Month: February 2016

Categories
Glot

Maybe I’ll Another Glot?

I’ve been getting that itch again. The itch to write bullshit that I likely will never read nor remember in this abandoned, ridiculous edifice to my past self. Something about remembering my life during the course of actually living it — something about caring what I think — something about caring what other people think.

An altogether forgettable day, today. Woke up from dreams remembered but unwritten (running past a train in the snow). None of them clearly evoked waking life. Spent time working blissfully in a free reaction-diffusion program, Ready. Thought mostly about how I wanted to redesign my blog — a blog I hardly write in, and which I have no qualms about calling a damn blog now (see how much I’ve matured?). Made a proof-of-concept using CSS masking.

For the past few weeks I’ve been feeling like I want to write in here again. It’s strange, though… I don’t want to write for anyone but myself. I like the idea of keeping dreams and diary entries. I want to have the LiveJournal that I never had when I was 18, when having a LiveJournal was a thing. As is my usual pattern, instead of actually writing anything, I manage to obsess over the design of the bloody site until I’m practically sick of the idea. All I really want is a space I myself find beautiful. I want a place to leave the thoughts I don’t want anymore. I want to be able to look back at something I like. My current spate of design ideas are perhaps best conveyed by this dinosaur’s camouflage:

This blog feels old. Lots of people’s blogs do… and I should know since I just went for a snoop around. The era when the personal blog was relevant is gone. My tech-savvy friends’ blogs are left as a testament to the brief period of history where we myopically perceived it important to maintain our own websites. Silly, in retrospect. It was only a matter of time before mass-solutions like Facebook and LinkedIn evolved to decisively address the problem of digital identity. Because, you see, writing in them is probably more important than designing them.

To you reading this don’t take it too seriously. This is me cursing out my diary, for goodnessakes. It’s something I do from time to time. I just wanted to edify something, to perma-cast the feels I grok at this moment’s happening. That is to say, this is just to say. Just word-talks.

EDIT: if you’re reading this on ori.nz, you can probably figure out what happened instead!

Categories
Dream Journal

From Sailboats to Planet Sims

Memories of a former dream of a Pacific isle with only a small harbor, sailing a single swimboat into it, as skies grow grayer. It’s near Hawaii? Trapped as some sort of hostage. I see from the first person perspective, but it’s as if I’m reading or writing a story at the same time. Moving around a large white room. My vision is compressing distance, as if I am manipulating the environment by my perception of it. I manage to kill or restrain “Dr. Plenti” — something I may have been judged as psycho for, despite my need to escape. I lured his wife into the room and slipped through the door into another room, with a plastic sheet over the north-facing window. The first-person character, “me”, proceeds to navigate around tall shelves of construction storage, eluding a novice security guard, finding a patch of trees along a winding path which is reminiscent from dreams of several rural graveyards.

I engage Valerie in a fond hug, as I try to understand what she can be helped with romantically. Unsure if I’m helping her as a friend or propositioning her.

Mickey and Robby T. finally find themselves as gay lovers. What?

Video game where you run a planet simulation, but I only manipulate the input resources and let it run. I watch a vast terraced valley develop, farmhouses and townscapes and weather moving across the viewport. There are square edges on the walls of each rounded platform, a notable video game faux pas. To pause, I reach behind my current lily pad-like unit and pull up a badminton racket (they all have these) and notice the tick-tock of time slow to a halt so that I can examine the world’s results. Notable is the poor performance in dental health, indicated by tooth-brushing. This was an actual variable in the game!

Categories
Dream Journal

Cafe Bookstore & Venture Bros

Beautiful new bookstore cafe in SF comes with a superstition: people put pennies in the rug. Their library/study is exceptional. It has a warm, farmhouse vibe even with the laptops.

Venture Brothers are captured and have to adopt false identities. When left alone, the facade drops except for Brock who tries to moralize with a speech about “scruples for heroes in stripes for pipes” (or something). I attempt to demonstrate a face mask filter but Lynae can’t help me find it.