Silicon Suffering

And now, I have joined the ranks of the technologically addicted. Despite my distrust of technology, and the fear that it pervades our lives, I've purchased a Global Positioning System. This is in reaction to the piles of printed Google maps in my car, somewhere around eighty or so. There's also a good chance that this will help me from getting physically lost. No, this is an incredibly inaccurate statement. When I get lost, this will help me get found.

Ultimately, this will serve to make me a weaker human being, though more on time. Look at cell phones. I used to be able to remember phone numbers after a couple of repetitions. Now, I just guess blindly, and would be absolutely lost without my cell phone. It also lets me communicate with anyone at any time, at all times. Convenient? Yes. A crutch? Yes.

There is a certain part of me that has been struggling with directionality (physically, not morally). I was getting better, mildly, with knowing where things were, only because I was forced to drive everywhere, and maps can only take you so far. There was some sort of map overlaying itself upon my neurons, an almost instinctual sense of locale (re-)emerging recently.

Now, if I need go anywhere, or if I need find any location, out comes the device, in goes the address, and directions emerge, like some sort of tiny god. Six months, and I will be completely lost without it. It even has a walking mode, which I could probably use to determine how far I've run in a given day. Increased reliance makes me weaker.

Technology had, has, so much potential to improve our lives, but does it really serve to improve us? No doubt that all the tech in my life is nothing short of miraculous, but it also makes me unable to function without it. There is probably no time during the day spent without electronic technology. Hell, look at me typing on this laptop.

This is the root of my technophobia. The inventors, the innovators, they're applying their skills and talents, and thus improving themselves. These advancements get duplicated, and the rest of us leech off these benefits. My job is worthless in terms of human development. My education is worthless in terms of human development. My drive to create, as I find it hard to admit, is fairly worthless in terms of human development.

That is perhaps the only good thing about technology, that it was supposed to give us the time, the energy, the freedom to develop within, rather than struggle just to survive. Well, the struggle is gone, and many of us waste our inherited freedom. It's depressing to have to accept, and hard to follow. But, hey, at least I'll know exactly where I'm going.

Assorted Thoughts

I think (I know) I have a soft spot in my heart (my head) for people that are different, because that's been the basis for my entire life. However, this doesn't extend to people that piss me off. If you're overtly disdainful towards me, or you take advantage of my good nature, yet you're still different, this creates a slight internal conflict, in that I hate you. Oh, wait, that's not a conflict at all, I just end up hating you.

***

I went to La Madeleine to get some food, and ordered a tart (which, at first, I thought said tort. Those of you that are familiar with my hatred of torts will understand). While sitting in front of the fireplace, I looked up at the ancient books on the shelves, all in French. Most were bolted somehow to the shelving, but I happened to pick up one. Though in French, it didn't take too long to figure out that it was a legal dictionary. Fuck you, universe, fuck you.

***

People themselves are willing to do a lot of things, provided they don't have to plan. This has borne itself out through repeated anecdotes. The half-baked corollary is that, if you want something done, do it yourself. Planning is a bitch, because it's extra work, and it's just easier to let "the other guy" do it. Unfortunately, you can't keep expecting "the other guy" to do anything. Look at Kitty Genovese. An entire apartment complex refrained from contacting the police, either assuming someone else would do it, or not wanting to get involved. Take a stand, damn it.

***

Singulair has been linked to an increase in suicide. I took Singulair for about a year. When the inevitable class action lawsuit drops, I'm gonna get paid. Granted, I'm only gonna get paid about $10, but still. Best part? The Singulair didn't really even work on my asthma.

***

People drop hints all the time. You notice little details, the out of the ordinary or what have you. It's all just a matter of pattern recognition, one of the basic human skills. The key is higher level critical/analytical thinking, putting together all those disconnected details into something more concrete, drawing conclusions, making educated assumptions. Continually, over the past few weeks, I've been picking up on information, but then filing it away and doing nothing with it. Then, someone mentions something, and everything falls into place. However, I could have easily figured it out myself had I just made that leap and interweaved everything.

Oh, also, people pick the strangest times to reveal dark secrets. I'm trying to eat, damn it.

Moving On

It's strange, attempting to leave as few traces of myself in this apartment as I possibly can. I will inevitably fail, and not just because there's a smell I can't identify. No, it's more that, much as with every person I have ever met, I change them in some fashion. Many, it happens in an imperceptible fashion, some, more deeply. Here, I have lived for a year. If nothing more than skin flakes, or my scent, or the holes in the wall where I nailed a white board, part of me remains (and no, I don't feel like spackling).

