Living Like a Fox

Tattoos and Perfection

2010-05-09T18:12:00.001-07:00

Locusts down to the bone on my right shoulder, bees building a lunar lander on my left

A laser carved lotus now rests in budah's hand,
Soon trees will turn the gears in the ruins of our human fear.

We may finally achieve perfection,
Until a dreamer invents the next microscope.

Location:Coronado St,San Buenaventura (Ventura),United States

This is Heaven & The Gelatenous Cube

2010-02-19T20:42:00.000-08:00

Somehow I've escaped the world between firm perceptions
(That gray mass of questions and misdirections.)
I've lived in the gelatinous cube and survived...
Now I'm nude, armor left behind.

I don't know about you, but fantasy and lucid dreams have created me.
My ego has grown to the size of Leonardo Divinci's metaphorical balls.
I actually have the gall to believe I can do anything.

I've been blowing bubbles between 9 hour shifts, naps and dreams.
I love what I do, and the question now is who am I in-between.

I love this little thing we call life,
I don't know where I'm going but I've convinced myself it's forward.
I miss the silence of singlehood,
But I love the love of a lover.

I think this world were in is heaven,
Hell is any voice in our heads that tells us otherwise.

Practicing Grammer < (But Obviously Not Spelling)

2009-12-19T12:07:00.000-08:00

It's the lion's choice
It's Christmas
Its color was brown
It's my turn to drive
Its tiny hand held mine
It's the reason we're together
We're alone finally
Were you happy?

Just practicing my: it's / its / were / we're grammar. I was writing with stream of consciousness, didn't realize it was a poem until much later.

MM

Scrap of Paper Poetry, Found While Cleaning

2009-09-01T16:45:00.001-07:00

Is it obvious how I've changed?
If poetry is a mirror for mind,
I say yes.
I've found structure within my chaos
Inevitable perhaps...
Inevitably human.

Cat art

2009-06-26T23:41:00.000-07:00

Spider plants

2009-06-25T12:51:00.001-07:00

My little children

Grifting Abandon

2009-06-18T01:06:00.000-07:00

While my responsibility drives,
Shouting obscenities at passersbys,
I'm in the back seat, window down
Air surfing with my hand.

I'm ball dancing through a window,
With a twist, our cupped hands made fist,
We waltz through glass shards shimmering
Air treading on obliviousness.

I've got mud on my helmet, bugs in my teeth,
Built a pyramid of cars named Mona,
Tearing monster truck tires up that staircase,
Past heaven, into outer-space.

Forget coins in my eyes, currency is yet to be invented in this fantasy,
The gate keeper best get himself a dictionary before the jury arrives,
I'm a silver tongued lawyer for my soul,
Grifting for just a few extra lives.

Art = Mike Messenger
Poem = Mike Messenger

------------------------------

Faith regardless of incalculable odds...
Hopes the most beneficial delusion I believe in,
I'm surprised how often I surprise myself.

Wordle < Poem En' Mass

2009-05-05T14:59:00.000-07:00

This is a visual representation of my word use in all of my poems in the last year or so.
Some of my more repetitive poems influenced the outcome. But otherwise it's quite interesting.

The Joys of A Resident Manager

2009-04-07T17:09:00.000-07:00

I received this lovely envelope (Containing rent money), with a cute note written on the back. My plan of slowly replacing the current tenants with Computer Programmers, and Graphic Artists... is well on its way.

Cradle Generation

2009-03-11T18:49:00.001-07:00

Mike Messenger - Cradle Generation.mp3

I've spun the marry-go-round hard.
Wrapped my legs around the bars,
Trusting momentum, back to the air
My arms flayed, chest to the sun.
Vision blurred, head in the stars.
What I haven't done to feel.

We're the cradle generation,
Ladle up the alphabet soup.
Rock stars of our imaginary worlds,
Pebbles and moons in our cereal,
Life's just too hard.
Holding hands with hedonism.

It wasn't meaningful enough for me.
I sought the satisfaction of abuse,
Still got bruises from human roller coasters
Boredom induced masochism.
Finally I called, "Truce!"

I'm done with Ego masturbation,
Convenience based morality,
Procrastination, Isolation,
Games with human names.

Starting from the ground up,
Lets build something.

~Mike Messenger

Mike Messenger - Cradle Generation.mp3

Homage to Patriotism

2009-02-18T15:45:00.000-08:00

The American Flag hangs over my desk for the first time,
It's wrinkled and missing a few stars.

There was a empty pang in my stomach while hanging it.
My social awareness of white pride, rural rednecks implied...
Last time I felt pride... I was a republican.
It's been a decade... since I changed sides.

I guess I'm allowed to be proud now.
And I've been trying on that feeling for fit.
But Nationalism still has that funky smell.

So my reservations hold... like barnacles on a ship
Trying to find the imaginary numbers keeping us afloat.
Asking myself... which is more patriotic:
A hammer... or a gun.

~Mike Messenger

Duality

2009-01-20T23:30:00.000-08:00

If I'm to be between
The world in my head.
And the world as we collectively see it.
So be it.

I've got a barefoot on the one foot,
And I've a misfit tube sock too tight on the two foot
What's mass-produced is too loose, or tight
My mommy was only an assembly line for two.
To me that's just right.

Princesses, popes, petty prim coats, and the past...
Cut & pasting palaces round people, some with moats & crocodiles,
Given enough time and glue, make-believe just never lasts...
People put their hopes in odd places

We're so much more then we Play-Doh ourselves to be.
Da Vinci might of got close though,
I'm on the fifth shelf.
Too short to reach myself.

I know with a camera zoom out to fit the size of existence,
We may just be ten tin men setup in a row
Just waiting for a finger to let us go
I am the finger of my perception.

In my lucid dream's I've been granted god's hand
Levitation, creation, the desires of anyman
I've had a thousand tan brunets,
Even... Triplets

My next challenge--a clone of myself
Though facsimiles have been made, sentience alludes me
Some part of me resists granting total control
In due time, I'll summon this world of mine.

~Mike Messenger

What We'll Have

2009-01-14T05:21:00.000-08:00

I've built us a cathedral from sandwich toothpicks,
Sipping tea, stuffing soggy envelopes that seal themselves,
I sent the mayoed pickles to refugees.

'sigh'
Forbid they be an aquired taist!
For fear my fickle fancys request they send them back to me.
Let's jest, be poor...

Til' you and I might swim as ducks,
Side by side, to catch the crumbs
In our one dollar bills.

~Mike Messenger

::Blushing:: Chaos

2008-12-30T22:37:00.001-08:00

Shall we dual with pistols or rapier Chaos?
You load my dice and blow on them too! ::Swoon::
How deceptive of you.

But you see... I'm too clever for you Chaos.
You painted mask for primal law...
Excuse for patterns I can't find.
I am a abacus on crack, calculating my way through the earth to china-- given enough time.

I'm twenty three years into my Mona Lisa,
Done it all so far with my own hair.
The true finesse was done with the beard I only this year learned to grow.
A few horse hair brushes would have been nice-- and a real canvas,
But Mona Lisa would practically paint her self with those tools.

I know myself like a tired lover,
Who knows his partners thoughts before his own.
Sometimes I just look at myself knowingly, and don't say anything at all.

Well

2008-11-24T23:52:00.001-08:00

It seems that the way to understand this all... Is to close your eyes.

Android Platform for the Win! T-mobile for the Lame...

2008-11-12T18:13:00.000-08:00

Worship me you little iPhone hussies
(Now if only a carrier with good service would support you my beloved)

Coy Fantzy & Q6600

2008-10-30T05:28:00.000-07:00

So I managed to overcome the doom over this new computer I've built. I made this doodle above using a Virtualized version of Window XP running in Ubuntu (Linux). The milestone hear is Wacom support. Notice it looks like my other art. With different preasure levels for the pen. I'm happy. Only a few minor delema's... the Wacom pad gets traped in the Windows virtualization... so long as I want preasure sensitivity... so I have to use a normal mouse for Ubuntu... secret advantage? Well... it allows me to use two mice at once... simultaniously (Something I always dreamed of).

It's 5:34 AM right now... Thursday... I have two more days to conqure the world before the huge reunion part. One entire day killed building a new computer from scratch... god... it was nerve wracking installing the heatsink on the cpu... *fwew* I might end up taking it off again to re-do the thermal paist, I'm geting 32* degrees (C) while idleing... I demand better!

No one who reads this knows what the heck I'm saying... so I think I'm talking to myself.

I had a dream that I saw Geoff again. It was early in the morning... very vivid. I was moving into a new house, and... he was there to visit... or something... and I awkwardly walked up to him and gave him a hug. The emotional aftertaist was strong. In dreams its hard to tell the diference between feelings... smells... and taists. It wan't a good feeling... it was difficult.

All my friends are coming to see me Friday. Horrah! Noah and Yance broke up! Cassy & Macie broke up! The whole old gang + Jasmine will be together!

