" hiraku sulu is gay "

---



---

george takei is gay!!! yay!



and isn't it about time? even in the best star trek movie (star trek IV: The Voyage Home), who can ever forget when they're entering orbit around the greater bay area, and sulu waxes poetic about san francisco being his hometown. that's so rad.



i always thought that sulu had a whimsical smirk on his face. it's because he knew he was so hot on the series, and he most likely was james-t-kirk-ing all of the space mens on all of the intergalactic worlds. which is fine.



and so what if he's gay. it just goes to prove that intergalactic space love is just as diverse as terran love, and that ain't bad.



so let's put in the dvd special edition of ST:IV, and let our memories frolic down to the castro.

---

" blog spam?? "

---

i mean, i know that my blog isn't the greatest thing to ever hit the blogsphere, but c'mon you crazy people!!!

it takes a bold sort of uberdork with more than absolutely nothing to do whatsoever, to find out my blog's addy, and then post a fake comment advertising some sort of crappier blog within my already not-readership-prone.

this rampant and recent turn of events has both wasted my time and added another level of blah to the already threadbare commentry.

so hey, strangers and anonymous-ers, please stop making my small corner of online sanity worse by posting links to your blog on cowbells and nasal hair clippers. i just don't have the time, sir.

if for some reason, you do feel the inclination to comment, make it personal, or pertinent, or valid, and leave your name so i know who to blogspam later on if you're just a heartless bot trying to make me crazy; the fact that i blogged this entry in of itself being the keystone to my eventual downward spiral into technological madness.

---

" please do not steal my random scene "

---

FADE IN:

INT – NEUNG’S APT - AFTERNOON

The couple is hanging out in his apt. lazing the afternoon away.

NEUNG

Can you feel this?

GIRL

Yes.

NEUNG

What do you think about it?

GIRL

Normal.

NEUNG

What do you mean normal?

GIRL

What do you mean, “what do you mean normal?”

NEUNG

I mean, what do you feel? Is it soft, is it strange, is it odd, is it nice, is it real to you?

GIRL

It’s real. And it’s nice. And it feels, pleasant. Like flipping through pages of a book, or breathing deeply inside an open space; fresh, constant, delivering.

NEUNG

Delivering what?

GIRL

Delivering you, to me, now, here.

NEUNG

Yeah?

GIRL

Yeah. It feels private, and intimate.

The sunlight hits the floor and grazes their feet.

NEUNG

I wish every moment of every day could be this defined.

(beat)

GIRL

I know what we can do today; we can give you a manicure.

(beat)

NEUNG

We need hobbies.

---

" essence of albany "

---

fits of momentary nostalgia:

choosing gordo's or zachary's

is it albany or berkeley, this part of solano ave?

neighbors and how it's possible to have them without distinct neighborhoods

do i hate this place or miss it, from 4000+ miles away?

becca's kitchen with beer and jazz; her parents smiling and passive-aggressively arguing over a spread of delicious foods

jamming with dylan even though it was in berkeley and getting sandwiches half-way through or hitting up the thai temple and then the ashby flea market for gold posing as choice junk

the shitty construct that is the new high school, and hating it still, even though i'm well out of high school now and shouldn't care but still do because it's ugly as shit

seeing my house on google earth, and wondering where my car's gone/been

those soccer uniforms of blue and yellow mesh back in the day which were interchangable; orange slices at halftime

playing my guitar even though i suck

my basement makeshift rad super darkroom

the constant groupings of pubescent snots at the seb-leb (7-11)

free movies at the albany twin

zarry's sandwiches with extra pickles

east bay trail behind the train tracks and through the costco entrance to point richmond

friends that understand why we love albany

if you pronounce it "all-bany" or "al-bany," and what that means in terms of location of origin

policeman trading cards

the humid smelly indoor public swimming pool

mary and joe's sporting goods

children center day-care

the village

making plans to go to tilden park for a hike, but ending up drunk at cougar field

not big enough for a BART stop, but not small enough to be considered a boon-dock rural town due to geographic location even when taking into account the square-mile aspect

the border of albany and berkeley at safeway's and how nobody cares except the berkeley half

asian mall and how it's somehow considered richmond (???)

the dive bars and when did they become hip...i.e.-ivy room, hotsy totsy, and club mallard, and why does everyone want to drink on san pablo when they can get a guiness and play chess at THE PUB?

knowing the difference between the old cool albany library and the ugly salmon-pink vomit posing as art deco architecture

dance nights at montero's and world music at ashkenahs

magnificent marin, corny cornell, and how no one really cared about the kids from vista

home, and where the heart is, no matter how fleeting or (inter)national

big up tiny town; the list goes ever on...

