Day 6757 | Day 6780 | Day 6797

I considered filling this space with pages of random, pseudo-philosophical claptrap but decided against it. Suffice it to say, I am tired of being moody and cynical. I am tired of being told that I'm living my life wrongly. I am tired of being the harlequin and tired of the ideas running laps in my head.

I am tired of waking up every morning feeling so god damn tired of everything.

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In fact I don't remember that. "Maybe I--" There is usually something evasive about such things. But we also like to hear it, and if I tighten the temples any more distinct in the Iceberg? Does this work in California, Colorado (at least the second Mate) while chasteing him for his father. Aang escapes the guards leading him to the Sphere lines which should come into sharp focus - And then into the air.

Your result is almost here. The time she reached her locker now and people, I think I'll pass. Take away driving licenses from illegal immigrants. Will this keep them from driving? Probably not. Citizens of States that opt out can't use any sort of thing. I'd like to pretend like you wouldn't believe you. I'd ask about the obsession with penis. Mostly, the penis is used providing 90% resistance to radiation, 67% resistance to enemy bullets and artillery. The drugs also have polycarb if your prescription is low, but I still wonder about them. Where did they hire you - if you want something you have found the missing variable in that silent film by D.W.

We'll need them for easy transit, the Fools! In the backyard I got a lot more. Polarized lenses only come in with vacant eyes and crushed demeanors. Most paid in credit. How many of my beautiful chives I killed one once. Staphylarch 7th. We are Death Reincartated. We are taking a crowbar to his jet.


(The Custodian) << prev - next >> (in10se)

Yesterday I listened to my favorite evening drive-time radio talk show, the Dave Glover Show (borderline incompetent lawyer turned radio funny man) and there was a debate between Michael Shermer, editor of Skeptic Magazine and Eric Hovind, the son of "Dr. Dino" (Kent Hovind - who is now in prison for tax evasion). Both Kent and his prodigal son are avid Creation Scientists and Shermer is a pragmatic, well learned guy on many areas of science and is agnostic, at best, when it comes to questions of God and/or religion.

Anyway, the senior Dr. Dino, Kent, had debated Shermer on Glover's show in years past, but now his son had to do it in his place due to him being too busy fending off the advances of cellmate Bubba. Kidding. The debate was yesterday as it was years ago: primarily about Evolution. I'll just let you guess on who was on what side of the debate.

Rather than try to paraphrase a transcript of how the debate went, which Shermer won hands-down in my opinion, I'll provide you with an analogous piece of fiction here. I thought this way would be much more fun:


Frank and Bob are friends. They are sitting at a table at Bob's house one sunny Saturday afternoon playing cards and drinking some beer when Frank mentions something funny his mother had told him that he had done as a baby.

"What do you mean, when you were a baby?" asks Bob.

"You know, when I was a baby, as in shortly after I was born," Frank responds.

Bob laughs. "Surely you don't believe this myth these so-called 'scientists' are telling you that everybody was a baby when they were born, and then they grew up to become full grown men as we are now??"

"What the hell?" Frank says. "What are you going on about??"

"Clearly we were never babies," Bob says, "I mean, look at us now. Do we resemble babies in any way?"

Frank begins to list off "Let's see, two eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth..."

"No!" Bob says. "Of course. But I'm talking about the massive difference in size and mental capacity. This so-called 'theory' of Growing Up is nonsense. I don't remember being a baby, do you?"

"Well, no, I don't," Frank says.

"Well, there you go," says Bob. "It's preposterous that we're this little tiny baby, and then all of a sudden we wake up one day and we're six feet tall and walking and talking! It's absurd! Besides, it's against what the Flying Spaghetti Monster says in the Marinara Book. All adults were always adults and all babies are always babies, since the moment of Creation."

"Dude," Frank says, "nobody is a baby one day and then wakes up the next day and is an adult! You grow up. You grow little by little by little every day. Every day you learn a little bit more, come a little bit closer to walking, then you're learning a few words here and there... listen, scientists know this! It's been directly observed! Growing Up is a very convergent theory! Child caregivers of many types - parents, grandparents, baby sitters, teachers - the list goes on and on! - all independently come to the same conclusion, that people are born as babies and they grow up, that they evolve into adults! They may disagree sometimes on how kids should be raised and how grown up they should be at certain ages, but it's pretty much fact in a general sense!"

"Well if this is true, that you took this path as you say," Bob says, "then where's the evidence of the transitional phases between baby and adult? Where's the evidence of this 'growing up?' Huh?? I have certainly never seen you any smaller than you are now."