Cassy, Dirk, Noah (+Friends) , Patrick, Molly, James (?), Sara, Victora, Nick (?), Jon, Ava, Brian, Leah

Oh my

Near Six Years Untouched: Trombone

2008-09-22T19:42:00.000-07:00

It just sits there,
in the corner.
Huntched... criled into a shadow.
In a black coffin.
In a insane stupor, he cradled it
Pieced it back to gather again
Its golden body in his arms,
Only to let it sing in ways he could not remember
Notes falling daffidly failing with moments of udder bliss,
A mixed concerto of rediscovery, failures and sucess,
Its brilliance shined, and for a moment,
Two were one.
A gasp of release, and with a brief flurry of afterthoughts,
It was in pieces again,
With little absolute reassurances of return.
And it sits, in the corner
Again waiting for its memorance,
To be struck on by insanity.
Beautiful,
If only, one could take on such bliss,
While reasonable, and sane.

Building The Machine

2008-09-15T01:00:00.000-07:00

What looks like some sort of Holloween Costume... is actually me after my first time using a double edged razor. It took me a while to figure out what the 1-9 range written on the device ment... but after some bloody expirementation, I think I've got it figured out. Deffinitly the closest shave I've ever had. Well worth the $2 I spent on the antique butterfly razor, and the $3 I spent on 10 blades. Amazon sells 100 packs for $15. Each blade lasts about 3-5 shaves, making my total shaving expences... asuming I shave every day... $15 a year. The mach 3's I was using usually lasted about 2-4 shaves (Remember that when I shave I usually go from full skruff to baby's ass), and cost $15 for four blades. Let's just say this new method of shaving is right up my ally. The Dvorak of the shaving world.

Oh... the eyepatch... um... believe it or not I did not accedently shave my eyeball. I'm doing eye exercices, practicing using only one eye for four hours at a time to strengthen them individually.

The poem below is a foray into self developement.

Building the Machine

What is charisma without conviction.

If I build this machine without knowing its fuel.

It'll run on anything it can get it's hands on.

Change the world to fit my feet.

Cration no longer in the hands of its creator.

Debonair, tight fit, combed hair, glint

I've got to care, about something.

If it isn't me what-er-who is it?

I believe in me. For the price I pay.

I'm not big enough to look up to myself.

So with ropes tied to hands and feet I crank again.

I never see myself. But the room gets bigger.

The sound of my pain gets dimmer,

I listen to myself fade away as I go deph.

But in my chest I know me. The rumble inside.

Ear's aside. I feel the vibration, of vocal sensation.

And with hope, I crank again.

Moxie sprays on, Fox Cuflinks, James Bond,

All the kinks straitend, and springs are tight

The whites are white, smile loaded.

Change my feet to fit the world.

The creator, no longer in the hands the created.

What is conviction without charisma.

If I fuel this machine before its built,

I can't get my hands on anything to run.

Main Logo

2008-09-09T11:21:00.000-07:00

Here's a sample of the main logo for Consumer Thinking I was working on Last night.

ConsumerThinking.Com & PsiBlue Enterprises

2008-09-08T00:29:00.000-07:00

Click To See It's Beauty In Full Detail

(Took about 2 hours to design logo, 2 more for card)

Well, for those of you out of the loop... and by out of the loop I mean, WAY out of the loop. I am the uberman. This means I am amazing. I just bought two domains, for a grand total of $14 (oh my!). And am now setting out on a project that should hopefully give me the credibility to make money as a business consultant.

Step Zero: Read tons about Consumer Psychology, and write Twenty Articles on the Subject

Step One: Create Ridiculously Awesome Free Information Site (ConsumerThinking.com)

Step Two: Create Consumer Psychology Consulting Business, PsiBlue Enterprises

Step Three: Create Beautiful Simple Business Site, with basic contact info (PsiBlue.com)

Step Four: Link the Two in an Obvious Way "Consumer Thinking: Powered by PsiBlue)

Step Five: Create Awesome Business Cards

Step Six: Ware very nice Suit, and give out Business Cards

Step Seven: Hire Psychology Graduate Students as Interns, Pay Them in Knowledge

Step Eight: $$$

Short Song

2008-09-05T01:33:00.001-07:00

Just something I've been working on... I clipped it together so it would sound like it's finished. I'm not even really sure its all about the same thing... so good luck trying to make some sort of interpretation out of it.

It should say above, Destiny2. If it says "How am I not Myself" ... its bugging out... try refreshing the page. I have no idea why it does this.

Art Inspired Nonsese, Nonsense Inpired Art

2008-08-26T17:03:00.000-07:00

Dunking Donut f*ck
I can't remember a time I forgot something that hurt.
What's the best formula for disaster
I'm plasterd with a casting line of fish nets
Set to suck me into the water wet,
Dreams of empty pie tins crumpled
Lie down to your steam
Fume when the crown comes around,
Get your turn to be
Captain America.

Everyone says he's dead.
Not Nietzsche, god made short work of him long before he could.
But we all believe he's alive...
Someone will draw the straw scribed "Judas"
We'll all close one eye while they pen n' shade his rebirth

Finish what you've begun.

Fields Forever

2008-08-24T03:38:00.000-07:00

Savoring ideas
My finger runs across the splinter grained wood,
Wet dirt from a summer hose wafts by in a gust of air,
The burst of a cold strawbery, the solid cold grasping teath
Desert lips moist citrus sting soothing...
The hours tenderized souls of feet crossed rock dirt
Preasure clentchd fists open forward grabbing wind
Damp palms catch crisp breeze
Harvesting treasures red.

Doomed to Fly

2008-08-22T23:14:00.000-07:00

We connoisseurs of fantasy
Who dress in different destinies and dreams
How we love to...
Imagine.

Myself is only tangible
With four fingers
Clinging to the cliff of identity
My mirror, memories
And reflections in others eyes

One finger fatigued
Reaches bent broken to the air
Wind brushes across
Whispering truths and lies
To the persisting four:

You can become anything,
Now two flail towards the sun.
You're what you believe,
A claw mark is left behind.
Options are infinite,
A puff of dust. Only one clings.
You can never loose yourself,
My body tumbles through the air.

When I meet someone new
Through them I'm self aware
Not of my immaculate illusion,
But who I've become.

While I and those I love have held four fingers
Firmly pressing my actions to fit
Sun warped puzzle pieces of previous perception
And fantasize finding ourselves finished
Some day.

In a world where the inanimate is alive
And people are never the same
We pretend the river is still.
Perhaps we're less malleable then my mind believes
But believing is better
Perhaps.

If there is no end to my fall
Am I doomed or have I discovered?
How it feels to fly.
To brace or embrace oneself.

Blushing Chaos

2008-08-11T21:02:00.000-07:00

Soliloquy

2008-08-10T20:33:00.000-07:00

In Progress.

Chasing the Rabbit

2008-08-07T22:05:00.001-07:00

A small piece of paper I found on this journey

Tonight was a bit odd. In a small world... revolutionary kind of way. I decided to go on a bike ride and open my mind a little because it has been a little too focused as of late and a evening of distraction seemed appropriate.

I rode my newly repaired bike (New tire and tube $9) down town, along the San Lorenzo river, and to Costco just in time to catch the last half hour of snack time. Beyond tortellini and miscellaneous sports drink samples, I starvingly snagged a piece of pizza, and had an Arnold Palmer (1/2 Ice Tea / 1/2 Lemonade) for 59 cents.

I wanted to go up the trail to UCSC and followed the hap-hazard directions of a guy with a bike who looked like the type who knew what he was talking about. The strong chinned type, like me. Anyway, he was an idiot and sent me up he homeless highway railroad tracks where I ended up having a lively conversation with a pair of pale moon bearded homeless men. After rattling my way up the gravel railroad for fifteen minutes, I aborted mission. I rationalized that there was nothing at UCSC I haven't already seen and peddled a back sadly.

On my return journey I remembered a two lane bike road that winds up to Mission from Costco that I had eyed deviously in the past, contemplating if I could get away with driving my car up it despite the "Bicycle and Pedestrians Only Sign." I decided I needed to scout it out for width before any such endeavor would be attempted, and this bike journey would be an excellent time to do so. Just as I turned the corner back towards Costco I saw people congregating outside a building. I saw a sign that said above... "The Fellowship." And assuming it was merely a cult gathering or Lord of the Rings fan club I proceeded.

I walked up to the friendliest looking gentleman, a bald shrived man, and asked what was going on.

"Its the fellowship," he said.
"Yah. I see."
"Yah."
"So what's the fellowship ?"
"A.A."
"Oh."
"They won't make you say anything if you go in there. And there's free..." *Zelda music played mysteriously in the air* "...coffee and donuts"
"Really? So I don't have to introduce myself or anything? Hi my name is Mike and I'm just pretending to be an alcoholic?"
"No," he said gravely as if my denial made my case all the more serous.

I went in and decided the best way to fit in would be to immediately pour myself a coffee, which I did. The donuts would be for next time. I sat as they read the twelve steps and the twelve traditions. I listened to the guest speaker for the day, while gingerly sipping my coffee. I fell in love with the traditions on the wall silently while he recounted the tragic things that had occurred to him while he was sober, and how people who knew about his problem swarmed to his side to distract and help him through it. He made jokes like "they ate all the food in my fridge, and mostly just watched the football season on my TV, but I couldn't thank those guys enough for being there." He had it all. 19 out of the 20 signs of being an alcoholic. The only one that didn't apply was 'Have you ever lost a job' from drinking. He said he never had a real job. He said his easiest days were when he helped someone else, those were the days he never is tempted. His involvement with the organization, sponsoring others had made him stronger. A big part of his story was about his first relationship after giving up drinking. Its a general rule (none of the rules are mandatory), that you don't become involved in relationship until you've maintained one full year of sobriety. His sponsor told him he needed three. On his third year he met a woman and fell in love. His sponsor told him "Give me a call when it doesn't work out," he already knew.