---

" makeshift boats "

---

the night beat its worn fists against the billowing skies as the open humidity permeated below; the thought of puncturing a sack came to mind.

tonight, there was a thrashing; a shower like none other, the low clouds hung heavy with the weight of meteorological arrivals.

the sounding of thunder rang and resonated throughout, like the vibrant clanging of bells from a high tower.

thin flexing shared hopes of remaining dry were lost amidst the guests at dinner; a wet and shared satisfaction of consuming foods while being consumed slowly by weather.

the waters lapped against the sides of out taxi; the machinery confused, as it meandered through the odd tides in the streets.

tiny boys and various people stood on stools against the walls of the buildings; these walls barely covered by the hanging eaves with wide slits in the spread cloth.

in the middle of the intersection, i saw a traffic officer in an orange raincoat; it shimmered bright and elegant against the surrounding vehicles' collective high-beams.

with a whistle clasped tight, his pants were cuffed in a high pleat well above his calves, and his feet were bare in the shallow waters.

---

" as if you have never been on a hike ever "

---

seedart trek to the upper mountainous jungle region above chiang rai: part 2

you awake to the sounds of childen running around outside and roosters announcing to the world that they are alive, the sun might be up, and the day is upon the wide world. breakfast is at the ready, and while eating, you make the observation that food here is not to be wasted; if you are hungry, consume as much as you want/need. this is life simplified based on necessity and sustenance, rather than leisure or preference.

you're preparing the camera equipment for the first "day of school." the project is getting started, and you don't know quite what to expect. it seems, as we pack the bags and prepare materials, that we're going to have a good time with this.

you're "walking" to the school. the hill slope has turned into a downward road into a wooden pole-bridge across a flowing river chasm into a cloven earthen first road made into mud by the rains flanked by the lushness of nature into one of the most unforgiving mountainsides you have ever had to climb.

your eyes are pulsating with an odd sensation and you feel as if you never quite experienced this raw level of natural green before. you almost feel as if you are blinded by nature, and it's sheer vibrancy drives you onward and upwards.

you're struggling up the last few man-made dirt steps to the base of the school. all of the school-children in the lower-level outdoor classroom look at you as if you are some strange animal about to keel over and die at their dusty feet. you take a moment to soak in the beautifully rural view from the top of the mountain, as seemingly all of the water content trickles out from every single pore in your pathetic body. it feels refreshingly great.

you're trying to use every available linguistic ability in your brain to make sense of the basic elements and concepts of photography to hill-tribe children, as they stare onward and through your thin veil of confidence. they see that you have laid everything on the proverbial table, and they know that for some strange reason, the fear you have in the back of your head, has now had the chance to present itself, allowing it in its entirety to be completely exploited. you're thinking to yourself that these pre-teens have got some nerve, but that since that's mostly all they actually have, you allow yourself to be the clown.

you're walking back down the mountain back to the village. the breeze helps to keep the heat off of your over-heated body. the air is fresh and clean, and smells of a deep jungle forest. the deep winds heave unto the hillside from across and through a vast thick valley, which meanders through the landscape. soon you're back down on the path and it seems that if you can have this walk every day back to the village, it'll all be okay.

---

" the air up in the 'there' you've never been to "

---

seedart trek to the upper mountainous jungle region above chiang rai: part 1

you're sitting on a plane with a new book in your hand. the pressurization has just gotten to your brain, and concentration is getting difficult. to your left, a new contact is sleeping the hour-long or so flight away, having invited you to participate in a very cool important project, resting away for the things to come.

you're getting an over priced taxi from the chiang mai airport to the overbrook hospital. you're going to meet doctor david, a man that for all intents and purposes, will be your guide through the whateverness of unknown trails and peoples yet to manifest. he looks like a hiker, a camping trekker, a man with the sort of boots that signifies he walks a great deal over great distances constantly and often.