I know this is the rule for nature, that you leave it as you found it. Problem is, you can't always remove yourself. You're part of the environment. We all come from the earth, just as we all return to the earth. To attempt to disappear is just impossible. We are tangible, we are real, we are more than what just ghosts. Impossible to be forgotten. Even the homeless people we pass on the street, when they disappear, someone knows about them, they leave a mark. Even just a stain, it's still a mark.

Yet, here I am, scrubbing away, burning candles, trying to evanesce, because I must. Household ninja. Know that I would not do this, if I did not have to. But in four days, it will be complete, and I will have disappeared from here, moved on to a different place. A better place? Blue heaven only knows.

***

So, I didn't quite work things out, and will be living out of the office for a bit. I've rented out a storage space, crammed as many of my boxes and bags in there as I can, locked it up, and now I've just kept some essentials, which I've now ensconced in my office.

It'll be interesting. How long can I possibly live out of a place of work before someone notices, and tells me to leave? I don't know, but if I have to, I'll just go to a Motel 6.

Here's the tentative plan for the next four to six weeks. Shower in the gym across the way lets me keep myself somehwat clean. There are only so many clothes one person can wear, which I've hidden in my desk, and a few cardboard boxes around my office. I'll just keep small supplies of food in my office and the fridge. Probably also leave for a few hours after work, then return later at night, once most everyone has left. Then, since I normally get to work pretty early, no one will notice when I roll out of the office in yesterday's clothes.

I think the worst part of all this is that I'm forgetting something very important, but don't know what that is. As usual in my life, when I do remember, it'll be too late to make a difference. Wish me luck. I'm now an itinerant worker.

Puzzle Ball

I have a puzzle ball on my desk. It's composed of six of whatever the shape is if you take the cover off a baseball. It cost me two quarters from a vending machine. Here it sat on my desk for weeks, until I shook it, and heard something rattle inside.

Well, I had to have that, whatever it was.

There is probably an elegant solution to disassemble the thing, some sleight of hand, perhaps a twist of fate. Maybe a bed of nails is involved. Would it make me wait? I don't know, and I still don't know. After five minutes of trying to slide every piece every which way, I found out by squeezing in on a panel, several other panels would almost peel back from the main structure. At this point, I could wedge my finger under, and eventually brute forced it open. The entire structure collapsed on cue, leaving me with six almost identical pieces, and the directions. Yes, the directions. For assembling it.

There are a few things I have to say here. One, at least it wasn't the instructions to disassemble it. Two, you sick bastards are going to tell me how to put it back together? Three, that was my prize?

At least I didn't resort to the hammer on my desk, as was the original plan. Alexander the Great, meet Gordian knot. But what does it say about us, about how we approach this, how we approach anything? Have I really become (was I always) a person that brute forces a solution, rather than finesse it? Is this going to be a detriment to my way of life?

The damned thing is no longer as strong as it was when I first got it. After a few seconds of pressing on it, it bent inward and collapsed.

The other question this raises, why do I see everything as a puzzle that can be solved? I know that there are lots of things that can't be solved, and some things that shouldn't. Well, I know this in my head. In my heart, I see things that are broken, and try to fix them. Note this is akin to shaving the corners off a sphere. What part of me is so insistent on order? Probably the same part of me that is obsessed with Tetris. But Tetris is so simple, so intricate. I brute forced the hell out of that sphere.

Don't know why this concerns me so. I'm too damned close to it. Someone needs to stare at me for a few days and "Tell me what the fuck is wrong with meeeeeeee...."

Under Advisement

People don't want legal advice, they want peace of mind.

One of the images from The Time Traveler's Wife is that of Henry always running, literally and figuratively.

[Spoilers ahead]



When he loses his feet to frostbite, that's the beginning of the end. Still he travels, though it is but a matter of time before it's all over. His physical inability to run mirrors his inability to escape his destiny.



[Spoilers behind]

After my heavyweight bout with the flu, where it went Mike Tyson, bit my throat, then collapsed in the fifth round, I've resumed the running. However, I can't run from the law. Today I got a completely random phone call from someone asking for legal advice. It was probably a good thing, because the call demonstrated that I still understand Mandarin Chinese, and I still remember enough of the law to fake an answer.

I've had to answer enough of these random calls/emails/questions/prayers to know that, ultimately, what people want is not the legal advice. They want peace of mind. They want a shield. They want for the law to not stave in their heads with obscure mumbo-jumbo.

I'm a little torn about the entire process. There are those people that will find me when they suspect I've value to them, then forget me until the next time I've value to them. Of course, I think I can save the world, even though I no longer have the inner drive/desire to do so. So, I'll keep helping. But, really, what's the point? More and more, I'm just offering security. Especially talking to someone, I'll tell them a) to calm (the fuck) down and b) that everything will be OK.