While other people told their stories, I spent the whole time coming up with my own alcoholic story, entwining the already absurd truthful events in my life with carefully placed lies. I decided in the end my alcoholic admission would have to wait until I had ample time to solidify details. I like to keep my story constant. Throughout each persons story I also tried to apply the lessons in a more general sense. There speaking about addiction. Compulsion. Things which I myself have been very interested in, and perhaps overly psychologically aware of in the last five or six years. How does one get trapped. How does one let go of everything else in order to hold onto one thing. I've experienced this two or three times myself in my lifetime. I've feared getting trapped my whole life.

I thought about the structure of a completely anonymous group with no leadership. I thought about God. "Stick a fork in a light switch if that's what it takes to believe in something greater then you." I remember the speaker rumbling after a short story about atheism in his life.

At the end we held hands in a circle and said the Serenity Prayer. The last thing we said with a final two squeezes of the hands was, "Come back." And that was it. I grabbed some literature... knowing deep down that I could probably find everything on the internet later. At the same time I wanted to take something physically away with me to remember. So I did. I chatted with a couple of the guys and rode off. Onwards towards my future driving trail. I found out they meet five times a day, every day of the week.

Just before the trail began there was a painted sign that said Table Tennis. I admit I partially believed, out of its utter absurdity, that this was merely a cover for some secret spy organization. I set to investigate. Sure enough, as I walked in there were nine or so tables set up and people were playing... ping pong. A guy at the door greeted me and said it was five smackers to play and I smiled and replied sweetly, "Can I just watch?" After twenty or so minutes I started hearing rumors stirring and began asking questions. It seemed that several out of towners were coming tonight for a sort of, impromptu tournament. The number 9 in the world Men's 30's champion was going to be there. Ranked 18 in the world overall. I sat and chatted with an older woman about technique as the pro's arrived and put on there sporty short shorts and began to play. My life felt completely like Forest Gump at this point, having had so many absurd things happen in such a short span of time, and I smiled while imagining Gump carrying Lieutenant Dan out of Vietnam screaming "Put me down, let me die god damn it." A flashback of Lieutenant Dan shouting curses at god on the top of the mast of the ship during a storm lit up in my head. I suddenly realized what I thought was these guys playing, was actually just warm ups, as they each threw down their ping pong balls and *poof* turned into ninjas.

I was wrong about ninjas... they held the ball like a wizards preparing fireball spells. They clutched it, stared furiously while rolling it in there fingers, turned their backs to there opponents and sliced their paddles like katanas sending the ball perfectly lofting centimeters above the net. Counter intuitively, there volleys grew shorter as they became more serious. Each round was a fencing match, a few swings, a subtle feint, the tip of the blade touched the torso, and its a point. The finesse, especially the delicate posturing, and the identical replication of motion during their serves was astounding. I was hypnotized for at least an hour.

I managed finally to draw my self away, not without finding out that the building was available MWF for rent fo $65 an hour. Perhaps fodder for a later scheme I pondered. I decided to ride to the baseball fields just for fun. While checking out the buildings as I rode past, one was filled with people laughing and my curiosity took hold again. This evening is pure madness I thought! Again... but still... it is pure genius.

I was brave and walked up to the door and peaked in, the guy at the head of the room was obviously doing some sort of show, and he looked at me and beckoned me forward. I sat quietly and realized he was preforming... believe it or not... a magic show. I looked at the audience and noticed it was mostly kids. They were half American, and based on the chatter I deduced, half Japanese. The magician was a god. He had the mustache. He had the rabbits! At one point after removing a rabbit from a cake he subtly turned his back to the audience and wiped it down as it had obviously been in the cake for a little longer then small rabbit blatters could handle. He even did this with panache. His shtick was clever. He pretended to be a bad magician. His tricks of choice all appeared to be obvious, but there was always a twist.

At the end I was very curious as to what exactly I had walked into, and talked to the lady who seemed the most obviously in charge. She had been translating some of the more complicated parts in Japanese. She told me it was a group that worked with kids in conjunction with Santa Cruz's sister city in Japan. That the kids were doing a sort of "after school exchange program." Very interesting I thought. I know someone who's very interested in something very similar I said. My free magic show was over, I could very well tell that unlike AA they would not be sharing there Pizza, so I departed. I rode back along the trail I'd been headed for all along and decided a small clown car could navigate on it perfectly but not my own. The air was icy as I burned down the road with only a white t-shirt all the way home.

With courage and finesse we can live as foxes.

Imperfection Confection

2008-08-06T20:48:00.000-07:00

(Click For A Larger View)

"Sometimes I lie just to be myself."

2008-08-03T16:03:00.000-07:00

I found this, poem/narrative that I wrote six months ago and in retrospect I think it think it provides some perspective into the feelings I was having at that time. The title to this post is a line from another poem written a week or two before. This narrative is a transition out of that state of mind. This is un-edited from the original. It was written as a stream of conciousness poem/narrative originally with no edits on the page, and I feel this is the form it must be presented in.

I don't know why, but I felt compelled to read this aloud with spoken word the instant I found it. I only read it once in my head before recording it spoken aloud and you can hear my own perspective change of how the piece should be read as I re-read it. The second part I did not choose to speak aloud.

Part I

Sometimes I make so many mistakes
It becomes who I am.
How am I not myself.
I am everything I do, and it's only
Hard for me,
When I don't know how to repair what
I have destroyed.

I am lost in happenstance
Drowned in a hazy fog of repressed thought.
Complex fear, and delusion.

All the same I feel so clear and lucid.
A lucidity so crystalline,
so pure and sterile, I feel cold.

Its difficult to accept when one
Has tried too hard. When ones
Intentions have trespassed, and
Swallowed the intuitiveness that
Created the dreams my intentions
Strive for.

Part II

I am a host to devils, and I do not even believe they exist.

Why must others be the lens from which I must filter truth.

I pick up my own marionette strings and cast myself into a frenzied dance.
No one dances,
On the page, in type, in songs and in fables is the only place.
In the real world it is forgotten.
Music is something for private ears,
Its important to capture your emotion,
While it is hot.
While it is cold.
While it is fresh.
While it is empty.

Smile a little while you cry.
There are some options which are never the right answer.

Aspirations

2008-07-31T21:36:00.000-07:00

A steady trickle of courage leaks from an infinite dam,
Moving through the dry heaving cracks of this nation,
Saturating the minds of children and aspiring world leaders,
Nourishing intellect, community, and self expression.

Could we be so brave?
Could we choose the people of the world as our own blood?
Could pipe-dreams lead to the sweet beaches of Turkey?
Metaphorical Perfection, I ask thee, "Can man survive in your world?"
Can a man who dedicates his live to change, ever be content?
Do kind people really get the better deal in the end?
Or is that just what everyone else wants them to believe?
"I clasped my heart in my hands to you Metaphorical Perfection."

When my brain implodes inwards,
I can see the moment of my death through the optic nerve of my extricated eye
I don't want to be remembered in ten foot tall print.
I wish to be whispered about, passed secretly under desks,
To live in smirks, and winks, and secret handshakes,
Not in spirit, or blood, But in life, humanity itself.

NYC Part II

2008-07-28T21:38:00.000-07:00

I escaped TV land to the streets with my new found geek companions. My Rolodex was full of numbers the potentialist inside me screamed to possess but I'd likely never call. As we treaded to Nintendo World a memory bubble played a segment from my own childhood. This is exactly the kind of place I would have dreamed of when I was twelve on family vacation and begged my father to visit only to arrive with it closed for renovation. I couldn't help but tell every twelve year old child I passed that less then a mile away existed a life sized virtual reality chamber where "You too can stomp goombas and eat magic mushrooms!" I could paint a picture of every mothers grimace.

It was pretty much twenty stories tall and I wandered as Link for two hours in a real life representation of Hyrule. The balance board is fun too, I got a perfect score in the surfing game, and now have the confidence to take waves as tall as the Nintendo building. I'll be buying my real life surfboard with my next paycheck. To be honest, I wanted to get out on my own again. I could tell the guy from Wisconsin was a bit nervous with me around his girlfriend, which makes sense... he knew she was obviously my type. So I kicked it after lunch, after having a fight with some Time Square pizza jerks who tried to charge me $50 for a slice I thought was only $30. I grabbed my bags, stole some more cookies, and turned on my biological supercomputer to figure out the NY Subway system.NY Subway Worship

Imagine re-entering your mothers womb. Of course... huge, cement and filled with many other people trying to do the same thing. The New York Subway possess all the grit, damp, steaming, burning sweaty air of a sauna with its bench on fire. Flailing, towel waving old men and all. It is so symbolic of New York, there is a entire religion dedicated to its worship, and felt as if I had just been inducted. A masochists dream, the suffering which occurs before your A, B, 1, 2 or three arrives is legendary, lucky for all you sadists out their the misery is shared by all. When it pulls to a stop and the doors slide open it is reminiscent of stepping into a mountain lake at 10,000 feet. A flood of cool air pours out and crawls up your arms, neck, and with a shiver finally over your head. Everything moves fast. I with a 50 pound pack filled with useless cold weather cloths strapped to my back, sent people toppling over in piles like bowling pins with every turn. The subway is amazing. I absolutely love it.

