The past week was mostly uneventful. I have played a lot of Pokémon Silver (about time they released a new game in the series, that's just about the best game you can get for Gameboy and travelling can be sooooooo boring at times =) ... and with my last month's pay, I bought a new sound card (Sound Blaster Live!) that can actually record stuff on Linux. Now, if I'd only get the video capture to work at an acceptable rate in Linux, everything would be just fine...

That's just about the last week's daylogs crunched into one. Pathetic, huh?

Today, I'm trying to figure out simple things like backup strategies and... such.

What actually happens will remain to be seen.

(Oh, I began with a Totodile, I'm now in... well, the city with that lighthouse, and I did capture a (female) Vulpix. She was carrying a "burnt berry". I wonder if rowan berries can cure burns?)


What a day. I did some rather interesting programming today - which was interesting, because I have not done "interesting" programming since I went to work in the Mysterious Company. Maybe this was because the task (backups) proved to be challenging but not too challenging, the task was straightforward and - this is important - I wrote the script it in Perl, not PHP, and I didn't even need to know any SQL! =)


The news reports that the rains were a bit too unexpectedly heavy today in Oulu.

All I knew was that this happened from my point of view:

  1. I went to work this morning. Weather was nice.
  2. In work, it rained like hell and the rumble o' thunder was mighty, yes.
  3. When I went home, the weather was good again.
  4. In the evening, some random rain.

I usually don't complain about the weather, but why my luck was reversed today? Usually, when I'm on move, the weather is bad...

(Tons of lag. Not updated further =( )

Other day logs o' mine...

Noded today by y.t.: aalib

Today, I'm making these peices fit,
Like resin melting together into a unified whole,
Mechanical Dysfunction, and I'm empty now,
Broken down and drained,
Derailed, destitute, dialated eyes
drill through common social graces,
caught in stasis,
electric free - bases,
blank friendly faces,
with suprised frowns,
like I'm a dirty, homeless clown,
unhappy, broken down,
wretched and dirty brown.

I'm not all here,
yet there's nothing to fear,
I'm running in circles around an empty house,
abandoned and cold,
lonely, and uncomfortable in the solitude of it's own thoughts.

Yesterday was Father's Day in the USA. Being the father of three, my kids and wife decided to celebrate it. We had breakfast at Bob Evans and went to see Atlantis. It was a good time.

But here's the bad part.

They got me a new electric shaver.

But here's the even worse part.

It's what I really wanted.

Help me!

The sickness that held me in a mountain fastness these past two weeks lowered its drawbridge this past weekend and I descended into a sunlit pass and heard the faint sounds of village life draw near.

I have moved fully into my new abode in Iffley, Oxford. This is slightly further away from my spiritual home Cowley Road,Oxford, but it is a nice, neat home. A microwave, dishwasher and gas heating are the new comforts I now enjoy. On the downside, the opportunity for slovenly behaviour has certainly diminished as my live in landlady sets a high standard.

Friday night I decided to pour honey on my bread, not realising that heat had reduced its viscosity to that of water. It poured everywhere! I tried mopping up the mess but stickiness pervaded the floor, the counter and my shoes. Argghh!

On Saturday I took the familiar M40, M25 route to gf's house bringing my futon. The weather was a wretched cousin of winter, bringing rain and cold to Tottenham. We eventually went to our favourite Indian restaurant on Brick Lane and awaited my gf's sister, wg. She arrived late so we missed the Strange Fruit gig we were planning to attend ('Life without buildings' and 'The Rock of Travolta' were playing).

Instead we went to the Lux bar in Hoxton. There wg got a glass of absinthe. The preparation of this drink held us in thrall. A sugar cube was dipped in the alcohol and then set alight and the immersed again.

The next day my gf and I visited several galleries. We saw the new Juan Munoz installation at the Tate Modern. It is an impressive creation comprising an underground carpark-like scenario. In the ceiling there are various opened squares housing sculptured little grey men, some carrying golden bags. Spookily, two empty lifts continously ascended and descended. We also viwed the new Jake and Deimos work at the Redchurch gallery. It was a disconterting series of morphed kittens. The product design exhibition at the Old Truman Brewery held our attentions for some time. Finally, we visited the White Cube II gallery in Hoxton where Gilbert and George were showing racy personnal ads as art.

