The sound of millipedes falling from some unknown locations onto various things in 'my room' is driving me mad. I ordered a tent and a sleeping bag so that I can go sleep out in the woods away from all these bugs.

Step 1: Buy Tent

I think,
I resign.

Instead of escape,
I'll settle for revision.

I think I've taken on airs,
Of optimism amongst other things,
and let myself become like cheese left out.
Once fluid, now solid with a film of crust.

I am in want of a sharp knife.
To cut and to carve.

I think New York is simultaneously everything that I've ever hated and everything I've wished (mostly in passing) to be a part of...

Is part of the exponential acceleration of the human race the resultant social dynamics created by living around so many people? I could take off in a dead sprint from where I am at this very moment and it would take me a while to run into someone. This is where I've lived nearly my entire life. Being in a place where you can merely look around you from a rooftop vantage and see the dwellings of millions of people is truly boggling from my perspective. The highest vantage point from my home yields the view of exactly seven people's homes.

I can't even bring myself to talk too much about this fucking "art" thing without becoming disgusted in the slightest with myself and the world, but at the same time I can't divorce it. There is the aspect of microcosm in which I thrive, the seclusion, the honing of skills, the maturity and development of mechanisms without external influences. That being said, the human in me wants to test the waters... gauge my personal satisfaction with my own little worlds against some sort of battery of external trial.

I will cycle in and out perhaps, as certainly many have done before me. IN In in, out ouT OUT. Recursively, but Never, ever, Forever.

It is not the transfer of objective ideals that concerns me. This is nonsense. It's not even fantasy, just garbage. There is only one goal I can legitimately support in this endeavor I've found myself in. All skepticism and plausibility aside, if by some manner of resonance, I can believe for one moment that YOU can feel what I feel... well, I'd like to think it's an accomplishment. The things I consider to be the most beautiful are the things that make me feel like I'm on the other end of this.

"Below the thunders of the upper deep;
Far far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides; above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumber'd and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die."

There is a new light in the sky. It glows faintly red at first, just a small dot up there.
Then, ever so slowly, it grows.
Eventually it dwarfs the moon in the night sky, a menacing red dot just... hanging there.
Preliminary reports from the dispatched probes indicate a massive anomaly several times the size of our sun traveling slowly towards the earth.
The sun is no longer the brightest object during the day; it is difficult to look into the sky.
There is no night time anymore, only the orange day and the red day.
The rest will be gradual, but the world will end within six years.
What matters to you?
What do you cling to when you are slowly parading along with the rest of the human race towards an inevitable demise at the hands of the cosmos?
Is it hope?
Is it the ever dwindling immediacy of carnality?
Is it love?

Brushing up on my Tesuji, I can't tell if I've lost my skill or not? Definitely want to get back into competitive Go to see if I still got it.


I guess I'm not really allowed to complain when people know weird gossip about me if I openly talk about it. WHOOPS. Still sometimes when I'm in a foul mood I want to tell people to mind their own fucking business.


I think I'm slowwwwwwlyyyyy getting to where I want to be. It's a bit of backtracking to find it, but I certainly have taken some things away from my aimlessness. Mostly I'm just grateful for good friends to lapse out of hermitage with.

I think my biggest regret is waiting so long between the moment I realized that X was the worst thing in my life and actually dealing with it. I've gotten out of debt, working regularly, growing as a musician and rediscovering my passion for learning, knowledge and theory. I'm going to be able to afford to move out soon and I'm more anxious to sit in a classroom than I ever have been in my life. Even post-undergrad plans seem clear of recent, options I got, with little deliberation as to the choosing.

I didn't realize it even as the words left my lips, but the truth in the statement won me over. I guess no one ever told you this wasn't a contest?

I like to make people happy? I like when they appreciate it. Some people are so unhappy that it leaks around them like a plague. I never want to be this way so I won't be. Please don't be a lobster, friends are best.

Square peg, square hole.
List do.
Go.

And he must have a strong sense of the sardonic. This is what uncouples him from belief in his own pretensions. The sardonic is all that permits him to move within himself. Without this quality, even occasional greatness will destroy a man.

that quality the ancients called "spannungsbogen" — which is the self-imposed delay between desire for a thing and the act of reaching out to grasp that thing.

chopping off what's incomplete and saying: "Now it's complete because it's ended here."

Sometimes I think about, if given the option, boarding a near-light-speed space craft and taking a tour of the solar system.

I'd come back to earth and the face of the world would be unrecognizable. Everyone I know would be dead and gone. A week for me would be a lifetime for the earth.

Maybe I wouldn't like the way things turned out while I was gone. I could refuel, board my ship, and maybe take a whole year or so to tour a nearby star. At 0.99998c that would put the date of my return at about 4000AD I think.

Tonight was a weird sort of quiet celebration for me. Being dead-tired but playing board games with friends instead of sleeping is pretty great. I think I'd almost always choose board game over sleep. Unless it's Settlers of Catan, I dunno if I can stomach that game anymore.

Things to be celebratory about:

I'm becoming an increasingly expert flying insect assassin.

I'm one month away from being out of debt.

I'm working a job at which I'm actually paid to do things I'm good at.

I have half of a libretto, the music for which I have aching fathoms.

I have like pages and pages of half gibberish that I've been slowly condensing into an abstract theory of algorithmic and recursive music generation?

Another less developed theory on the nature of melody: structurally, functionally, psychologically to some degree.

~

I really like... two kinds of activities? Ones where my brain is a knife slicing and dicing and ones where said slicing and dicing becomes completely irrelevant.

"I will put Chaos into fourteen lines
And keep him there; and let him thence escape
If he be lucky; let him twist, and ape
Flood, fire, and demon --- his adroit designs
Will strain to nothing in the strict confines
Of this sweet order, where, in pious rape,
I hold his essence and amorphous shape,
Till he with Order mingles and combines.
Past are the hours, the years of our duress,
His arrogance, our awful servitude:
I have him. He is nothing more nor less
Than something simple not yet understood;
I shall not even force him to confess;
Or answer. I will only make him good. "

I guess I always assumed it would be a slow gradual progression.

It's much more like the oscillating spiral decent of a crashing helicopter.

Not to say it's all bad. It's just the motion is wild.
Unpredictable tolling: the death knell of youth.

Emptying, removal, purging the infection. You feel like you've issued forth all the disgusting contents already, but it just keeps coming out. The anger is misguided really, because it's no one's fault. It mostly just sucks... a lot. It is just one more way that I've turned inside out and back again, shaking loose years of detritus. I really should have higher standards.

Accommodated without pretense in a wonderful person's personal space, I slept soundly. While I was slipping in and out of dream, they talked in their sleep and the smeared line of reality seemed to stretch on and on. I wonder if it's this obvious sometimes or I'm just getting ahead of myself. People resonate sometimes, I think. I'm wary though, because in the past I've been quite mistaken about this sort of thing.

For a while now, I really may have been too deeply inebriated by my own attempts at objective empathy: trying to love the things I hate and allowing myself to hate the things I truly love.

We all get to choose what game we're playing, I guess.