Upon exiting and coming to the surface from what felt like a teleporter, conception of distance traveled could only be measured in the change in the people and scenery around me. "Union Square" this was the home of the True New Yorker, I could feel it boiling my blood. Everything was real, and alive. It possessed all the spirit and soul Time Square lacked.

Union Square, 16 Story Fox

I engendered a endless, but beautiful walk to my hostel for the night. Arriving only to find it's width to be approximate to my arms reach. I deposited my pack, and set out to make my possessions look as worthless as possible, placing my ratty green shoes on the pillow, and various wrappers, trash and distractions to encourage anyone curious to believe my bag did not happen to contain my 17" Sony laptop. I could hear people outside wailing in such a way that could only be the result of a sixteen-story fox consuming them one by one, but was focused in my task. One of my soon to be eight roommates, a portly man with a full size keyboard cellphone informed me as to a bar where every drink gets you free pizz... and without even finishing his sentence I had departed to acquire some.

The Gator Bar. Impressive. The bartender wore a flat brimmed hat, huge black sideburns, a nose of legendary proportions, a runway goatee, and a styled greased mustache. He was Cyrano De Bergerac incarnate and if not with his arms, but with his smile, he could obviously wrestle an an alligator.

The Impressive Bartender

I ordered a some SlyFox from the tap, a brilliant ale. Within a few minutes an full bodied orchestra played a micro-symphony as my pizza arrived, but immediately cut off as the plate hit the table. The thick amber ale and pie satisfied my body while conversation with locals satisfied my mind. We all came to the conclusion that my act on television was merely a drop in the machine fueling the numbing, dumbing, down of America, and it was acts like these that get people like Bush into office. They were brassy, crass, and had an ounce of sass. They were all manners of ass, and I loved them.

The timbre of my type is growing dissonant... to be continued.

NYC Part I

2008-07-22T20:28:00.000-07:00

^ I'm getting better yah? (Took me about an hour forty five) ^

The experience which is NY.

I could recount the events of my trip, with poetic pondering, slightly exaggerated elaborations, and deliberated dissections. Instead I will write a fiction. Because inherently all perceptions are fictions, and every retelling is a recreation.

I was picked up at my doorstep by a ten foot tall mustached man driving a Benz built by Romans. This man had a mouth as big as he was tall and an array of skills to match. He felt like a victim from Los Angeles washed up and resuscitated on kinder shores. With dreams of movie sets, he bragged at his capacity to get things done, his grandest achievement, "Key Grip," whatever that is. He was California. And as he smiled huge, gave me his card in hopes that someday my fame would cary him on the wave he'd been training to surf his whole life. I loved him. And as I waved goodbye to him, California waved back.

I'd go into the cavity searches which occurred while going through security, but I feel this is a trodden subject which has been over portrayed. So imagine for yourself the exaggerations you've heard a hundred times and lets move on.

As I sat waiting to depart, I searched the crowds for the "True New Yorker," as I shall call him or her. I knew one must have been lured to the greener oceans of California and would be returning home on my same flight. The True New Yorker would be in a weakened state from the softening effect of this place, and would be ripe for capture. My eyes crawled out of my scull and wandered across the laps of strangers, my words slithering into ears in efforts to root out this creature. But as a social butterfly I was unsatisfied, and decided to introvert into my book at the thought of the ridiculousness of seeking something I would be immersed in shortly.

The sky over New York as you arrive in the night is like Gods private Light Bright set. Organized in grids of perfection which could only arise from years of destruction and recreation. It was an ocean that formed a net made of gold. In the midst I caught a glimpse of the ever so familiar red and blue drifting down the streets strobeing in majestic contrast. To save someones life? Or the hand of our Executive branch?

Upon arrival a generic foreigner, who classically described that his family would be coming shortly, drove me to the neon alter of corporate human sacrifice, "Times Square." I was taken aback, and immediately felt subliminally compelled to purchase at least eighteen different products. I managed to escape my stupor and ascend to my room in the Quadruple Tree hotel only to be disappointed with my rooms height, looking out only 100 feet over the city. I ate the cookie I was given at the desk, quite a prize for a $300 room, and savored its freeness.

I wandered the streets, asking again, "Where was the true New Yorker?" Not here. Just idiots like me. I managed to find myself in back ally bars. The kind of bars where your back pressed against the wall, and your stomach was pinned to the counter. The kind of bars where newcomers crawled under the gauntlet of bar stools to find a seat. The drink was good. I just enjoyed, and listened. They must be here.

I opened my eyes only to find myself reading a sheet of typed notes. I was at Fox News? It was comfortable like a red harem filled with pillows, and as I read the lines I had spoken in my phone interview I thought to myself, "Shit... no wonder I'm here." I knew the only person who could set the bar too high would be myself. I had no idea how to remember all the clever phrases I'd used. I instead took the famous phrase "be your self" literally, and decided to say "Fuck it, I'll improve." I'd put myself in the mind frame that everyone around me were mere peasants and with my fellow geeks shivering I had to be strong for us all.

There was one line in my head that I wanted to use, should the moment arrive. Sure enough it did. And it was the kicker of the whole show. I imagine as the moment took place a sign lit up for the audience saying "Boooooo" but they payed no regard and hooted and hollered over it. I even got her to wear my glasses.

After stealing several platters of egg burrito, I exited a champion. People looked authentically intimidated by me. I guess its dangerous to declare your disinterest in blond talk show hosts. But I felt the geeks had won. I thought it was absolutely important that everyone know, we have formed a geek dating site because we are superior, and don't wish to waist our time with superficial blond talk show hosts.

I can see z's escaping my head. To be continued...

Archangel Michael

2008-07-18T12:43:00.000-07:00

I just saw Michael the Archangel, and was incredibly moved... I'll cheat and steal a picture by someone else to give you an idea of how fucking awesome this is. I've always had a soft spot for Angels with swords, that I happen to be named after.

I was sitting in Starbucks trying to remember the name of the church its in front of and asked an old Jewish guy next to me. He said, "Ya, I know what your talkin' about, its Saint Johns Cathedral, Michael's got his foot on 'you know who's head,'" For anyone who's familiar with the representation, you'll like what he added on here at the end. "You know who... George Bush." This makes me love New York even more. I've been shooting the shit with locals this whole trip and I have to admit, they're fucking great.

I was on TV today. Since I don't watch TV, I was able to watch through the wonders of the internet, you can watch the segment below. I admit I was a little nervous, but not nearly as much as Joyce who did great by the way (She had no idea they were going to play the montage at the beginning about her, surprise!). I had to be brave to inspire geek courage amongst my fellows. I find this is usually when I'm the most brave. Below is a picture of the people we worked with. The girl on the far right is the producer, next Dan the guy who proposed and organized the segment, followed by the cute couple from Wisconsin (we went to the Nintendo World store, and gorged on pizza afterward), then theirs Joyce on the end.

My ego couldn't help but cut and paste this blurb Joyce wrote on her blog:

"Then I met Mike from Santa Cruz. He was handsome, funny and had awesome green sneakers. Effortlessly he epitomized everything we love about geekdom. I guess that is why they picked him. People kept saying to him....you won't be single long! I certainly hope that is true. :) ... Mike was just the right amount of smart/smartass. I love him. " ~Joyce

Well... anyway, here's the shit you've been waiting for. Funny thing is, this part of the trip was probably the least exciting part: The segment!

I'll figure out how to get this posted on my blog when I get back, and I'm not in the best city on earth.

There's a ton more I have no time to describe about my trip, and sadly there will be no pictures to share. I need to hire a bard to travel with me and log my epic journeys in song. More to come. Tonight is the CouchSurfer slumber party on Long Island, lets hope I can navigate the Subways all the way there!

Typewriters, Locusts & Honey Bee's

2008-07-06T21:03:00.000-07:00

So I bought a typewriter for $13 at the Thrift store. There is something so elegant about typewriters, they feel so soulful next to computers. I'm made a pact to write all my poetry, from now on, on the typewriter. If I ever wish to share it, I'll simply scan it in like below:

That faded Locust (Faintly in the background of the text above) is something I drew today. After much searching I decided the clossest opposite to the honey bee is the locust. This is intreaguing, I've been thinking about locusts for quite a while and never really made the symbolic comparison.

Locusts are the appitimy of the mob, the anti-comunity. Their behavior is representative of destruction, chaos and hedonism. They breed madly, and consume everything in their path, and when the land bears nothing left to consume they move on.

The honey bee is the appitamy of the group effort, the communist ideal. They are representative of creation, order, and the collective good. They coexist with their surroundings, and propagate life around them. They are selfless, and are dedicated towards the survival of the entire colony.

