My iPhone is bent out of shape from being in my pocket. The top right corner of the screen is covered up by the design, and the left is extended. Trying to bend it back what makes me worry I’m going to break it.
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Dream of New Garden
I start a gardening club that rents a backyard at 1230 Something street, local number 1010. I have the new keys and enter very quietly so as not to disturb the neighbors. The space is small and rectangular with high white walls and a path around the center. There’s a yellow droplet-shaped fountain in the center and purple petals scattered all over the lawn. I consider making steps embedded in the wall corner so to climb the fence. There’s a very tall nerdy-punky guy neighbor who we invite over for volleyball, to see if the gardeners can defeat the giant.
I’m in a garage (somewhat like Cathedral City garage) and sit on a chair with baby Alice on it. I’m lying on my side and she’s sitting on my butt. We’re having some sort of conversation and I come to the happy conclusion that it’s unnecessary to tell her about what things were like before she was born.
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Psychedelic Waiting Room
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
For serene, blissful vibes during those long spells in Heaven’s foyer. Suitable for smooth trippy mind voyages and poems about color. Lyric-free, dancefloor-free, buzzkill-free. ♥
- Ennio Morricone – Terazza
- Bruno Nicolai – Marquis De Sade – Eugenie
- Manfred Hubler & Siegfried Schwab – People’s Playground Version B
- Cults Percussion Ensemble – Circles
- Hilario Sanchez – S’il Vous Please
- Piero Umiliani – Bob And Helen
- World Standard – La Luno En Songo
- Japancakes – The Enabler
- Björn Olsson – (Räkan) #22
- Andy Ramsay, Steve Russell, Simon Johns – Wooden Flips
- Bonobo – Shadowtricks
- World Standard – Firubania Communication
- Eden Ahbez – Market Place
- Air – Modular Mix
- Operating Theatre – Eighties Rampwalk
- Sagor & Swing – Mjuk skog
- Hiroshi Yoshimura – Dance PM
- Tipsy – Nude on the Moon
- DJ Krust – Re-Arrange (The Cinematic Orchestra Remix)
- Ennio Morricone – Uno Che Grida Amore
- Japancakes – Vanishing Point
- Nino Rota – O’ Venezia Venaga Venusia
- Björn Olsson – Mellanspel
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Conversation with my Brother
Walking around with Patrick, passed the doorway of what could have been my old Chicken John hostel stomping grounds. Talked about how he plans to go to China by Christmas. Talked about the Malaysian yuan. Felt that I could have done more to encourage him.
Walking with Lauren through the streets of Cathedral City. I watch traffic pass by and have that strange familiar feeling of “this is really happening” even though it’s not as profound as it used to be. I watch a man riding in the back of a pickup truck stop and slide out. He gives me a ride, but Lauren is nowhere to be found. He drives past the intersection where I am going, the office of housing. He’s driving offroad in the desert.
A game of basketball played between two teams of school age kids. The ball comes to me, and I’m within range to take a shot. Two other of my teammates have already tried and failed, and I know I will try and fail also.
Housesitting for my dad, I’m in my parents bedroom in Cathedral City. But my mom has already passed away. My dad keeps a slideshow of her going from the funeral on a very small old fuzzy TV screen. The bathroom feels empty with its two sinks.
Flop walks up next to me and I noticed that his hair has started to fall out… that his skin underneath is black and wrinkly. I’m forced to admit that he must be sick, possibly cancer, and I need to take him to the vet.
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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!
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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!
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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.
In a big crowd of people, perhaps a college class, I am picked as the designated something. Despite not understanding the job, I’m a very good sport about it, and proceed to give the thumbs up gesture spinning around in all directions, to great cheers.
Sitting upslope a large lake. Perhaps facing east. I watch as I shift the view… the lake rotates. I watch a three-story RV drive energetically through the crowd. It changes to a moving van and drives down the slope into the lake. I think it might be amphibious, but instead it tips forward and sinks into the water. The driver escapes and we have a moment of commiseration.
I see my mom as she was in her last days. We have a chance to say goodbye. There are specific instructions as to what blankets she wants when she passes. I look through a closet and there it is, a wide thick cream-colored fuzzy traditional top cover. It’s a rental and so can be used by others and we won’t have to hang onto it forever.
In the closet there’s also a sheepskin (that may have been mine) that is reddish-bronze colored, and mostly armor anyways. There is fur on the flanks and flaps that would cover the sheep’s eyes. It’s small, perhaps for a lamb.
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The Enlightenment Mutilator
Ramble around a dreamscape explaining enlightenment to self. Hazard of tripping and never coming down is you can only do it once, and it happens in idiosyncratic way. GIFof machine that takes perfectly normal bodies and distorts them into unique shapes. Suspending self above long fall, closing eyes and making fall worse and further, falling and self-upping the tortuous feelings along the way, getting creative with bad sensations, landing an inch from floor and being content with it, having two women inside me and drawing a magic wand to my crotch knowing the sensation of a clit can be approximated.
Old lady getting her bones jumped. Forgetting to clock out in Midnight Munchery. Harrison Ford.
Transition from wakefulness to sleeping mind was experienced firsthand and perceived as not terribly different.