On Sunday we ate at the Japanese Misato in Soho (a generously large portion of Mackerel). The whole weekend was ended by the imbibing of too much vodka (on the part of my gf at least) mixed with golden syrup. The week of work beckons.

Well, kajerm and I are getting totally psyched about our school trip to France, which starts on Wednesday. We'll be gone for about three weeks, but we'll be sure to node all the crazy stuff we find over there. Last time I lived in France, I found something called "Yop" which was potable yogurt.

Anyways, I can't wait to go, but I need this bout od poison ivy to clear up before I leave. This all happened last week when Matticus8, kajerm and I decided that it would be a good idea to go trail-blazing through the most heavily over-grown portion of the woods while wearing shorts and t-shirts. Alas and alack, because we are all itching like crazy now. This however, did not prevent us (along with fishbulb_10) to have an amazing time at the Dispatch concert on Friday, June 15. They gave an outstanding performance, and Pete Heimbold sported a shiny, silver suit that was just hilarious. They also announced that they will be releasing a live album this fall, and they want their fans to e-mail them with suggestions.

So now I'm going to the doctor to try and shake this poison ivy thing before the trip, and I just know that it won't clear up in time. Also, my computer's been connectiong really slowly these past few days, so I didn't get to node the various things that I had intended to node (and have now forgotten). Oh well, at least it stopped pouring outside. The weather had been miserable earlier this week, but it's delightful outside right now.

A Letter To My Father, For Father's Day

I realize that while you are an intelligent man, that it is difficult to drag you away from your god-ish persona. And for that reason, I will tell you at the very beginning that I fully intend to put this letter in terms you can understand - martial arts, violence and control.

My first really static memory of you, is you buying me ice cream and taking me to see a Star Trek movie, when I was very small. I couldn't have been any more than three years old. It was in an ancient theatre in Toronto. I knew who you were; I didn't know that you held any significance.

My next memory is at roughly the same time. You were in jail, and I can remember mommy reading me a letter from you. When she was finished reading, she asked, "Do you want to go visit daddy, D?" I replied in the affirmative, and quite emphatically. I really wanted to see you. Even though you were just a shadow in my mind.

I remember little for the next few years. Apparently, you weren't around. The next time I can remember you, is when we moved back to Toronto. You weren't living with us; mom and I were living with my aunt Debbie. Then, she moved out, or something, or we moved out. And you came over while I was being sat by someone else - that girl who lived downstairs who smoked weed all the time, but was pretty good other than that - and proceeded to beat the shit out of mommy, and everything in the house. When it was time for me to come home, you told the "little cunt" babysitter to get the fuck out of Dodge, our you were going to spoil her face. You calmly told me to wait in my room, I think, while you had "a talk" with my mommy. Confused as to the goings-on in the apartment, curious as to why the apartment was trashed, I waited for mommy to say, "Yes, you'd better go wait in your room." And I did just that. I don't remember what happened after that.

Next, you lived with mommy and me. I can't recall too many fights when we lived up north of Toronto. I remember one, and the police coming to take you away. Not for domestic abuse, though. For the theft of those two movies (one of which was Fatal Attraction, which I watched with somewhat of a confused look on my face when you and mommy went for a walk in the woods that one day).

I fondly remember the day mommy and I left. That was the day after you threw her at the wall and cracked the wall all the way up the side of the house. You remember that? That was a particularly good one, dad. Way to go. You didn't hurt mom. But you defiinitely must have impressed yourself by cracking the house with her, as if she was a blunt weapon herself. I also remember mommy getting beaten around pretty bad, and coming into my room, where I was sobbing hysterically (this only came back to me a few years ago - a full ten years of having forgotten). She tried to comfort me, but you ripped her off the floor so hard that she caught a nail on my clothes, and cut the side of my face with it before it got ripped down to the cuticle. That was pretty great, wasn't it? Great times. And then, you knocked her into unconsciousness. Good job. Total obliteration. And what did you say to me? "Good night, Deevo, love ya kid." And you left. I love you too, daddy-o, I love you too.