Although honey bees may seem the more virtuous of the two, their really the same... both just trying to survive and following the evolutionary models set out for them to do so. These two models obviously are intended to be applied to humanity, where their meaning becomes more real. The world thrives on both creation and destruction. The community as a whole can be bettered just as much from a selfish individual, as a selfless one. The key is that both are necessary. I dedicate my life towards intention. I wish for everything in my life, good and bad, be directed with will, and choice. An individual who wishes to live their life with intention, I believe must embrace both creation and destruction. Both hedonism, and selflessness. Both order, and chaos. In order to feel fufilled and complete as an individual, I believe one must possess both the mentality the honey bee and the locust.

/\/\3tA-3m0

2008-07-04T20:25:00.000-07:00

I had a tarot reading done for me tonight. You should ask me about it.

Below is a emo/nacacistic photo shoot I did in tribute to my now functioning web cam in linux. The cover photo took a bit of work, it's a screen shot of my desktop.

Woman & Child

2008-07-03T00:56:00.000-07:00

Love at First Type

2008-07-01T10:16:00.000-07:00

There's no love at first sight for computer geeks. It use to be that a man looked for a woman with a particular set of skills, that was generally expected for all women to have, and a woman looked for a reliable man who would work hard to earn money to raise a family. Even with these unfair gender standards, people had a hard time finding the right person. Now lets ask ourselves, how hard is it to find a girl who can write code in Linux? Because that's an example of a set of skills I'd be interested in, and that represents probably ten girls in California, none of which I would meet on the street. Online dating is an inevitability for the nerd community. And from my observations a potentially successful one. Congrats Brian & Leah! Love at first type.

This is my 2:26AM Creation

2008-07-01T02:27:00.000-07:00

Not much to say about this one. Watch it. Its rough, but I'm improving... at video editing that is. Learning is exponential. Everything builds off everything else. The trick is finding where things overlap. This is video is a sort of a mockery of this important concept. But... I love it anyway.

Until next video!

I <3 Improv.

2008-06-23T00:15:00.000-07:00

Inprov... is god. Pure untapped subconcious...Everything that I am is inprov... it another key part of my might and my mite. Obviously I'm going to say it is much farther on the might end of the spectrum. Its how I create everything. Just spill. Just empty. Don't think. This took two takes... the other one was about something completely different. Simplicity is sweet. Nearly all of my songs are based on improvization, and most of my writing. Its who I am, and I love it.

A Helthy Dose of Optimism

2008-06-03T20:04:00.001-07:00

"This is just the beginning," Margie exasperated, "Why do you have to be so glum Gerald, talking about us like we've been together for years," her fists rest on her hips as she stares at him, her face holding back a slight grin.

"Hey! I'm just telling you the mistakes we'll probably make together." His sheepish smile bores unbearably into her resisting smile, "I mean, our kids are probably going to be lunatics--"

"No... the only lunatic in our family, that is if we have a family together, is you smart guy. Our children are going to be happy and perfect."

Gerald kicks at a passing sand castle and shivers for a moment as they both look up to see the last sliver of the sun blink out. "Well, I guess there's no hope for them being depressed freaks like me then," he pulls her a little closer so she can feel his body shake against hers.

"That's why I love you Gerald... because I think your a depressed-- are you cold? Its seventy five degrees out here Gerald!" she says with a worrying glare.

"You can continue, I believe you were about to explain the real reason your still with me after a world record, five dates--"

"Well firstly I wouldn't call them dates," her hands tickle his side aggressively, " You haven't spent a dime on me, and secondly, yes, I already have Guinness on the phone," She puts her pinkie to her chin and her thumb to her ear, "Wait, there telling me they don't believe me, they want us to wait right here until their camera crew arrives." He slides his hand from her far shoulder slowly up the arch of her neck, and steps abruptly in front of her putting their faces only inches apart. He lets her feel his warm breath on her lips, but then moves up and gives her a soft peck on the nose. "Your such a tease Gerald," she places both of hands on his chest softly, leans in as if to give a kiss and then pushes him firmly away. He trips and falls backward the heals of his palms dig into the the soft sand. He looks up at her with a huge grin on his face and grabs her by the leg and pulls her down with him.

::The scene closes::

Modisty

2008-05-31T21:32:00.000-07:00

I've been camping by the ocean for too long.

The sand's cracked my feet and the sun's too hot.
It's epiphany, not love, that ties me to the bedpost
It was my dreams that tightened the knot,
I can't stop.

I finally found what has been keeping men and women apart,
Its that line between them on signs for restroom doors,
I peeled one off while grinning in symbolic satisfaction,
God patted me on the back and parentally shook his head.

I am an Astronaut,
Wasted on vodka a billion miles from the earth.
The government tells me I failed the Rorschach ink blot
I told the doctors I saw two men holding hands.

I think a penny is all I need to pay back my debt to you,
Understand it's more of a gesture, not to be thought of as quantifiable,
I understand it may come off as a big "Fuck You," but thats up to you.
You could choose to keep it and remember me always.

My perception of color is no longer what I was taught,
I keep thinking blue when I see red,
It's just not the same watching movies where people get shot,
It all just looks... absurd.

Alright God, I name the last dumb animal "Zebra," where is my Eve?

Lost and found memories...

2008-05-30T00:03:00.000-07:00

I wonder when I will stop dreaming. I think I've got it. I have it. Now.
I love the appearance of compounding sentences. They read like a mantra. Very Soothing. Sweet.
I wish that this blasted text box was created with the same width as my blog. So as to preserve the formatting I carefully pay attention to. It's murder on poetry. Everything askew.

I've always been a man for aesthetics. Someone thought me to be a talented young artist once. The best in my class. The teacher thought I really had it and offered to teach me privately. He was a nice old man. The whitest white mustache. I heard he died. Six years ago I guess. Time flies. I think I had it in my head that it was all luck though. That I was a fraud, and he would find me out. I was scared I would loose my talent. Bloody fool. It was just natural to me... it just made sense, didn't seam like there was anything special to me at all. I was the only person in class who drew with perspective... meaning I drew exactly what I saw, not what I thought was there. We did drawings in class, of real objects... I remember I drew a stuffed penguin. I took it very seriously then, I would ask people to switch seats with me so I could get the perspective that showed the most depth. I was in fourth grade. I got scared and then I quit. I didn't draw realism again for eight years.

I don't think I've thought about that in a long time. Let alone told anyone that story. Years... many years. It's funny. I didn't even think about that when I started drawing again. Not even once. Not until this moment.

My brother motivated me to become an artist and a writer. I respected him so greatly. He was always the brilliant son, I always knew he was brilliant. He's in Tijuana now, he called me. Why the fuck can't brilliant people just be brilliant. Why can't they just shower the world with there talent. Why do brilliant people have to get caught up in poisoning themselves, and second guessing themselves and driving themselves insane. Why can't brilliant people just be brilliant instead of killing themselves slowly so they can be just another dumb sheep caught up in lies superstition.

Perhaps there is no goal I need to set for myself. I sorta always hated the future. I think I'll just be brilliant, and not being afraid of choosing where or how I'm brilliant. Just let myself be carried from one thing to the next. I just want it to be natural. Organic. To bad I don't have the money for it. Got to choose. Got to choose.

I miss my mom. I'm going to see her soon. I think she misses me.
She use to say to me, "Michael your the light of my life."

Culture and Creation

2008-05-15T19:30:00.000-07:00

There are many different kinds of culture. For a moment in my time at Parkfield I made a connection in my mind, an epiphany if you please. "My standard definition of culture is too narrow." I realized that any group of people who shares traditions, has there own vocabulary, there own activity's, or rituals could be described as having there own culture.

There are some forms of culture which occur on the micro scale that easily escape detection. For example, sharing a traditional long walk to 711 and passing a particular brand of cigarette back and forth is an element of culture within a friendship. Culture can exist between just two people. There are elements which are unique to that setting, there is vocabulary, method, timing and tradition. There are cultures which are more obvious, cultures which encompass ones way of life. I'd call these "enveloping cultures." I don't know if it's a personality type, or if this is common to all human beings, but I bask and glow in a new enveloping culture. I feel as if I am a jungle explorer, discovering ancient temples or hidden caves beneath waterfalls as I dive deeper as if for pearls within the depths of a new culture.

To the outsider, enveloping cultures seem incredibly strange. In all honesty... all culture is strange. Often times rituals seem arbitrary, with older cultures the purpose behind certain rituals may have come and gone, they still however serve to unite those involved. Culture provides a medium and center for social creatures to interact, it often includes systems of morality, and provides life purpose. Culture serves as a central set of social rules for maintaining a balanced and healthy community. Even Micro-cultures often serves to benefit basic needs.

As Family's have grow decentralized, and corporations seek more and more to control our culture, the natural organic nature of culture has changed. Corporate engineered culture has not grown out of years of benefiting the community it served, it has grown out of capitalism and consumption. Science has done it's fare share of dissembling culture, as many have turned away from religion, and myth. These things once served purpose, served as outlets for our emotional needs, and served as tools for guiding good choices. We exist in a unique world where culture is as real as ever, but no longer existing directly as a tool for our benefit.