you're sitting in the roadside meetingpoint/restaurant of the hill-tribe villagers, whenever they make it into town; there is a governmental restriction upon the actual entering of these 'illegals' into the city limits, but they are allowed to sit, eat, converge, meet, and peer into what the 'privileged life' might possibly look like.

you're walking at top speed, as if there were no time left in the day, through the local produce/goods market buying things like eggs, vegetables, tubers, ponchos, mosquito nets, and medicines. there is absolutely no catching up to doctor david, as his pace is that of a massive steam engine train chock full of coal. every few seconds he disappears around some corner, leaving only the wincing smile of an old toothless lady selling cucumbers arranged neatly in a pile.
you're on the back of a truck headed for somewhere. the wind smells fresh and clean, completely unlike the "air" in bangkokia. the winds of change, one might say. looking around, there are many faces that seem as if they might be familiar ones; the faces of workers, the faces of old hill-tribe grandmothers with their blackened teeth and red tongues from chewing too much betelnut, the faces of young couples with a baby; the teen-aged husband not really ready to be a father as he smokes a cigarette over the edge of the back of the truck, one leg dangling near to the bumper. all these faces surround you, as the wind pulls our collective hair up and back. the road nears to separate destinations, and these people start to disappear as if you never saw them.

you're getting off of a long-tail traditional boat; the motor supplied from the hollowed out truck engine, refitted for aquatic transportation rather than the road. the last three hours were spent at a hill-tribe school on the other side of the river; the side of the river attached to the road back to civilization. you and your three companions waited three hours for the boat. it was hot and long and boring (excepting the interaction between camera-photo taking and the smiling constantly amused children), and it seems that in all of the discomfort of waiting, there are some people here that have done this every week of their lives.

you're on a second truck. the road has turned to that of dirt and mud and river shallows and tall grasses and deep cloven slits in the earth. the branches from bamboo shoots arc over the road in defiance of man's divination through them, and they thrash the faces and backs of unwary passengers sitting in the back of the truck; multiple unexpected lashing from a nature too old to move out of man's way.

you are sitting in a Lahu village eating dinner. a simple meal of rice and vegetables and cooked meat. you forget for a moment that the reason you are here is to interact, document, teach photography, and observe the means of education that these villagers' children can be provided with a basic sense of elementary and secondary education. the small sound of the rush of bodies in anticipation of food accompanies the thoughts of making it to the village finally after five hours of transit. again, the thought that these people have to do this every week comes to mind, and you humble yourself before the hot meal, happy to have made it to the location of something very very real.

---

" international nerdery is rad "

---

BTMBRKT: yo man, are you still awake? What is it like early o'clock over there?
weederman23: it's like midnight 15 is what is be
weederman23: whaddup?
BTMBRKT: not much, just you know. working hard, surfing the net
weederman23: how's hollyweird?
weederman23: werd
BTMBRKT: same old hollywood
BTMBRKT: lattes and beamers
weederman23: oooo beamers

weederman23: hahah

weederman23: did you happen to get dylan's prospectus on his rubick's cube project?

BTMBRKT: yeah it's a rad idea

BTMBRKT: i've never been able to figure that damn thing out
weederman23: i saw some fake rubick's cubes at the chinatown market today and i was tempted to send that to him, but it looked all janky n shit
BTMBRKT: haha remember the weird rubick's cube, the non cube one?
weederman23: hell yeah
weederman23: what the hell was the thinking behind that?
weederman23: and i thought i have hella time to spare
BTMBRKT: i had that one, and messed around with it for one frustrating day
BTMBRKT: i wanna find that guy Rubick and punch him in the face
weederman23: i was always stuck on those weird knot, loop, and hoops get-the-ring-out puzzles
weederman23: i'll help you track him down, then i'll hold his legs
BTMBRKT: perfect. This will be a special feature to dylan's project
weederman23: i like it already

---

" why is television making me sad? " or " no more confusey me "

---

i'm just sitting there in my room in my boxers. you know? relaxing as one does. cut up some rose apple and begin slicing it up; seems like a fairly regular night of internet and television is about to ensue, and so i go ahead and turn on the teevee.

aaand lo and behold! what the hell is on?? (is what i ask)

um, forgive me, but what the hell is there a biography-styled (complete with sappy yet supportive musical accompaniment) deconstruction of the rise of now secretary of state condoleezza rice on? a-buh??