The strangest thing to me is that you would beat her. Mom's a tough cookie, but I don't understand how it could affect your ego in any way to defeat an opponent who is clearly not your equal. Indeed, an opponent who is not even remotely close to your equal. When I last saw you, dad, you had a seventh Dan black belt in two different arts, karate, and something else. I don't remember what it was now. Karate was all you taught me, anyway. That's years upon years of training. And dad, you've got to understand, too, that you were solid muscle then. Not very tall, but completely solid. You tried to diet frequently, hoping to get down from about 195 lbs. or so, but it didn't work. Dieting does not get rid of muscles. Now, mom at the time was about 125 lbs. A real lightweight. Over these last ten years I've fought in more tourneys than I can count, hoping to outrun the memory of you, to supersede any goals and boundaries you gave, or wanted me to accomplish in the arts. And I have. I've done well. But not once have I dishonored myself by beating a weaker opponent for absolutely no reason.

I took what you taught me, what you beat into me each day of my life, what you literally beat into my mother, and I turned it into good. To use an analogy you'll understand, think Darth Vader at the end of Return of the Jedi. That was me. I realized the dark side, and thus, was able to avoid it. Now, I have my own daughter, who I'm proud to say I've never hit. I have a girlfriend who I'm proud to say I've never hit. Though once, I did come close. I almost turned into you! Can you believe it? We had gotten into a fight over something trivial, and she said something to anger me, to deliberately hurt me, and I raised my hand to her. But that's as far as it went, pop. That's as far as it went. I resisted. I saw you, living inside me, smiling your goofy smile, as if in some great victory.

I have a photo album of you, you know. I have pictures of you when I was a baby. The only real picture I have where you are looking on me with affection, with pure love and pride, is the picture with Lance. Remember that picture? I mean, it's Father's Day isn't it? Let's go over the memories. If you don't remember the picture, I'll describe it. Because you might be thinking, "Why, there's lots of pictures with Lancelot and Devon."

In this particular picture, I'm punching Lance in those muscles underneath the sternum. I'm punching upward, too. Here's where the pride comes in: it took something like twenty internal sutures to stop the bleeding. That's how hard I hit him. My hand was in a cast for two months. What pride you must have felt! And the worst part is, dear ole pop of mine, you actually patted my back afterwards! I hurt him incredibly, very well could have killed him. And not only did you keep a picture like that over the years, but you took me out for video games and pool afterward! Good job, really good job! It's really quite a shame that I've turned out as peaceful as I am, so serene. So content. Almost completely without anger. You'd be so ashamed of me and the life I lead now.

I was so ashamed that I kept training with you over the years, that I've never told mom, you know. I didn't want her to think that I'd failed her, that I'd done something wrong, that I was being sucked in by you. That I would start thinking as you do. That I would start beating women. I knew I wouldn't. I used you to better myself. That must bruise the ego just a little - you were used. And, if you ever told any truth about your life, you said that you began in the martial arts - karate, in particular - at age thirteen, when you dropped out of school. You made black belt at eighteen. That's quite a feat, five years. I'm impressed, I'll admit. It took me eight years to accomplish that. But, I was fifteen at the time. A little earlier than you. Sorry.

But don't get me wrong, I will give you praise. You are probably the best martial artist it's ever been my privelege to meet. There is no doubt about that. I've been instructed by people who pale in comparison to your sheer ability and teaching skill. You taught me about the human physiology, about how to strike the most calculated blows, how to not feel pain if necessary. It was your teaching upon which I have built the rest of my own abilities, as far as martial arts go. All the people who were in our classes became incredible martial artists. Some run significantly large schools in Toronto, from what I'm told. And your old pal, Jong Park Sune, still runs his studio in Hamilton, to the best of my knowledge.

But, I'm afraid your teachings weren't enough. When I was thirteen, I went into aikido, but I'd learned a couple of belts with you, too. By the time I was eighteen, I had my black belt. Not possible, you say? Well, I had some great teachers in the past. As I've said, the best I've ever known, even if it was a different art. I had the mentality stomped into me, you see.

As I've said, to this date, I've never hit a woman, and I never will. It's strange that you never ended up in jail for any long period of time, after the manslaughter thing. Apparently Bonnie called the cops on you, but you managed to "convince" her to drop charges. Even though you beat her into a bloody mess. You disregard my half-siblings. You refuse to acknowledge them. Well, damn. If I was god, I'd disregard whomever I choose. Isn't that the way things work?

