The Diary Project


A New Way For A New Year

Back in November of 2018 there was a massive snowfall accompanied by horizontal wind which cause snow to stick to the sides of buildings and down dozens upon dozens of power lines.  The image itself is of a power pole complete with power lines covered in snow (originally an inch or two thick) a day or two later (so, now a circular casing of ice has mostly fallen off) as the sun shines brilliantly, giving the sky a wonderfully saturated blue hue.

The photograph is over two years old. But the world outside hasn't changed one little bit.

Information Exchange:
Top Down: Speeches, Presentations, Newspaper, Radio, Television
Controlled Networks: Town Hall Meetings, Book Clubs, Social Media
True Engagement: Conversation, ??

Both Love & Hate entail a certain instability, a losing of control, a feeling which overcomes, commands, and controls.

Are these two emotional subsystems Intertwined? Overlapping and Linked? Or is more a matter of A Hormone acting like A Hormone?

Thus, is Hate a negative projection of Love, with Love the presumed norm?

Cooking Times Are Approximate!

Every Wrong is a Right, in the eyes of a Psychopath.

At 18", it was the best snowman I've seen in awhile, complete with beach bucket hat.

I don't have a bucket list. I barely have a TODO LIST.

DREAM: I wonder if Primitive People (sounds like a slur, doesn't it), having Simpler Lives (that could be nice, right), have Simpler Dream Metaphors (probably not accurate), allowing them easier access to the Underlying Realities of Their Minds. But upon reflection, plants and animals are as complex as anything out there, so never mind.

You done gone too far, boy.

Oh, and it wasn't a coup attempt. Coups, by definition, are not spearheaded by a rabble-rousing mob.

We can do this the easy way or the hard way.

And now, we return you to your regularly scheduled... daydreaming, I suppose.

Have I mentioned my desire to Legalize All Vice. Do Good by allowing Evil. Essentially, one may hate The Sin, but not The Sinner.

I question whether humans are native speakers. That is to say, the most profound thinking most likely happens beyond words. Thus, to think deeply (or deeper), one must pause the inner dialogue.

I guess what I'm saying is that it's OK for anyone who wants to draw on the chalkboard. So, have at it guys.

The Problem of Suicide in a Utopian Ideal

I am done with what I have to say... Ha!

And all the voices in my head cry out in unison, "Hey, what about me! I thought we were all getting a turn to speak at the microphone!"

My Life Is Death: Another Book I Shall Not Write

A Positive Fetish for Pegs and Prods

At one time, I had a room full of stuffed animals. Against my will and protestations, there was a great purge. I was allowed to keep three. I do not remember the one. Perhaps, it was a bird. I remember liking a bird. But it's importance faded soon after the purge. The second was Winnie The Pooh: a must have. He lasted a few more years. But I do not remember his fate. Perhaps, he was gifted to another. The third was Doctor: a dog (perhaps, a schnauzer or other rat terrier) who was dressed in plaid pants (black and white) and a yellow topcoat... an outfit that was highly reminiscent of Doctor Doolittle. Hence, his name. He came with me to The Ozarks, got The Grunge, and immolated himself in a large camp-fire. After the fire, all that remained was the buckle on the leather collar I had made for him at summer camp. I've kept that loop of metal (so, buckle was a bit of an overreach, even if it served a similar function). But now, it's reached the end. It's not much of a charm. It shall go.

WALK: Lots of Snowmen and rolled up balls in the park. I'm doing a bit of snow walking.

SORT: The aforementioned Dog Collar Tag, in the park... in a bin... but in the park.

SORT: Toy Car. The one that got saved last time. I haven't been recording The Sort all that much, because it gets tedious. Also, I took a good month off from journalling, altogether. But thinning out my belongings is a renewed interest, gaining more traction by the day (perhaps, hand-in-hand with my overall energy levels). So, worthy of mention... certainly, to those tracking such things or playing along at home.

I walked in the snow.
I walked very slow.
I walked to and fro.
So, no one would know...

Ya can't fight city hall... even if you're the mayor.

DREAM: Lying awake in the middle of the night, I suddenly had a great vision of LEGO'S. Clear and nearly full-screen. So, I stepped into it. And had a wonderful Lucid Dream that started with an extensive sequence of playing with LEGO'S.

DREAM: As I awoke this morning (i.e. during the last Dream I had), I was walking through an enclosed flea market. At the bottom of a stack of books, one had a few LEGO'S on the cover (the same color {blue}, as I had selected to play with previously), which was entitled Culture in the 70's. Actually, I'm no longer sure about the first word. But in the 70's is right.

There never was a cup.

Apparently, The Revolution WILL Be Televised. Color me unconcerned.

CIV: I'm playing Legends Of Revolutions on a cooked map. It's not hard (on account of the aforementioned Garden Of Eden start). But I'm having fun. It's hard to believe there won't be some sort of write-up.

An organism only lives so long. The shorter the life-cycle the greater the evolutionary potential While a longer lifespan enables (but does not guarantee) greater cultural complexity.

Is The Universe addicted to the rush that comes from Exploding Stars and Extinguishing Black Holes?

And the foregoing word choice makes me wonder if the so called 'explosion' from dying Black Holes isn't just the resulting crush from matter that didn't quite make the cut: i.e. what remains after the door closes... forever.

Nothing (i.e. The Void) can only hold so much, after all.

EYES: An unprecedented bit of clarity, coinciding with a slightly upset stomach.

Let us die; and that which can, cease to be.

55.5: REBORN!
Well, close enough.

WALK: Pathways of Ice: just like frozen creek beds (frozen but to be avoided), cracking as I go.

When I close my eyes, I see the snow texturally, carving out my path amongst the various features, updating the changes in real time with every step.

"Well, so what?"

Based on the flickering images behind my eyelids, I will surmise the heart beats time for the brain: i.e. heartbeats are the brain's CPU Clock.

Is it a property of The Instance or The Class?

I'm going to eat down whatever might exist carb-wise prior to buying/baking anything new.

Sunday ↠ Thursday ↠ Saturday ↠ Wednesday ↠ Friday ↠ Tuesday ↠ Monday

{I usually have some idea what I was talking about as I edit. But with this one, I haven't a clue.}

"It's like Summer Vacation."

Thursday and Sunday should-maybe be reversed in the above.

On Lawful Good Institutions:
  Lawful Evil Reaping The Profits
  Chaotic Good Getting It Done

"Just a bit too much salt and not a pinch more."

During School Recess, guess who I can't remember playing with a single time... not even once?

Heaven? Let us just say, I've never passed a test I didn't study for. So, it seems pretty unlikely.

There never was a cup. And that's about all there is to it.

MEDIA: Genetic Biology Lectures

Hopefully, we'll get a foot of snow.


There was a time when I would have at least tried to fake sympathy.

The person I have been crying for is myself. But with any luck, the tears have run dry. I really have run out of sympathy... even for myself.

Humans ARE Neurons.

It's obviously a metaphor.

It's obviously so much more.

Death Before Dishonour!

And now, I'm just wondering who owns that slogan.

I kept the connection open for a long (long-long, ridiculously long) time. I'm tired of waiting to see if anyone is ever going to pick-up.

Not As Crazy As They Think I Am

It's a pictorial representation of what a mathematician might call the mapping (i.e. the solution set) for a generalized parametrical sorting algorithm.

MEDIA: The Breakfast Club

A Shimmering Node In The Cosmic Game Of Life

WALK: Huge Snow Drifts

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