The grandest thing I can imagine is creating an enveloping culture of my own. I wish to discover a way to organically allow a new and unique culture to blossom from my life. I think this not only takes a sense of openness, but a fearlessness, and perhaps even a bit of recklessness. It takes the courage to do new and strange things, and to lead others to engage in them as well. It takes abandonment, in exchange for an embrace with what may be seen by outsiders as absurd.

There are enough beautiful cultures in existence as it is. I realize I am naive to seek to create my own so brashly having experienced so little. But I want to become a participant in everything I respect, and I learn through doing. This may be a weakness. Or this may be my place on this earth. I will continue to respect, admire, and immerse myself in other cultures as much as possible. But like an artist, or a writer, what better way is there to learn then to practice your own creation while in the process of discovering and learning from others works. I have myself decided to strive to create tradition with those I care for, to invent new words, to pioneer new perspectives!

Nothing would get done without naivety.

Where shall I start?

Consumption of a Tidal Mind

2008-05-15T19:23:00.000-07:00

I've never painted with colors really. So lets just say abstract was not really a choice ::winks::

Geschlecht und Fahrräder

2008-05-05T19:08:00.001-07:00

I had the word Fahrrader stuck in my head while making this.

2008-05-03T23:40:00.000-07:00

I've been lusting for a Wacom tablet for god knows how many years. It is basically a pen and a writing pad that translates your motions and pen pressure to the computer. In a wild foray into San Jose involving a several hour tour through the guitar shops while my good friend Marc was searching for a Les Paul guitar, of which his spending budget was a little over two-thousand dollars, the only destination on my mind was my ex-work Best Buy. In my scammings I had accumulated a large number of "RewardZone Points" from my patriotic excess spending this last holiday season. A Nintendo Wii which I resold, and the laptop I bought my parents ($299) for which they forcefully paid me back. Unbeknown to them, with that laptop I happened to get a free HP printer worth $79 which I kept, and a 4GB Microsoft Zune which I resold for $100. Thanks Mom & Dad, it was the best Christmas ever!. I also purchased a large number of other toys which I played with, and returned before the January 31st Christmas returns deadline. Buying things and playing with them all Christmas long is the best and only kind of Christmas. You feel joyful and exhilarated during and shallow and empty afterwards. Ahh, it seems I've discovered a way to feel the joy and suffering of materialism without the financial burden! The total expenses were in the ranges of $1k. My "Reward" for all this tomfoolery came in the form of a $45 gift card, several months later. Not much, but made me especially happy knowing I got it without spending a dime.

People have weird fucking hobbies.

I could rant forever on this subject, so to make a long story short... I saw they had an open box Wacom tablet ($169), I bartered with the manager, got an extra $20 off, and walked out of there with my credit card $105 lighter ($199 - $50 - $45 = $105). I've been playing with it all night, and have been really satisfied. Ominous as it seemed to me at first, it only took me about thirty minutes to configure it in Linux! The clever little picture above, although not spectacular, is my first sketch. Very cool.

Now not only do you get the joy of my poignant poetry, but my awful art as well.

A Dream Worth Striving For

2008-05-02T22:24:00.000-07:00

Oh music. I just watched a French film entitled "The Chorus." Obviously this isn't its native title, it's the bastardized American translation of the equally generic French title "Les Choristes." In reading the box, I found the plot to be generic. Teacher goes to undisciplined students, they learn music, students are reformed. Very predictable. I actually rented this movie partially because that predictability is somewhat soothing. I was a great fan of Mr. Hollands Opus, To Sir With Love, Dead Poets Society and many others on that endless conceptual list. The lead male roles draw me in. They are fathers, mentors, creators, dreamers and shape and blossom community's around them in such a way that strikes me with awe. For the purpose of simplicity, I will call these men Shepard's. Christian analogy's aside, this seems fitting.

I've grown quite fond of the Shepard. He is often takes the form of a clever teacher who finds unique ways to reach his students. Naturally he is firm but at the same time just and forgiving. He is charming, has a sharp wit, and a distaste for authority. He need not be handsome, he may in fact be bald! He is enamored with the success of his students, and perhaps a bit in the clouds, often breaking the rules and treading on others feet on their behalf. He is an ever vigilant father figure. In the movies he always has a weakness, usually the unattainable woman, and it is in this you see his humanity. This however is irrelevant. In the end. He does not get the girl. He rarely becomes renown. He simply grows old quietly. His only legacy... the students he's touched. This movie did not disappoint. Beyond another incarnation of my favorite character, it reminded me of a time when I was in Symphonic band. Preforming in a group of fifty individuals, all watching our director Ken Carter, who was nearly one of those men himself. I realized at some point through the movie, that this was type of man I wished to be. I realized at some point that this is what I have always wished to be. A "Shepard".

I've come up with a word for people who posses characteristics I admire, or seek. A person can become more then just a person, they can become a symbol incarnate for idea or a dream. The essence of these individuals aspires beyond there mortality. I have been referring to such individuals is "Avatars." Avatar is most commonly associated with the Indian god Visnu. In Indian culture an avatāra is the earthly form assumed by a deity. Hindu analogy's aside, this seems fitting.

I have always been a stark individualist. Striving to succeed independently, self taught. A part of me has a deep fear of becoming mealy an amalgamation of my surroundings, and I've tried in the past years foolishly to cloister myself in order to prevent my creations from being tainted. I believe I always knew this was impossible, but still I avoided mimicry of others work and words, even as a tool for learning. It has taken me many years to choose individuals to look up to again. I once called these individuals hero's. I'm not looking for hero's anymore. Hero's die. They're legendary for it. I'm looking for human embodiments of concepts, Avatars. These individuals existence is irrelevant, they are just collections of ideas and dreams. The process I have gone through has made me realize what I am doing is probably not unlike what our ancient ancestors did in there creation of Deity's. Ancestor worship is the first recorded religion known, it only makes sense that after enough time, the story's would begin to merge and individuals once renowned for one great dead would take on those of others of his time. Eventually the story's would be forgotten all together and become pure symbols, become myth. And so the first gods were born.

It has been odd watching my rational journey. Every day I look closer only to see myself shifting to what I might call "empirical spiritualism." I don't worship Avatars, but I do study them, spend great deals of time thinking of them, and modeling my actions as I see them. In a sense this is a sort of worship. I don't believe in Divine energy traveling through the cosmos to fuel there deific (I think this word is a combination of Deity and Terrific!) powers over the universe. But in a way that energy is real. Through my study I become an Avatar myself, and in turn I influence those around me. I find myself foolish yet again, realizing the grand enlightenment I build for myself boils itself down to mere semantics ::Sighs:: At the same time I am proud. I'm proud to have come to these realizations on my own, and I'm proud to feel I know why I'm doing what I'm doing.

The Shepard is an Avatar I respect and wish to some day embody myself. It's not about ego or self. It's about ideas, and dreams. That which is immortal. Striving to become the embodiment of a concept is beautiful. In a sense it is about letting go of the individual, the self, and dedicating your existence towards something greater. It's not about the desire to change those around you. Mahatma Gandhi, to me a is an Avatar of the Shepard, once said, "You must be the change you wish to see in the world." I would add... "It is through the strength of your embodiment, not your words that change will come." One need not have heard, or even known a word Mahatma Gandhi said to feel the power of his ideas, or dreams.

This is a dream worth striving for.

Soup in the Snow

2008-04-29T21:15:00.000-07:00

Wheres the naivety I was promised.
I just feel this listlessness.
Its akin to the sickness felt from laying in bed too long.
I love laying in bed... it takes me a really long time to feel like that.
Is this a lucid dream?
I crave. I crave so much. For something.
If that something is a perfect world,
Then as a creature of craving I do not belong.

Heres a lovely story written by several of the motivating aspects of my rationality, they are personified as characters for your amusement.

Meaninglessness how is the soup? It doesn't matter? Really? I think it's too hot. Time could you give us a hand with that. No rush, Desire depends on anticipation. Pride mentions that perhaps there is something else we could be accomplishing while waiting, but Fear doesn't want us to go too far, or the soup may be cold when we return, Desire thinks of the taste of cold soup and agrees.

Fuck the soup. Abandon smiles at me. Perhaps I should eat it now and burn myself, Fear reminds me of the potential of permanent damage to my taste buds and Desire turns his head and gives me a cold stair. Time whispers to Desire the impossible to imagine length of tasteless living that would ensue, and Desire looks resolute.

Fuck the soup. Abandon grins. I'll starve, I want to get the fuck out of here and accomplish something. Pride reminds me of Jesus and we smile at each other. Meaninglessness reminds me that anything I do won't actually matter, Time mentions that in the grand scheme of things he agrees.

Fuck all of you. Abandon giggles. I sit down at the table and Time cools the soup, Pride rearranges the floating noodle letters into a incomprehensible word it made from the amalgamation of six other words, "Tidessireab" and thinks he's amazing. Desire admires the temperature and texture of the first bite, but then begins to rant on the improvements that could be made. Fear wonders if the sodium content, and nutritional value of canned soups could be potentially unhealthy. Meaninglessness just stairs out the window searching. Abandon seems satisfied with the non-committal nature of the soup.