So, Happy Father's Day. I wish you all the best in life. Letters don't convey sarcasm, I know, but that line remains. Happy Father's Day. Hopefully, you're not still fucking syphilitic Asian girls any more, trying to convince them you're younger than you are. I hope the syphilis is gone, because you don't need to lose your mind, or die. I want you good and healthy for when you and I cross paths again. After all, you're - what? - fifty seven now? Something like that? Syphilis gets rather nasty when untreated. And truly, I wish you the best of health. Because I've got to put this letter in words you will understand. I said that at the beginning of this letter. You understand violence, a complete lack of respect for human life, you understand martial arts and masochism.

Therefore, I'll close by saying again that I wish you the best of health, and hope your life has been a happy one to this point. You're into me for an incredible amount of child support ($57,100, I hope you know), and I want that. But there is an additional thing I want. I want you to feel the pain you've spread. The pain you've caused. I want you to be visited by the dreams I've had. I want to make your life painful. I know this may turn me into you, and all that. I realize the irony of what I'm saying. I know it. I cherish it. I want to make the rest of your life unbearable, so that it's you who wake up in a cold sweat. When we meet, it's going to be painful. FOr both of us. You see, there's a good chance that I might just walk up to you, and beat you so badly that the doctors would have to basis the coroner's report on what little dental work you have. There's that option. This could happen. I could just kick your ass very, very badly. But I'm too good for that, ultimately. You see, that would be a victory for you, just like Star Wars again. I want you to feel these horrendous pains, and I would laugh and cry watching it.

But I won't, daddy. I won't do it. I'm sorry. I'm not failing me. I'm not failing all the people who've taught me over my life.

But I'm willing to bet that maybe my brother will. Or my sister. Or their mother. Or Kaigo. Or Lancelot. An eye for an eye? Indeed.

Your son,
Devon Thomas Hart

Note to the noder/reader: This is a letter I wrote the day before yesterday, on my computer. I printed it, put it in an envelope, put two dollars worth of stamps on. It's now in a box, in my basement. I feel I should describe what my father's about quickly, to clarify the letter a little. My father, Thomas Nelson Horatio Hart, was born August 11, 1945, based on his driver's license and birth certificate, both of which are in my possession (the driver's license is a photo copy, and out of date). He has a given name of "Hoshin," pronounced Ho-Sheen, which I believe is Japanese, but I've never checked. I don't know what it means. He's got a large number of brothers and sisters, none of which I've met, to my knowledge. From what my mother and I gather, he's been taught by many martial artists, in Canada, the United States, Korea, and Thailand. He is much too unstable to perform in many tournaments, and a little old now. The martial arts we are sure he knows are shotokan- and uechi-ryu-style karate, tae kwon do, jiu jitsu, kendo, t'ai chi ch'uan, krav maga, and several styles of kung fu. He holds, to the best of our knowledge, four different black belts, one of which is seventh Dan, another is sixth Dan. He has a tattoo of the word karate on his left hand, in Japanese. On his right hand is a tattoo of a yin-yang. He's been arrested on multiple occasions. In 1981, he was arrested and convicted of one count of manslaughter, for killing an opponent in the ring. He told my mother that he simple wanted to "try a move." He's been arrested multiple times for domestic abuse, though he's never struck any of his children. He's got at least three children other than myself, though I'm the only product of his and my mother's union. He's also said that he was a mercenary in Bolivia, Suriname, Colombia, and several African countries. He's hinted at killing several people. It's important to realize that any or all of his stories could be bullshit, as he began his relationship with my mother with lies, lying that he was 26, instead of 35, when my mother was 17 years old. He was also still married to the mother of my half-siblings at the time. I don't know where he is, but I believe he's in the metro Toronto area, and am working on the child support at present.

One other small note: if anyone knows what "Hoshin" means, please /msg me. I'd greatly appreciate it.

As I walked through my neighborhood, I witnessed a myriad of events and objects that are usually taken for granted. For example, while walking to the supermarket, I noticed an iridescent group of pigeons scampering around a pile of strewn about popcorn. Each individual bird walked about the saffron scraps bobbing its head to and fro in a uniform manner. Some birds marched about hunting a single piece of popcorn no matter where the piece went. Others pecked about ferociously with no preference to any single piece whatsoever. While the monstrous mass of birds scuttled about in every direction there was a flood of numerous cars that zoomed pass me.

