Icarus starts to return from WAY out there
Started: Tuesday, August 31, 2004 01:43
Finished: Tuesday, August 31, 2004 02:49
Rather than try to compose mundane words, I used Gimp (Version 1.2.?) this time.
Too many tears to write. I'll just build the link in plain old html, rather than try to have my lounge code autogenerate it.
Starts here.
Or if that doesn't work, try here.
Or even better, here.
Need easy to use?
View source, or scratch your head. Look in different browsers? Different programs? Want to see the original gimp version? Only around 38k, more or less. Not much bigger than the png. png. PNG. Not Gif. Food. Not Bombs. Png. Not Gif. Food. Not Not Not Bombs. Like A Bomb. Calm Like A Bommb. Bomb Bamb. Lamb. Bomb Lamb? WTTTTF.
Getting back. On track.
Display it.
I mean... ...
Display it.
[bitscape:~]$ display product.png
Image. Magick.
Image. ding ding ding ding. Magick.
Image. ding ding ding ding. Magick.
and AGAIN
ONE MORE TIME!
MORE.
And back.
.....
down
down...
down...
...
Oh, but one last look?
If any of the people at Rock Island last night (or anyone else for that matter) were wondering why I was such a fucking hurricane craze for God knows how long (1 week, to 2 to 3, to all year, to my whole lifetime, depending on the angle), look in that image for an answer.
It was created a few minutes after I went back to reading from No Trespassing by Anders Corr. Pages I was looking at: The section starting on 114, but I started back at page 60 while I waited on the toilet for my bowels to clear.
Then I thought of the CrimethInc publication entitled Off the Map, and I burst into tears again. Now I'm holding one copy of each book next to each other on my lap while I write this, and trying to balance them while letting my back rest in its place..
It's all ancient history now, but at least I'm writing and posting a rambling again. That's a start, right? On the road to rehab? But what if I don't want rehab?
Maybe a little rehab is good.
I guess I'll start by thanking that DJ (whoever he was) for doing me the HUGE favor of BLASTING A cd I had brought in (which he had never heard any of before that night) over the speakers while I hogged the dance floor and did a pretend re-enactment of a scene or two from Fight Club. thisisq. Track 4.
...
My lip is almost healed from the smacking punch I got Friday night. It came from a guy who had been holding his girlfriend's baby hostage, or so I gathered. Anyway, several police quickly came and sedated him and took him away. When they asked me if I wanted to press charges for assault, I hesitated before reluctantly replying in the affirmative. If needed, I will testify in court.
That's why I have to stay in Colorado. Not because any law requires it of me, but because I have so much to wrap up before departing, if I ever do finally depart.
I truly enjoyed the hike with Jaeger Saturday afternoon, even though we had many moments of friction. I'd also like to thank him again for the ride home from the Ranch just as it was getting dark. Without that, I would have been even more lost.
Maybe I'll do another small dose of lithium before a bed covered in the Moulin Rouge dvd sound (headphones), but...
First, just one or two more word glimmers.
Earlier, this evening, I ran down Pearl Street (Boulder, CO) with victory in my eyes, a song in my heart. I cried, "Yes, I survived another Tuning. And this time I remember everything! Everything! EVERYTHING! I survived, I survived, I survived! And I remember!"
People who had been familiar to me over the past couple weeks, though they may not have understood what I was saying, looked back at me in joyous recognition, some winked, and others just smiled. Tourists and Frat Preppy Boys became increasingly annoyed. Too bad for them. It ain't their town, unless they're really willing to fight for it.
Not in the mood for fighting (and I knew fights would likely start if I continued), I quietly returned to my car and muttered a few more bizarrely twisted utterances on the way.
"All Hail, Your New Emperor, Jeeorge Doubleyou Buush! Velcome Him. Lav Him. Prrrrraise Him. Honor Him... All Hail, Your New Fuhor, Jeeroge DoubleUUU boosh!"
Stop. And onward! (If you've been watching any of the mainstream media coverage of the Republican Convention, the words do seem to fit, don't they? Little attention has been given by the news channels to the teeming masses of peaceful crowds that throng the streets outside. Instead, cameras pan around the interior of mostly empty halls where the "Leaders" deliver their venomous pronouncements to the public. What nation wouldn't go mad under such conditions?)
Then we sang. Who sang? I sang.
Others sang. The campfire sang. The stars sang. The sky blossomed. Galaxies collided and went supernova.
But that was back at the camp on a Saturday night over a week ago, as it transitioned into a momentous Sunday morning. Yoga was the most relaxing part, but it also held the most sorry for me. I knew it would all be over soon. The End of the World.
Just as I know that the same is true now.
And I really must spend a few moments in bed before morning, if only to lend some continuity to the concept of "going to bed" and "waking up" again. I'll log off and let this be. But first, a tiny screenshot to commemorate this last moment here.
Roxette:
Can you hear me call your name?
Things will never be ... be .... be
I swear, I'll try to get back to checking email tomorrow, but only after I finish getting Argo online by reconstituting the internal net at the Neighborly Abode, as I meticilously examine whether each host is safe before setting it loose on the network. I suspect my dad's Windows box may have been spewing spam, but we may never know for sure.
Now the cigarette smoke from outside is clogging my nose again. "They" are trying to smoke us out. No joke, no pun. The rents must go up, and to do that, the existing tenants must be gotten rid of, like the filthty rags they are.
To bed with me. (I take sinister pleasure in thinking -- rightly so -- that my relentless clickety clack at the keys is probably annoying those neighbors as much as their smoke is annoying me. Which is probably why they're still out there smoking. Trying to get rid of that nervous feeling produced by all the clickety clack heard through the walls.) AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHH!
Shit, now the PC speaker (non-soundcard) is beeping when I run up to the edges of vi's buffer.
Peace, and out.