The letters around prides word are slowly consumed until only the word remains. Pride can't bring himself to eat it, and goes to look for a pencil so he won't forget the spelling. Desire goes to sleep on the couch seemingly satisfied, but dreams of better soups.

Abandon pours the remaining tomato soup and the remaining letters into the snow outside, he knows holding onto such things will only hold him back.

Pride is frustrated with Abandon and decides to write this story. Fear wonders if others will interpret hidden meaning. Pride is sure everyone will love his story. His ego and knowledge of his own genius motivates him to go out into the snow and make a new friend, Denial.

Love wanders around in the snow, so white and beautiful it blends perfectly disappearing in the reflection of the sun. It's not alone, or lonely, it's content knowing it has nothing to do with any of them. Nothing.

Abandon laughs and clicks "Publish Post."

The Relms of the Unreal

2008-04-25T19:24:00.000-07:00

I happened upon this amazing man. Henry Darger. Who wrote a 15,000 page novel about seven beautiful little girls. The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What is known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinnian War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion. Awesome title right! Anyway, this work as well as hundreds of paintings some of which were 12 feet long painted on taped together butcher paper were discovered in his room after his death. The novel contains thousands of battles depicted in gory details, heroic rescues and mysterious beasts! I watched a reasonably good documentary on him, they animated sections of his work which I found a little inappropriate. As he never intended his art to be viewed as such. In all reality he never intended his art to be viewed at all, so I guess everything is up in the air.

He was declared a gifted reader when he was in first grade and bumped strait to third, but then found himself shortly after in a boys institution for the "Weak Minded." In his artwork and story he depicts the seven Vivian Girls as the great heroins, and gives them dashing lines. In his auto-biography he claims girls are far more courageous then men, and which in certain circumstances I would agree with.

He had a very limited perspective on the world, and very limited experiences. He lived his whole life as a janitor in a hospital, spent a short stint in the military and as a Christian he attended mass every day (I didn't even know mass happened everyday!). But he had a challenging relationship with god, as was a vehement protector of children, he wished to adopt but was always refused. God never answered his prayers. His war with God in the real world takes its tole in the novel, as the Vivan Girls fight for the Christian army. Whenever Darger has a dispute with God in the real world, the Vivian Girls suffer horrible losses in there battles, or are nearly fatally wounded. His knowledge of sex, and women was so limited, all of the females depicted in his art possess the male genitalia!! He spent nearly every hour of his free time working on the novel in some shape or form. He was a completely self taught writer and artist, which I respect enormously! This man created such an elaborate world in his mind, he kept track of the casualty's, the generals names and the expenses for the battles in a log book.When he was finally put in the same elderly home his very own father had died in thirty years before, he whithered and died very quickly. Without his fantasy he had no reason to live.

The mind is capable of creating such amazing and elaborate worlds based on the knowledge it at absorbs. My god... the mind is powerful.

Humans! Sometimes it's hard to believe I'm one of them.

This is a better answer.

2008-04-19T20:08:00.000-07:00

"Faith."

This is my revised answer to any and all questions asked of me. It is an answer not caught up in the unnecessary complexity's we impose on existence.

There are six streams of water in the center circle of my shower head, it is surrounded by twelve further streams, and around that are an additional eighteen. I imagine myself to look as a tiger while the streams spread the hairs on my chest. Counting silences the mind. There must be people out there who do this as hobby. Insomniacs. Those who think too much.

Insomniacs lay in bed and wonder deep into the night about reality. Planning there next courses of action, questioning actions taken as so far. I dream late into the morning, so late because the worlds I crate for myself can seem so intriguing, complex and compassionate. I get caught in dreams and languish lumbering out of bed.

I spend hours trying to remember... remember how I felt, and why I feel as I do upon awakening. Sometimes I am overjoyed, and have no idea why. This slinks into sadness. "Is my joy is rooted in another one of my fictional creations?" They are mine so in hind sight I see no reason to lament. It can be frustrating to forget... one can't turn their reality into what they can't remember.

"Faith"

Blurb.

2008-04-16T01:22:00.000-07:00

Congratulations. Despite the ambiguity of meaning within the stanzas, as a whole your poem makes sense. It's a powerful collection of concepts.

It's a good start.

Now write me a poem with images so visceral I feel as you did while you wrote it.

~Me to Myself

Questions?

2008-04-15T00:57:00.000-07:00

When a critic speaks about an art form.
No one listens to them unless they've been at one point criticized.

Poetry is like a drawing. You can spend hours making it perfect, like a photograph.
There are people who do that. Realists.
I'm a realist.

But poems can be like abstract art too. They can be all fucked up and random. Words, and images splashed on the page, in hopes that the readers mind will find a pattern.
We're good at that.

You throw enough words and a person can't help but come up with some sort of meaning.
The brain will find it. Or make it up.
I've fallen for it.

There's a certain kind of abstract though. Something that captures a little bit of something real.
You look at it and you can't quite see it. Maybe you can feel it.
Maybe it comes to you when you look away.

What if I were to tell you that everything is the same? And everything is in everything?
What if told you in reading these lines backwards you'd find the meaning of life?
Would that scare or excite you?

Would you sit in denial of such simplicity? Would you demand a greater challenge?
Would you see everything crumble, or everything come together?
Would you see both?

Why don't old people burn themselves in front of the White House in protest to the war?
Why don't their dieing breaths shout protest. Wield the power of their dwindling lives?
Do they condone the existence they will soon depart?

Do they realize a greater meaning beyond war, hate, death, and pain, or do they accept them?
If I am who I am because of the world that has created me, am I not the world?
Why do we so often ask questions after and not before?

If I am everything, then I too am like a drawing. Perhaps I'm painted by a realist.
Perhaps I'm just a reproduction of what my artist has seen, and touched.
A duplication. Or an amalgamation.

Or perhaps I'm a piece of abstract art. All fucked up and random. Just a splash.
Maybe I just think I'm something. Forcing patterns out of nothing.
Maybe I've fallen for it again.

Or maybe I'm something between. Maybe I'm that little bit of truth in the abstract.
I can feel it, and I tense up, I look harder. What if I let my eyes loose focus?
Will I see me?

Perhaps it is easier to see truth in that which does not strive so hard to reproduce it. Can truth be in deeper disguise within a fact, then in a lie?

Widgets = Joy

2008-04-04T22:54:00.000-07:00

Ok. So I've added two new widgets to the page. One of which should hopefully give a little extra life to things. Especially for all those who read and do not comment. It's a beta social app called "Linebuzz" and what it does, is allow you to leave "inline comments." If you highlight any text on this page, it will give you an option to add a comment to that particular set of text! For poetry this is fucking amazing! I can finally get line by line feedback! If a particular image in one of my poems really hits you, highlight it and let me know! This also allows discussions about particular lines to occur! Sweet! Try it out, just highlight any text!
The second thing I've added is less amazing, but still very nice. Notice on the sidebar in black the LastFM player. It has a fifteen track song list of some good tunes I've found, and it plays them randomly. Click play and chill out for a bit, some of them I only just found a day or two ago! The new bands on there are amazing! Tunng is amazing! As much as I "dispise" myspace, you can listen to there full length songs by clicking on the image to the left. Listen to "Bricks" and "Cans." There folk electronica, the mashup of my two favorite genres, hell yes!

~fox out

The Fish of Many Shades of Gray

2008-04-03T22:11:00.000-07:00

I am king,
Of a pond of perception
Just large enough to see my reflection.
I decree that someday I will be swallowed whole,
And in time I'll become the sea,
And eventually the stars.

In the mean time...
For those who have no taste for my disgraces,
I don’t have a kiss for those who condemn,
Each has the taste of "me" on my lips...
And it's a shame for you and them.
I fan the flame.

When my lids lift,
My color shall be gray.
Gorge on illusions as you would chocolate,
Fatten your self up, for the only thing thats pure white is a lie.
But I can't bare to lavish life with ten foot long tongs.
Truth is a masochists pleasure,
It's spilled ink or a long sigh.

Does anyone fake an orgasm for themselves?
I think I have. It made nickels and dimes at the time.
Just to feel warm, wading in my placid pond.
To Fantasize while I flail in a stormy sea.

We crack our eyes at sun break,
And it dawns on us to 'Shake the chills.'
But hand it to those who fall, or crawl from their beds for their own sake.
To those of them who make a new notch on their belts for each day,
And tighten it again, so it won't bleed dry.
I say 'Bleed!' But out of passion, not fear.
What good is blood without heart?

For those who are depressed, I understand.
Just put faith in choice
Beyond the buffet of distractions and highs,
It's always been up to you.
To choose to live, die, laugh or cry.

Smoke your life down to the bone if you wish,
And feed your cancer bedtime stories,
Of how it was.
But don't tell yourself that’s how it had to be,
Unless you are a lover with that lie.

Because we can be anything,
Vegetarians if you please,
And if you lust for brown lumps of ground beef...
If that brings back comforts from your childhood.
I will make you meatless meat balls.
Just let our friendship be more,
Then dining and deception.

I'd rather pry my eyes open every hour in this sea,
Have salty stinging blurry sight so beautiful,
I'll coddle the ocean cold with guilty grins,
While waves crash like towers,
Fearless because I've decreed:

I will be eaten,
By a fish of many shades of gray.
So I might serve beyond my words,
And those I've touched holding hands in the swells.