These mechanical wonders zipped by with such speed that the litter on the ground oscillated with the flow of traffic. Occasionally, the red light turned on and the litter on the ground halted immediately from its frenetic movements. When the green light turned on. It seemed as if a hurricane struck because the wind created by the traffic blew litter straight up into the air. After staring at the cars, I noticed that I forgot to bring money for the supermarket. This discovery annoyed me and I rationalized that since I don't have the money I might as well go to the supermarket another time. On my way back home, I noticed that the sweet aroma of flowers in the air. The scent came from flowers scattered on the hard, cement ground.

Flowers moved passively with the wind, which carried the fragrance of the flowers throughout the vast distances of the community. Inquiries about the origin of the aroma could be heard from several blocks away. People enthusiastically praised the smell for masking the malodorous musty stench of smog. Although the fate of some of the flowers were the soles of shoes, nature's fragrant creations incessantly exuded the delightful smell of newly set dew from the morning. As I arrived home, I felt amazed by all the different events and objects I observed today. The smell and insignificant aspects of daily life revealed themselves that day because I observed them closely than ever before.

Having a rather amazing day so far. Time seems to be flying by, and I've had no trouble staying alert throughout the day. The punks in #e are screaming about literati... sadly I can't play since I don't have a blocked in monitor here at work.

Wrote a script that checks isbns at amazon.com and tells me whether the book is available or not. It seems to work ok, but it'll take about a week to finish over 700,000 books... yikes.

Otherwise things are good. Homelife has been just chillin'. Got some good vibes over the weekend. I think I am going to buy some pants today to celebrate life.


Today is my last day in Oregon. I flew up here on June 2, a month earlier than I had planned, because the love of my life seemed to be going bonkers without me. Plus, I wanted to come. I wanted to be with him. I left my friends, my parents, my brothers... everything I've ever known, to come to Ryan. Because if there was one person that I would want to keep with me forever, it would be Ryan. Don't get me wrong, I love my family dearly, but I will at some point grow up and move on, and not be *with* them all the time, and I don't feel that I will ever move on from Ryan. He is The One, despite the difficulties in that.

Ryan can't handle it, and I guess I can't either, although I tend to ignore that sort of thing. We're both very introverted people, although I think he is more so than me. I need a certain amount of attention, and when I am at home I had a passel of friends and my family to give me that... although often it is too much for me and I just want everyone to go away and leave me alone. Here, I was alone all of the time, and it was driving me crazy because I did not have the entertainment I have at home, I did not have the freedom I have at home, and when Ryan came home from work he would not be the devoted and attached boyfriend that I wanted him to be.

Things came to a head and we decided that we could not go on this way. It just wasn't working. So, through lots of tears, I changed my flight to leave tonight. I will miss Ryan like crazy, and he will miss me too in many ways, but it will be better this way.

I love Ryan. I love Oregon. But this isn't right, right now. I am not finished growing up yet, and maybe he isn't either, despite appearances. I hope that I get to see him again at some point over these years, but that is unlikely since I cannot afford plane tickets and I don't know whether he would want to fly me up here, and since he does not like to visit Texas. I do know that after I graduate, when I want to break away from my home life and make it on my own, this will be a likely place for me to come. It has the scenery that makes my heart sing, and a few people that I already know.

I don't know whether Ryan will fall out of love with me, fall in love with someone else, be able to embrace life with me under other circumstances, or live the entirety of his life alone. I can see myself taking him on whatever his terms are. The song, The River and the Highway, comes to mind and freezes my heart. For all I know, I will fall in love with someone else... I am only nineteen. But right now I am in love with Ryan, and if our lives can't interwine now, they will grow strong on their own, and should they intertwine later they will be all the stronger for it.

Rhapsody in Screwed :: Part XII
06.18.01 :: 02:10

"standing in the sun with a popsicle / everything is possible"

i haven't been this kinda happy since i slept opposite hors from my mom, and spent every night on ephedrine, rollerskating across campus, picking roses...i haven't got a clue what's up. it's great though. i've managed to do a load of laundry (socks and underwear), take out three weeks worth of trash, eat a whole pizza, read an entire john grisham novel, and i'm not even done for the day! mind you i slept for almost three days this weekend. christ, i needed that. it's hard to remember, sometimes, that my life is about me.

