Prophecy

Remember all stuff that about blood and tears in the last post? This time it was nearly blood for me, and tears for someone else. I think I’m a little shell-shocked right now. I don’t know why she reacted that way. I mean, other people have left in tears before, but… I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cry. I don’t know what to do. I mean, I never knew that she could…

But I’m being awful again.

I’m sure you will read this. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was doing. I will make an appointment right now with Fran for next week. I will tell her everything she wants to know.

What I told you was the truth. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Is this about him? But you know I can’t give it up. It’s been so long, and I don’t think he could take it.

All this time I thought there were only three people I could ever love. Him, mom, and my little trooper. Of course there are others like El or Jak or my other brothers and sisters, but compared to them… Mom is dead, of course.  And my little trooper is out my of reach now.

But now, I’m thinking of all the things I’ve done to hurt you. And now I realize that you’ve never hurt me, not even once. Emotionally, I mean. Is that right? Even today, when you left, I wasn’t hurt. All I did was think about how hurt you must be now. But I can’t imagine how it feels. So that’s an issue? That I am never hurt?

People say that I am strong. But I don’t know how that correlates. Is that because I am always numb inside? I’ve always been this way, as far back as I can remember.

The first time we met, I remember so clearly. You threw a glass of wine in my face at a runway party and I laughed really hard. And then you talked to me about Shakespeare and Kant versus Bentham. Then I asked for your phone number and I got it. And I asked if you wanted to go out sometime, and you did. It was surprising, to say the least. So we met the next night at a coffee shop – that really nice place off 22nd street – and talked about how underrated HyperTransport is. And the next night it was desktop publishing at Mario’s pizza place. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can recite everything about our first ten to fifteen meetings; it’s all in my mind that clearly.

Everything about you is just so fun – but is that really what you want as my descriptor of you? Fun? You’re so much more than fun. I wish I could tell you right now. But I think I would screw it up. Like how I screwed it up with… my little sister. I suppose that’s another issue. But I just met her the other day and she told me to fix myself up too. Like everyone else. It was a little upsetting, I must admit. It made me think about things I didn’t want to think about. Like what I’m doing now.

I think I’m going to make an appointment with Fran for tomorrow. I’ll call you after that. I hope that’s not too early.

On Being Crazy

I have a psychologist friend who recommended me to a psychologist friend of hers; she told her friend I would be a most interesting case to observe. This psychologist friend of my psychologist friend – let’s call her Fran – had a nice and long chat with me and as I am prone to do, I discharged my charm upon her, and by the time the third date (session) was done with ( along with many other things… You have my number, Fran. I bet you still have it, even after this long) I was promptly diagnosed with “not quite dissocial personality disorder” and bought off with some fun meds. So naturally I ate the meds like candy (had a jolly good time), and googled the term.

Wikipedia says this.

And of course, since I enjoy clicking and I enjoy reading, I kept on clicking on the other links and read them all.

Things like this, this, this, this and this.

What is “superficial charm” anyway? What differentiates superficial and non-superficial charm? Why is passive aggressiveness a personality disorder? How strange.

Also, I think my father is a psychopath. But I suppose I won’t mention it to him. We’re all a bunch of crazies anyway, and we get along wonderfully. CyberDust from some online forum that I totally spilled my guts at that one time while I was sopping drunk told me that I was a nutjob who was overly dependent on my crazy mute daddy and that I should just hang myself and do the world a favor. Of course I told him “A sharp tongue does not mean you have a keen mind” and bawled my woes to dear Johnnie. The next day I pretty much forgot most everything about it and went bowling with my girlfriend.

Those aren’t the only times people have said I was nuts though. Everyone who knows me even slightly tells me, “You have issues.”

Please. I have no children. I am one hundred percent sure of it. It is impossible for me to have any children. Stop telling me that I do.

On the other hand, I have plenty of magazines at home. PC World, anybody?

Seriously, people keep telling me that I have a problem but they never identify it. Are they afraid? I’m not about to hit them, though I’ve been known to break a few noses. But that was long ago when I was still wielding, quite inexpertly (hence the injuries to other people), the softball bat. I unfortunately retired when I (accidentally!) broke someones fibula. I still don’t know where a fibula is to this day.

Back to the “issues”. I do understand that there are things going on in my life that some people might find strange, offensive, inexplicable, or any combination of the words. Offensiplicable, perhaps. I could describe a few here, but I won’t, because I don’t care. Maybe that’s the zenith of the situation right there. I don’t care. Floating through life like a dandelion seed, that’s a pretty nice description of what I do, except my life has a lot more blood and tears involved. But don’t worry, none of it is mine.

Psychedellic Haiku

A narwhal etched noise
In lines, over eels. Your
beyond, the seas part

It is cold outside
but the fire in your eyes
burns the world away

Wow, this is easy.
You should try it too, y’know.
You might have talent

Upon the lotus,
A droplet.
But it has not rained

Fuel economy
means nothing, to one who rides
only bicycles

On my lap,
A laptop.
Out of batteries

Empty smiles adorn
graduate celebration;
Valedictorian

Here the boys don’t cry
but the female species weeps
nightly in moonlight

The red light blinking
A minute for a hero:
It happens every time

The Sublime Beauty of the Solid State

Essentially a cousin of RAM, but without batteries. Flash based drives work very well. They’re just gigantic SD cards in a hard drive case anyway. I have no idea why nobody has tried hooking up, oh, twenty or so MicroSD cards on a RAID to a decent USB port. The read/write speed is about 22 Mbps, not fantastic, but not awful. Though the cost ratio isn’t completely worth the effort. But that’s what most current SSDs are anyway. Most amateurs could probably do it.

SSD computers are lots of fun. You can shake them like maracas. But they don’t make any sound, which may be unfortunate for the musician but probably indicates some kind of modest quality of manufacturing. Always a good thing. If  anyone’s noticed, the prices for SSDs increase pretty much exponentially as the storage space goes up, but at those kind of prices, I’d rather strap together as many SD cards as I can get on a nice array and wire it all in a hard drive case for a fraction of that kind of cost. That’s pretty much what I’ve been doing on my lab rat machine, so far it’s been working out pretty well. Electricity use is something important to take into consideration though, but whatever, it makes the Mousey work pretty fast.

Planning to stick that tiny USB microSD reader on my work laptop as well. Will probably see if I can boost the laptop’s computing speed a little. And I’ll be using another microSD in a regular SD card converter placed in the SD card slot. I think I want to try out running a bootable OS on the SD card. Probably something zippy like Linux. Or I could have a bit of fun and run some silly thing like Windows 95 on it. But that will be an idea for another day.