My fish is more ominous then the ocean. And I will feed it well.
I will swim in truth,
Until my lie comes.

Actually Living Like a Fox!

2008-03-29T22:06:00.000-07:00

Everything has gotten so busy all of the sudden! The German foreign exchange students moved in five days ago, they are an adorable couple. I have begun to realize I look very German. I always knew I was 40% but never really associated my good looks to my German roots. I guess it makes sense my looks are from my mom's side, and my smarts are from my dads. If it makes you feel better mom, I think my charisma and empathy are from your side ^_^. It seems like Germans are so hot that they melt the snow! While my fathers side is just a bunch of Psychologists and Doctors... pew. No lawyers... seems like I may have inherited some morality in there somewhere.
I've tried to treat them to the city, as this is their first time in the United States. Their first time out to eat they went to the KFC down the street, and I could tell they were quite dissatisfied, so I decided they needed some pointers.
It turns out they have five other German friends here in SC which have come over several times, there very click-y, this is frustrating in my endeavors to make friends as they are forced to speak in English around me and often get frustrated and slip back into German with one another.
A bit of synchronicity occurred recently in my attempts to share activity with them. I'm currently scamming Blockbuster Online for a free month of there Netflix rip-off service and ordered "Run Lola Run" which unbeknown to me is foreign flick spoken completely in German with English subtitles... it was a bit odd when I invited them to watch with me and discovered that they had indeed already seen the film under the name "Lola Rennt." It seems not only have they seen the film, but many, many times. It ended up being them showing me the movie, I had intended to show them. This ended up translating into a conversation about German/American cultural differences, and famous actors/actresses. Culture is outstanding. Laura also cooks a mean steak & hash browns.

My job is going better then even I anticipated! I've been working closely with a woman by the name of Kristi over the phone. She lives in New Mexico and it seems I discovered by accident that she actually works her 40k a year telecommuteing job out of her garage, as one day while talking to her I heard a terrifying noise... her daughter accidentally opening the garage door.

Kristi is an outstanding woman, extremely clever, and surprisingly charming. If she were not in her late thirty's with a daughter, I would perhaps fly over there and woo her. To give you a window into our relationship: We had taken a short break and I mentioned to my boss Steve that she was going to be calling me in a second on the phone line to continue training, he told me "I'm going to kick her ass, she should be using Skype to train you instead of our phone lines." We are attempting to switch completely to skype for $ reasons (Partially under my council, woot!). The phone rang and he grabbed it before I could and began yelling vigorously into the phone, I watched as suddenly he stopped talking and the color drained completely out of his face and began to apologise profusely and then said "It's a client, for you" and handed the phone to me. On the other line Kristi says to me "Did he fall for it," and I immediately started laughing hysterically. The office is great! Kristi just started me on Specialty's which are right up my ally. Basically I have to weasel my way into corporations and figure out which distributors they give the best pricing to, it's a riot. If the Skype conversion goes well, and we switch to the new call center I'm researching then this job is very feasible from anywhere in the world. It means that a central server is Santa Cruz can redirect incoming calls for our business # to any Skype user no matter where in the world they are. The potential in this job is amazing.

The specialty's have given me incredible scamming confidence! Yesterday I called Best Buy posing as an employee and convinced the operator "Sara" to give me the employee discount login info for the Logitech partners website. If feel slightly less bad for this fraud, as I did, at one point, indeed know this information and had simply lost it in the move. $20 Wireless keyboard and laser mouse ahoy! In addition to this I've flipped a "Canon EOS Digital Rebel XTi 10.1mp" camera I got off slick deals for $100 ebay profit, woot! I don't really feel evil... I feel... cunning... like a fox!

Other then these things, I've been hacking my neighbors wireless using my new Alfa USB adapter (see post below), writing and recording some new songs for the guitar, reading like a fool, eating tons of spinach raw, obsessively consuming Documentary films, having half a glass of wine a night, enjoying the occasional bath, and pretty much taking over the world. I've even started playing a little bit of video games again, although I'm quite board with Smash Brothers. A new game called "Bully" has hit my fancy. Imagine Harry Potter meets Grand Theft Auto, Slytherin rocks! I've also decided seeking a life partner at this point is a waist of time. I want community, personal brilliance, and challenging and invigorating work. Companionship when not in the context of these things is only a piece of the personal satisfaction pie. In counter to this I have discovered that loving your job is a much more hefty slice then I had ever anticipated!

My Future Office... Outstanding!

2008-03-24T18:43:00.000-07:00

[6:33:25 PM] Mr. Woodenfox says: Mmm... I just orderd a wireless card... me needs one for my desktop... no internetz... sux

[6:36:14 PM] Mr. Woodenfox says: I got one that can be used in linux to wardrive (hack wep encription), it's also got some rediculous power rating 500mw which is 3x more distance then the new Wireless N, lol... $40 bucks goes a long way...

[6:39:38 PM] Brian Q says: i wish i understood u young kids jargon, in my day we took a young whipper snapper who had a spear or fire and we beat his ass

[6:40:39 PM] Mr. Woodenfox says: Translation: I can steal ur internetz, and I iz doin it from five howzes away.

I will take over the world. Whether you like it or not.

Old Rant... With Potential Current Relevence

2008-02-22T19:33:00.000-08:00

This is partially brilliance and partially nonsense. So for yourself please do question. Does anyone ever recognize that one single moment in which their mouths hang open in awe, and one waits painfully for there urine to finally release and for the soft subtle tinkle to chime like bells in the air? A totally dead expression reflects darkly in your face as you stair at the window, but not into the night, into yourself. I said to myself today, just now actually, "I have perhaps made one of those land mark tares in the time line of my life." This could be any sort of event, or action, tare partially implying destruction, which could in turn be interpreted as bad. However destruction is not always bad. In fact, death is necessary for life, destruction is necessary for creation. So this tear, could be a life changing event for the positive. This mind has pondered a concept, a quandary that perhaps relationships too need destruction for creation. We shy so far from thoughts of anything coming to harm our “precious” relationships. Through this blind eye we miss the truth of the matter. Relationships are no different! There must be change for there to be growth. A man stands in the desert and looks out in all directions seeing only flat cracking dirt winding in hypnotizing patterns. No time exists in this place, except in his pealing lips, and the bubbling burns on his shoulders.

2007-10-17T19:49:00.000-07:00

Grow!

I started learning the guitar about a year and a half ago I guess. And it's really been a good outlet for me, allowing me to relax and just be creative. It still hurts my fingers, and the longer I play the worse I play... I'm sure I'll get over this someday, once the nerve endings in my fingers are dead. Anyway, I really think its important to have a hobby that allows you to express yourself. Today I was playing some softer stuff (Unlike the video to the right), and it was really emotionally effecting me, which made me really happy, since I generally am not effected by my emotions ... I've built up barriers to prevent myself from feeling some things.

In addition to this I've started to alternate day's jogging and doing yoga, which I believe and know really helps my body. I genuinely feel happier after I've really gotten my blood moving. It's not like I'm running two miles or anything either, just starting out slow, and working my way up. I think it's important to start a habbit even if your not going all the way. The addage "Once begun half done" is serious, and just because I've heard it a million times, I'm tempted to say "Oh... duhh..." but, after really thinking about it I've made it a bit of a motto for this week.

Cheers!

2007-10-16T21:46:00.000-07:00

Time!

I've come to the conclusion that I waist an inordinant amount of time in my day. Frustrating as this is, I am pushed to look for the areas in my life that are "Time Vortexes." As I am currently unemployed and looking for a job, I wonder to myself even more how this will effect me when I am working all day. Will I be drawn even more into such vortexes in hopes of unwinding from a long hard day? Is there such a thing as unwinding in a constructive manner? Unwinding in a way that promotes personal growth and a future that dosn't involve 99 cent cheeseburgers! I say yes! But, I'm quite sure it takes monk like willpower, perhaps this is something I will train in.

~Out

2007-10-16T04:14:00.000-07:00

Mikes Video blog Intro!

After a great deal of deliberation, and nearly a year of this sight being up with practically no updates, I present to you, the first and only camera web blog of my life.

America

2007-07-27T18:44:00.000-07:00

Forgive Me For What You've Become

Sequins shimmer like prostitutes waving their manicured hands,

America glistens like a petroleum drenched seagull on the shore of a Manhattan beach,

It crawls to the plastic rings of a six-pack of Diet Pepsi, and fashions a makeshift noose.

The statisticians document and record every moment of its attempted suicide,

Exxon’s insurance company uses this data to absolve all potential responsibility,

Pepsi Co. blames the consumer, and cites its ten year old Champaign to “Cut those Rings”

The pharmaceutical companies provide anti-depressants to act as a safety net for its suicidal tendencies,

The President arrives for a well timed photo opt catching it in a convulsion as he cradles it in his hands,

“May god take you up, little creature,” he says loudly enough for Fox News to hear,

America celebrates its caring nation like a sadomasochist screams in the moment of orgasm,

Diamonds shine like politicians flashing there bleached teeth grins.

~Woodenfox