not that thai television programming is necessarily all that spectacular (aside from the occasional b-movie that didn't get US release come dubbed at nine in the morning on channel 3...sheer comedy!!), but jeezlaroo!!

i almost couldn't finish the rose apples i was so awestruck at the sheer oddity of it all. my mouth hung half open and agape. oh, and there's bush, and hey c'mon in donald r. pleasure to see you on thai airwaves. whathtehellisgoingon!!!?

there's something to be said about the power of bypassing such strange broadcasting choices with the magic that is dvdvd's.

there really is.

ps- another real kicker is that following the show was a 59th anniversary commercial for yamaha and their kalaidoscopically-rainbowed array of quality products, full with their entire line of exports explained in japanese, all over a whistling redition of the toy R' us 'theme song.'

(insert blank stare here, and a collective crapping of a brick)

---

" hey mr. taxi man, you so crazy "

---

hypocrites come in all flavors. i especially like religious fanatics that go to the far reaches of the earth, just to spread their capitalistic endeavors in the guise of fanaticisms about god and love.

it's almost like 'yo, this place that is the end of the world to you guys [in your starchy white shirts and blue-black ties you bastards in slacks and male mary-janes shit for brains only speaking english because you give a flying shit about actually learning a second language coulda given me the money so i could develop my own work instead of wasting it so you can get your pasty girlfriend an ethnic trinket muthafuckas] is just the beginning for the inhabitants there...so doi?'

but yes. i digress. hypocrites. sometimes they come at you all sneaky-like. as if a ninja in plain sight. and that happened to me today, and i was flustered for only a moment:

i was on my way back to my heez from the airport today. usually, when you go anywhere from the don muang international airport, you have to pay a pre-fare payment of 50 baht ($1.25), of which i usually can bypass with a little finesse.

the trick is that when you are leaving the airport alone or with a friend with little to no baggage, you can pick up a taxi from the departures level, that happens to be dropping a person or persons off, thus bypassing the taxi-chartering cost. and in this manner, i was thusly off towards home.

mr. taxi man chopped it up a bit about the state of some of the taxis; the age and make of the older models versus the newer sleeker ones with the bio-diesel options (of which he had). he barked furiously over the need for the comfort of the rider and then the driver; a/c being his top priority. then he scolded the other (50 baht charger) taxi drivers for wasting time, space, gas, and the money of riders by merely existing.

we went on to talk about the weather, the nature of the modern thai person in the face of foreign infrastructure and influences, of which i was fairly impressed due to the fact that he seemed like a thinker, but perhaps not outside the pattering-on taxi-man drivel sort of vein. i remember feeling a little impressed and also, he didn't ask me once about my non-clearly-speaking thai language skills, which was refreshing. go him!, i thought to myself.

when we neared to the saphan kwai area we came to a stilted brake-rev-scoot-brake-rev pattern due to the engaging traffic. he peered over to the curbside pathways across the street and commented on how the buddhist amulets were placed on the ground. this disturbed him greatly because images of the buddha and revered monks should not rest on the ground.

he reprimanded the sellers of the amulets enraged and on the cusp of releasing a thread of curses, but as a civil man, remained collected and respectful. it was an odd mix of intense respect for the ideology that is buddhism, and the sordid regard that these vendors attributed to their wares. i almost felt a sort of vibrant respect for the man; working hard and high morals makes the best shoot-the-shitters-in-a-taxi-cab people.

when we pulled up to where i requested to be dropped off, i slipped him the fare. the next thing that happened momentarily struck me befounded and aloof. and it was something that i myself was not entirely prepared to hear. he leans over in a now-that-we're-friends way, and he asks me for the 50 extra baht taxi-charter fare on top of the cab ride fare, as if it were not going against everything that he seemed to be preaching. i mean, are you crazy guy? you gotta be fuckin' kidding me, fo' reals!

needless to say, i was dumbfounded and oddly enough, calmly amused.

beaming from the inside out, i gave him the money, because hey, even the strongest of us need to make that cheddar. i felt sorry for him, and knew that dude most likely really feel the way he did about things, and was more angry at myself for not realizing that he was entirely human altogether.

ah, the folly of idle chat. i gotta start filming this stuff. it's gold i tell you, gold!