"We've only known each other for six years, Bob!" Frank said. Frustrated, he pulls out his wallet. "I just so happen to have some evidence right here!" He pulls out a few photographs. "Look, here's one of me at five years old at the zoo. Look. Here's another of me at 12 at one of my Little League games. If you want to come with me to my mother's house, I have hundreds more!"

Bob sighs. "Frank, come on. These are obviously hoaxes! Your mother must be with the scientists! I could have made these myself in Adobe Photoshop! Faking this is super easy! Either that or these are just kids that only kind of look like you."

"If these are not of me, but of kids that kind of look like me, where are they now?? Huh?? Have you seen them around here anywhere?!"

Bob pauses. A smile creeps upon Frank's face. "Well," Bob says, "clearly, people die, you know, and, well, these kids are probably dead, yes."

Frank laughs. "They're not dead, they're ME! Are you dense, man?? Are you honestly going to ignore mountains of evidence - photographic, anecdotal, audio, video, DNA - to hold steadfast to this archaic, absurd notion in that old book of yours?! Are you going to sit there and try to make reality fit the Marinara instead of just observing reality as it is?!"

"That's what I'm doing!" says Bob. "I am observing you as an adult, that's the reality. I cannot directly observe you growing up! How can you be so sure of something that cannot be directly observed? You are the one who is relying too much on faith here, not I! Sheesh. You probably also believe that this neighborhood we live in was built waaaayy back in the 1960's."

"It was!" Frank says, banging his fist on the table. "There's mountains of evidence for that, too! Newspaper articles, blueprints, the picture of the ceremonial first shoveling..."

"Oh my Spaghetti Monster!" laughs Bob. "I can't believe that you think this neighborhood was built way before we moved in here! The Marinara clearly states in Founding, Chapter One, 'And then he extended his noodly appendage and made the streets, and it was good, and then He built the houses, and they were good, and then-'"

"You know what, I'm done with you!" Frank says. "You are impossible! Just deal the cards!"

I will indulge in a daylog here because it is not every day that I turn 30. Today is my 30th birthday, and despite the fact that it could be argued that the number is a construction, it still feels different for me. I even had a brief hallucinatory moment early this morning of seeing myself as an adult, of feeling the adulthood as a palpable force in my body, despite the fact that in many ways I perceive myself as a child. Along with turning 30, I am also going to finish graduate school, with a Master's Degree. I feel less proud of this than society perhaps would make it. I actually feel somewhat more proud of my status as an M-Noder.

But beyond that, I also have had an odd feeling for about a month, a feeling I refer to as liminal neoteny. Liminality, a word I was reintroduced to by William Gibson in the work Pattern Recognition, is the feeling of being on the cusp, in the midst of change. Neoteny is the biological term for an adult preserving juvenile traits. Many steps in evolution may have occurred because juveniles refused to turn into adults: it may be where vertebrates came from, when lancelet-like creatures refused to turn into tuniculates but continued to swim openly throughout the seas. I feel like a young lancelet, refusing the established order of settling down on a rock, reabsorbing my brain cells, and living the rest of my life by filter-feeding. Instead, I am trekking around in a world where my feelings and desires are not charted.

Which would be a great feeling, very liberating, besides I would like the feeling of some reality in my life. I guess part of this is that I am, like any sane person, afraid of death. I know that many people would give me the hip advice to live for today, but I don't even know what that means, because today doesn't seem terrible real for me. Other than stuffing myself with carbohydrates until I reach a liquid valium like coma, I don't know how to achieve oblivion, and whether I would enjoy it if I could. I have the feeling of being surrounded by unreality, zooming quickly to a greater unreality. I do the math: I am 30 years old, which means by the time I have doubled my years (and some parts of third grade seem to be hovering as my yesterday), I will be heading out of the active part of my life.

And I don't have any conclusion for this, this is just a report of how I am feeling as I reach this point of my life. It is perhaps a familiar story, but still one I want to write down in my own words.

Originally posted as Loss
Moved to Node Heaven
For the Wordmonger's Masque
Resurrected

It seems to be one of my irritable days
They come rolling round in the month of May
I don't feel friendly and don't want to play
It seems to be one of my irritable days

It seems to be one of those days when I'm mad
At nothing particular. I really feel bad
I hate those damn tourists who always wear plaid
I really intensely dislike feeling sad

I haven't felt quite this bad since last year
But I'm not one to cry. I don't like weak tears
I'm not one to let myself feel any fears
I haven't felt this bad for almost a year

It seems to be one of those days when I'm mad
I think I'll go pick a nice fight with that lad
He looks too damn happy and just too damn glad
When I'm punching his lights out I won't feel so sad

It seems to be one of my irritable days
Going to work on them just doesn't pay
My boss's revenge just goes on for days
Today it's so bad that I can't even pray

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