitum of sovereignties within itself. For Minnesota to flinch at the concerns of Iowa, floodwaters or cracks in the droughted soil would have to creep a few hundred miles up the Mississippi. Thus, for Wyoming to give two shits about the struggles of the crack orphans of Detroit Public Schools they'd have to be refugees fleeing to Cheyenne. Every disgrace, even the simply fixed, glows like an ember. It sears at the touch, but hardly affects the ambience from just a few feet away. This is not an indictment of the inhabitants of these places any more than it is one of myself. This is an observation of an extended reality that I have seen everywhere.

And, contrary to the mediaplex, this is not a nation erupt with skyscrapers and freeways. It stands nearly empty in the middle, questioning the courage of those on the rim. There are fields so large they curve out of view. There are expanses so great thay we could never fill them with our ignorance or our appetite. There are views so pure that one dare not speak of them. There are still sunrises in valleys, and storms over mountains that make me weep.

I spent last days with The One or her double and healed a thousand tiny cuts without a word or a sound. The sparkling dome above us a reminder that there is no suffering, no desire and no time unless we want there to be. Then She left without a promise because that sort of thing simply can't be held down.

I'm nearly settled in now, just have a few more pedestrian items on the checklist before it's officially home, and its finally sinking in that the future is wide fucking open.

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