I need to clean this keyboard

I need to clean this keyboard. Speed of death. Speed of life. Notation, flotation. Dream while asleep, dream while awake. I’m also digging this requirement to write each day. This freedom to free associate each day, to stream the rivulets each day. To damn up the flow for a single day’s season and make my lodge and fuck some beaver in my lodge and stash aspen branches near my lodge and weather the winter of the day again. Er, if you will allow the metaphor.

I wish for a tool useful for writing while walking. Walking seems to me the best time to write. The head blood is flowing, inspiration is all around. It’s exciting without its motion, danger, dedication to balance. I know one can get a blue tooth mic and use some voice recognition. And that’s ok. But research is dubious on the accuracy of the result, and do I really want to walk around like an asshole, talking to myself up one block and down the other? I wish for an in hand gadget, where you could play the finger triggers as you would a piano, but form letters instead of notes. So I suppose I would rather publically LOOK like a twitchy asshole, than SOUND like one.

Ya sir, we’re in the same place. It’s perhaps the 40 thing. Makes you wonder a bit, standing in the middle of it all. So we’re finally comfortable adulting. Good on us. It begs the question, what next? I mean, besides diseased duffy death. For those with progeny, the answer is automatically “see to the children!”. For those without, the question becomes more self contemplative. Without fostering the further generation, the question of our purpose is harder to answer. I grew up. Now what? What else do we nurture. What else do we bring to fruition, to maturity. Where’s the next bottle of whiskey. Alas, simple descriptions of complex issues.

The answer is: maintain honor, do the laundry, and if you can’t leave genes, leave memes.

Oh and have good friends.

Today is a scattered day. So if this reads piecemeal, that’s because it is.

Frenetic phonics.

Recently watched The Visit by Mr. M. Night. Man, I like kids, but I wanted to murder that white boy rapping silver spoon bastard. I wanted him over, ended, discontinued.

You describe how you were able to channel creative urges into your professional life. I applaud that. I get how it’s not enough. I have done the same. But only as far as “form” goes… that is, only as far as “function” goes. I’m a master of form. Creative content was left behind. At least during the work hours, the work week. (Of course, we’re changing all that now.) It’s not to say I haven’t written a thing. There’s been some notebooks filled up in the last decade or more. Hidden away. Secret messages. Message in a bottle. Read after violent death… kind of stuff.

I do like the hidden. The secret. The drastic difference between the surface of one’s face, and what lies below. I love that humans lie. Shit I dig that dogs lie too. I enjoy sci fi stories where an alien species doesn’t have the ability to lie, doesn’t even have the concept. Man, the humans love to take advantage of that.

Go read The Three Body Problem, Liu Cixin. Read the whole trilogy. Don’t walk, run.

Best sci fi I’ve read in a decade.

There’s a lot the deep face in that series. Deep face from the aliens. Deep face from other humans.

Secret plans made inside the brain and never even hinted at. Never even a gesture. A glance.  Nothing to reveal true intent.

Wall Facer.

Oooh, loved that trilogy.  Anyhoo, moving on.

What are we here for. What do we hear for? What questions started before the idea of answers was invented. What grunts suffice. What unthinking wisdom is enough. Why do we think greater complexity is superior? Because, muther fucker, greater complexity is superior. Don’t let them hippy dippy people tell you different. This ain’t about Gaia. This life is a competition. Genes striving against genes. Winners survive, losers die. And that’s good. There’s only one way to battle the universe’s cold calculated grind of entropy, and that’s good old evolution born carbon based life forms. Have I already covered this? Apologies if so. I’m patriotic. But less for a nation than for our species. For our genes. I want to see the experiment continue. I want to do what I can to allow it to grow, expand, see if there’s something more to being human. To see what happens when we leave our humanity … behind.

I want to go to space. I want to know what it is. What’s inner space? Damn, the vastness of scales… up and downward. Here we are in the middle. Vast conglomerates of cells, repetitive and specialized. Big friggin vehicles of water and membrane and COMPLEXITY.

Imagine what a paramecium things about monstrosities such as us. Like grotesque tanks lumbering across the field. Like giant machines with unthought-of of massive brains in control. We modern humans sweat the coming “singularity” where the advancements of artificial intelligence and materials and god knows what else will all combine into a sudden shift of society and civilization.

Is that not like what happened with the progression from cells, to multicellular, to organs, sense organs, computing Brainiac organs?

Are we the gods of the little bugs in full form?  I’d say yes. Of course.

Scale and scales. Miniscule and vast.

Sometimes there’s too much content. Too much context to everything.

Never look around and say, “nothing is going on, there’s nothing to do, nothing to comment on, nothing to write about.”

What can we do to improve our lot in life. Keep taking known and understood positive steps.

Complain about being fat. Drink beer anyway. Send and resend. Restore, resume, remake.

Remember, the which renews, revitalizes. That which is new, is soon to be old.

That which is rotten, feeds the next beauty.