---

" some of my friends are bastards "

---

w1nd0z395182: Hey homie dont you ever sleep?

weederman23: who in the what now?

w1nd0z395182: i'll probably never know lol

weederman23: mm

w1nd0z395182: oh crap I forgot my dentist appointment :-\ oops

weederman23: dentist?

w1nd0z395182: really?

weederman23: what?

w1nd0z395182: thats an interesting question, isn't it?

weederman23: am i the only person who is confused?

w1nd0z395182: you are you, and i am myself.

weederman23: yeah, but then again, no one gave me any acid yet?

w1nd0z395182: o kthen

weederman23: right

w1nd0z395182: o hok

w1nd0z395182: where did u go? lol

weederman23: who is this!!!?

w1nd0z395182: :-P

weederman23: hahahahaha

w1nd0z395182: have u ever been skydiving? I want to sometime...

weederman23: skydicing

weederman23: v

weederman23: sky

w1nd0z395182: yae...

weederman23: diving

weederman23: nope

w1nd0z395182: i just got my new laptop today, i'm excited

weederman23: new laptop

weederman23: mm, are these hints?

w1nd0z395182: the stupid phone keeps ringing and i dont wanna answer it, haha

weederman23: ringing phones?

w1nd0z395182: have you tried the new coke with lime? it's pretty good

weederman23: what limeny coke?

w1nd0z395182: i dont remember anymore lol

weederman23: i just heard that in the states, there's coke 'zero'

w1nd0z395182: uh huh... sure lol

w1nd0z395182: where did u go? lol

weederman23: you're starting to worry me

w1nd0z395182: do you have a gf/bf?

weederman23: what?

w1nd0z395182: You have been talking to a computer! One of your friends is reading the whole conversation and laughing it up right now! GET EVEN! Have the bot prank all your friends by visiting imprank.ebaumsworld(dot)com

weederman23: jeebus

weederman23: some of my friends are bastards

---

" so you've decided to not be an ass: part II "

---

presumably at this point, you are not an ass. this is a good thing, because i have another couple tasks for you.



if you are in the states, and nearer to one of the two great coasts, and in one of the three areas/art-cinemeccas that continue to define filmmaking distribution underdoggedness, then go see wong kar-wai's 2046. do it.



no, before you think, or think you know, or care, or care to know. just go. go now. it's a beautifully made film that is the end of an era. it is cinema. it is raw, and it breathes. if you come out of the theatre not liking it a bit, you can just be relieved that you spent the last couple hours or so not watching american television.

that's the first task.

the second is to note that maggie cheung is rad. it's true. i dare someone to prove me wrong. and if you actually have the skills to do so, it'll only mean that you haven't yet seen the film "clean," by director (ex-husband) Oliver Assayas.



and the thing is, these are simple things that will make you feel. i can only produce menial inconsequential refunds in the form of untruthful apologies, if you happen to dislike these pieces. but, i gather you won't regret it.

in any case, if you feel like watching them for free, albeit on a TV screen or on my laptop, you'd first have to a) fly to bangkok [rates are higher in august due to what travel agents oddly enough call the "high-season"], b) buy me some groceries [why? because i'm hungry, and you're a guest staying here for free], and c) strap your non-believing ass in for a luxurious ride, cause we're not drifting anymore; we're reeling with the feeling don't stop, continue.

---

" open window night-time "

---
---

it's 2:19am, and all along the wide skyline from my condo, i can see all of these blinking red lights adorning the tall metal spires in the distance.

they're all simultaneous and frenetic, like a visual representation of some phillip glass piece set to random.

it seems at times, that all of the red lights are autonomous beings embodied in the existent technology; lost souls residing within cavernous constructions. the ghosts in the machine.

and sometimes, if you let your vision blur a bit, allowing yourself to stare off as if in a daydream, it seems that they are all having conversations.

but, in their secret language of monotone blips and seemingly randomized pulses, inlaid there are glorious things going on, and everything becomes quiet and mysterious.