It still bothers me that our legal system no longer protects the innocent, just the person with the best stand-in. Our trial by jury may as well have remained a trial by ordeal. Everyone in that courtroom suffers. Was there a point where it all went wrong? Money? Fame? Power? I recall an episode of Justice League (yes, the cartoon) where they mentioned that the lawyers shared the punishment given to their client. This helped solve the problems of their legal system. If you follow the rules as a lawyer, you're never in trouble. The client shoulders the burden. Big business could give a crap, but what about the normal person?

Percussive Heartbeat

Log out. Sign off. Turn off. Tune in. Escape all the technology, the electrical trappings that ensnare us within an open prison. We've become so reliant on it that any strong EMP blast would utterly destroy us, not because we couldn't survive, but because we wouldn't know how to survive.

But, I digress. Flick off everything that tethers you to modern society. Close your eyes, take a breath, and cover your ears with your hands. Hear that? That womb-like onrush that's somehow strangely soothing, even though you might not be able to place why? That's your heartbeat. That's the drumbeat to the theme song of your life.

Ever had one of those moments where you wished that you had a song, your song, that would play whenever you entered a room? Mine is BLUE from the Cowboy Bebop anime series. Well, that's what I always wished it was. Turns out, my true theme song is just my simple heartbeat. And yours is, too.

It almost never stops, save ever-brief moments of suspense-ridden torment/peace. It's amorphous, everchanging to reflect whatever's occurring around you. It's versatile enough to fit any main song that you want, though you might have to fiddle (hah hah) with it to get it to fit just right. But most of all, it's unique, and it's your own beat, and though someone, or something, will eventually take it from you, they'll never possess it. It's as unique and essential to you as anything there is in this world.

The Doctors, and I capitalize it for they are the closest things atheists have to gods these days, the Doctors would have us refer to these heart beats as "lub-dubs". Valve open, valve close. Valve open, valve close. This basic mechanism for sustaining life, and I can ascribe to it so much more, if only because I have learned to see everything as a product of everything else (this also explains why it is so easy for me to explain strange and/or difficult concepts, yet so hard for me to fully grasp something).

What does it mean? We all search for meaning in our lives, whether we realize it or not. As part of that, just as we see faces in anything vaguely reminiscent of two eyes, a nose and mouth, we tend to look towards something, anything, in order to find, discover, realize, understand. Have I answers? Nay. All I ask is that, maybe, just maybe, the answers might be closer than you hope. Listen, listen deep within yourself, and maybe you won't hear anything. Maybe there aren't answers.

And maybe there are.

Emo Post

So the way writing works in my life is in cycles. I get depressed, and keep sinking until I start writing. It lifts me up until I stop being depressed, at which point I stop writing. Once I stop writing, I slip back into depression. Had I more insight and more perspective, I would just write every single day and avoid the mass of depression. Granted, people get depressed on a regular basis, and you can't dodge it. Still, the writing might stave off so much of it.

I will say, more often than not, Writ isn't enough. A lot of the time, it's just a half-assed diary that I put up because I feel compelled to. Except, lately, I haven't felt compelled. Right now, there's nothing new I can add here that's of any worth. Will that stop me from posting? No, but it severely curtails the frequency of posts.

I think I want to tell a story. That's all I ever really wanted to do. Realistically, it's not something I'll ever be able to make a living off of. Probabilistically, what'll end up happening is that someday (somehow, someway, somehope), I'll get married, and have kids, and they'll be the ones I tell my stories. And they won't laugh. Well, they will, but they won't laugh at me.

Compulsory Post

Q.L. gave me the influenza, complete was a one-oh-two point seven fever at one point. That temperature was a new record in my lifetime, and I will say I am not that ashamed that I couldn't immediately convert thirty-nine point four Celsius into Fahrenheit, mostly because at the moment, I was sweating and freezing. If you have never had the chills and sweated simultaneously, I would recommend you do so.

This was easily the sickest I have been in over ten years. I felt the following at various points over the past several days:

-sweating and chilly
-mild shaking
-body-wide pain, like I had pestles grinding me from the inside
-inability to concentrate, not even on video games (yeah, that's how bad it got)
-exhaustion
-sharp muscle pain
-sore throat
-bloody phlegm (what ultimately sent me to the doctor, a little delirious in the process)
-runny nose
-stuffy nose
-sharp hatred for all sick children (Q.L. caught the influenza from her kids)
-coughing

Often times I've wanted to take sick leave in the past, but just because I didn't feel like getting up. This has been the only time in recent memory I was entirely worthless.

It's also amazing how being sick for about a week can set you back for the month. Expect even fewer posts (right...) while I play catch-up for the next six to fourteen weeks.