"i don't own you / but i know you're mine / never disown you / never treat you unkind"

life is wild. i have friends who aren't depressing. i have boys vying to be the one to spend money on me. my student loan cleared. the more i believe in it, the better my life gets. it's all good. no, really, ALL good... it's a fucking triumph of will and desire over the banality of modern existence. i haven't had this much fun in years. a rampant celebratory atmosphere...every day becomes a celebration of everything and nothing. dancing to soul asylum in my living room...

"and she rose the moon in the afternoon / just to be by his side"

transcription:it's four in the morning, the middle of june, and i'm walking down university (boulevard). looking off east-ish i can see a huge crescent moon, and just above it, venus. (edited for value) boy, if you're awake, i hope you're looking at the sky. end transcript ignoring the scene between then and now involving my two brothers and an almost brawl in my living room. one day frater shinma will grow up and come to grips with the speed of things. it almost hurts to breathe, sometimes, caught in the recollections of the warm radiance of my three favourite boys. (and one of those is my older brother, before you off and get freakish ideas.)

"the only intelligent tech support is that which can be gotten during the unholy hours of the night."

yeah. no shit. where do i start...friday, my machine suddenly decided in the middle of the day that there was no longer a network printer. three reeboots did not alter that opinion. however, i could get out onto the rest of the network just fine. check mail? sure. ping the ct server? absolutely. print? shit no. so a tech came in this morning while i wasn't there. mind you i am the technical consultant in my office. i couldn't fix the problem because i 1) thought they were fucking around with the network in the building again, and didn't give it a second thought, and 2) couldn't find the mislabeled driver disks from before my reign, anyway. but this guy comes in and tells them that my machine couldn't print because the ethernet cable had come disconnected. !!huh?!! uh, hello, how was i telnetting out to the main server and checking my mail if i wasn't on the network? idiot. so he replaces the drivers just the same, and admittedly, the box now talks to the printer, but it still gives the error "network printer not found" on boot. i don't ask. however, this jackass undid my careful boot sequence, rearranged my desktop, and randomly opened documents in my personal file folder, which contains some confidential university documents. no technician is authorized to open non-system files in an office that handles confidential staff and student data. and then he has the gall to tell my boss that my machine is slow because i downloaded too much stuff from the internet, and my hard drive is overloaded. uh-huh. right. that's why less than a third of the drive is in use, and this has *nothing* to do with the fact that the machine is 166mhz with 32mb ram. fucking idiot. the machine runs like a dream for a piece at that speed. he'd better stay the fuck away from the server i'm building for the office. it runs Be; that doesn't mean it's broken.

but enough ranting. i have to go...do something else now. like take a shower so i can wash the idiocy off me.

Today I made pancakes for my ex-girlfriend. They weren't great pancakes; they were hardly even good pancakes. But I tried. I regretted that I didn't have any real maple syrup for her, and instead defrosted her a bit of butter. She seemed pleased.

Last night she slept on the couch in my new apartment, having several months ago decided she was gay and practically breaking me in two on Valentine's Day. But we remained close. Very close. Maybe too close. I love her. Here, today, I still love her.

I feel as though our relationship -- and I've told her this -- hasn't changed since February, except that I don't tell her I love her, even though I do, and that we don't sleep together. Actually, we have slept together twice since then; both times we did nothing but sleep, and both times it was for warmth. In any case, she says things are different. For her, maybe.

I'm in a pathetic state: mostly unemployed, in debt, and lonely as hell. So how could I tell her no when she wanted to come hang out? It was a bizarre night and I promised to make her pancakes if she stayed over. She was convinced before I offered, of course, but that cemented the deal.

It reminded me of all the times last summer when she would make me french toast before I had to catch the 7am train into Boston to go to work. She was always thoughtful like that, and she certainly liked breakfast. And she always had real maple syrup. It's interesting what a difference that can make. Her frying pan had no handle.

And now, after nearly 4 years, it's over. Every day I try to accept that, but every time I see her I fall in love all over again, for all the same reasons as every other time. I wonder how she feels about me, but I'm too shy to ask. Or maybe I'm scared. Such is life. Maybe some time away will help.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.