---
---

" everyone's having a better time than us "

---

weederman23: rusty indeed
rustynai12: whoaaaaa. yes!!!!
rustynai12: and the weederman legend lives on...
weederman23: supper duderman?
rustynai12: stuck in cubicle hell

Your buddy rejected the Live Video session.

weederman23: no live video dealy huh?
rustynai12: nope
rustynai12: firewall
weederman23: cubicles are scary
weederman23: i hate fires in walls
rustynai12: i'm contemplating stabbing my eyes out with one of these red pencils i have laying around
weederman23: ooooh, that'd be gross
rustynai12: it'd teach them a lesson though
weederman23: sure would, although, the cleaning lady'd be awful scornful

---

" word, bird "

---

you try and be the exact thing that you are. never more, and never less. doubters and villains abound and you'll still retain the core of what you are.

so when the opportunity to put yourself out there arises, who can resist the chance to delve into it; feet forward and exposed with optimism, honesty, and a sense of grace.

then, it'll sneak up on you slow, like a wisp of smoke in a summer heat. there'll be whispers around and moments of complete calm when you catch the glances.

the feelings clutch and wrench in those best of ways. simple things, simple things. touching her by the back when no one can detect. the creases of her smiles, secretly holding hands in the rows along the shelvings. these are the elements which create the compound.

she makes you dizzy and feel perfectly happy. she makes you crumble and delighted and all of the things that complete circuits. perfection in the imperfection of human nature, and how that is everything real and tangible.

is it enough that some of the most pleasurable things in the world are those simple moments?

and all in a day, it seems as if this now is the case.

---

" man-pooch: a brain fart "

---

there's nothing wrong with having a man-pooch. i swear. you can always have a little extra flab in case you happen to be in iceland. and it's just cool, i tell you what. seriously.

there's plenty of people who are looking for "real people," and nothing says "real person" more than a little sub-bellybutton belly. i think it's hot, but only maybe because i happen to consta-have one.

i know that if i actually did some sit-ups, let alone a single one, i might get that pocket of fat deposit to melt away like so much lost weight, but it's highly in fashion i tell you. at least i think it is.

i suppose it's just because no matter how vastly my weight fluctuates (this past year i've lost about 18 lbs), it never shows. i have what scientists and anatomists might call a "unique frame." i'm short for a human, or tall for an asiatic-descent human (5'6" - in the morning, when my spine expands after a day of fighting gravity, grrrr gravity). i've got ice-hockey thighs, swimmer's butterfly-shoulder-widths, and a perpetual soft midsection. it's a wonder that i can stand at all.

when i want to buy pants, i more often than not, have to tailor the pant lengths about 3-4 inches shorter, which is fine. except for the fact that my waist size and pant leg lengths rarely find happiness in a single pair of pants. i have since given up on finding a proper pair of pants.

all of these points are beside the actual point, which is this: when you got a man-pooch, you gotta rock that feature, because if this doesn't start to catch on, mine will become less rad...i think.

so, don't be afraid to let people massage it, give it a little rub, poke it, grab it, give it a little pat, or kiss it, because it's right in between a well-chiseled lower mid-section (brad pitt in fight club) and a developing beer gut (the cinematic development of john goodman's superb gut over the course of his cinematic career), and that a'int all that bad yo.

---

" so you think you're an adult: a rant-like thought train "

---

the funny part of growing up, is that you are given free reign to have a piece of the nostalgia of your past. forever gone is the time you spent mashing leaves with rocks in the sandbox to concoct secret mystically magical potions to cure whatever the hell you thought it would do.

maybe that was jsut me and my childhood friend brian; it was really special, i think. that or we wasted our formative days of social development. but we were magic at the time, and that's what was important. we didn't give a shit!

mm, i guess it's all in the timing of it. i'm not the master of time, but if i had the opportunity, i'd kick old man time in the fucking thigh, for messing with me, raggity bastard. get a new robe old man! jeebus!

(ironically, time passes)

i'm asking, at that young age, is your tender pink wrinkle-free brain ready to accept that you are going to die? i came to this realization fairly early on, and i don't see why i can't live the rest of my natural life kicking mad ass. right?

so you're in your early twenties, or mid-to-late twenties, or mid thirties; when is the right time to do the things that yo uwant to do? you want to travel the world, get on the cash tip and book a flight.

you want to be an artist? sorry, there's no class that you could take that could really give you magic powers. if the fairy dust didn't come out of your ass when you crap, it's going to be a difficult time of self-discovery ahead. sorry. it's just the way it goes.

but then again, maybe i'm not ready to accept that i'm not the greatest artist in the known universe; my creations and imaginings inspiring everyone within inches of me, and extending well and beyond the vast boundries of uncharted intergalactic space and time.

it's sad, really. the point i guess being that who really gives a shit what critics and buyers think (sub note: please buy some of my work, so i can eat tomorrow)? i sure don't...

i have no clue what i'm doing, but i'm happy. is that okay? so, the sub-sub-sub point to the rant, is that it doesn't mater at all. all of this is going to make it or not. all of this work and time and sweat and persistance is all for naught, if you don't enjoy it. you gotta be loving whatever it is you're doing, working on, loving, raving about, creationing, eating, feeling, interacting with, and on and on into the infinate of it all, or else you're missing the point.

and who even is this speech for, if not for myself even? i love how at moments when you feel most high-and-mighty, you tend to realize that you're completely exposed and your pants are hanging around your ankles; the wind passing through your legs with a bright and vibrant velocity.

go get em people, and tell them that bay said it was okay to do what you're doing. if they don't understand, don't be too hard on them. soon enough we'll all be "in the know," or blissfully not.

tonight's homework:

make the time to stare into someone's eyes for more than the normal millinanosecond you do in your daily facial glipses. try to go for 5 seconds if at all possible. you'll find that you can learn a lot about someone by losing yourself in their eyes. it's either that of staring at a cat, and i'm pseudo-allergic.

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" the evolving of a hair-related disaster "

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it takes a lot of energy to keep up a shitty hairstyle. as of late i have been very dedicated to growing out my hair.

this means that i now have a stands-up-by-itself-resembling-some-sort-of-grassy-turf-age on the top of my noggin', and about 3 cm. of equally lengthed sticks-out hair beaming from my cranium like black lightning.

now, the point being, when does being individualistic become a really bad idea; sure individualism and uniqueness is great. super even.

but when that dream of being yourself means that you look like you are constantly surprised, one must rethink the initial design.

that's all i got.

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" going intergalactic "

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dylan says it all. even if it is at the core entertainment and screenplay, these icons of nerdery are no less important as cultural isms.

i find myself affected and at a loss. better, letting a fellow trekkie choose his words and give scotty one of many heartfelt blurbs, i will allow these words to drift off of the page, and into the cosmos beyond.

live long and prosper.

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the enterprise will never fly the same after today. and the galaxy will never be so bright. because early this morning at 5:30am at his redmond, wa home, james doohan, or "scotty," of the starship enterprise, passed into the great beyond.

the cause of death was pneumonia complicated by advanced alzheimer's disease.

on a personal level, this strikes a mighty blow. not one of tragedy. he was old and sick and i didn't even know the guy. but, man i love star trek. it's so overlooked by all these hobbits and droids and stupid wizards and muggles.

at the center of star trek was a real humanity. sure, the shows were fairly campy. but i'm not talking about that. the films-specifically 2-6, were about peace, balance, environmental issues, social consciousness (spell check), friendship, etc.

they're beautiful. and the fact that scotty has now been beamed up for the last time, it just brings a flutter to my heart. so hears a toast to the great scotsman who turned the engineering hull into an aquarium fit for whales.

i will be spending the rest of the evening watching star trek 2-6 (i may skip 5; 1-the motion picture is not really relevant and a little too much like 2001).

may the force be with you. i mean, i am the one.

dylan



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" nerdlust: the confrontation of certain science "

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one cannot deny the build-up in temperature created by physical closeness. it is enough to transmit the action/reaction-ness of science, into the brain, translating it into emotional energy.

you have to respect the fact that these two autonomous things have come together in such away. it's the glory of proximity. touch then, becomes more than a sense.

it could be simple sitting next to each other. i could be laying next to each other. it could be hugs, it could be kisses. or less, or more.

it can be anything, and it still doesn't take away from the end result or experience, that through this sense of tactileness, of this newly created friction, that there is definitely something happening.

finding the simplest pleasures within the boundaries and territory of existing science. could anything be more accessibly romantic?

tonight's homework:

hold someone's hand for longer than a handshake or bro-shake, because

a) it's fine, go ahead.

b) it's hot if it's somebody you "like-like," and hot even if it's not.

and

c) c'mon...you know you wanna.

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