11.03.2003
whatever serves as a floor
There's some glop that builds up at the outflow pipe; every day of disuse adds to the build-up.
This thing can be like a basket over my head. It's not for a lack of things; there are things all over everywhere. That lawyer gettin' pop-pop-popped by that dude with the pistol on the other side of the tree. You shot Marvin in the face. Been wanting to express my distaste with Mac/Windows debates that nevertheless draw my interest.
That built up glop was getting comfortable. No decisions or anything set anything off; no idea what set anything off. Just one day didn't write, next day didn't write... days go by like that until some few days in I'm thinking, "This is nice. This is time on my hands."
All over the world there are hands with time on them, a slurry dripdropping to whatever serves as a floor. The effervescing glop and slop gathering in the corners and sticking to the tile. My own hands are constantly now inadvertently (or subconsciously?) touching the wrong keys, Windows keeps throwing up these context menus and highlighting what I've written and replacing it with a letter. A single letter to express it all.
For example: g
(The preceding merely serves to posture and ameliorate.)
Saw a fight at a bar on Halloween night. I knew the guy, one of the guys, a friend of my brother. My brother's band (Quid Pro Quo) was performing at the time. There's a feeling in your gut if you're not numb to this stuff, if you don't see this stuff often, or ever. Violence for the sake of nothing, like a car crash. When I was in a car crash I heard that popping metallic sound for months after. Now I see that fist connecting with the back of that shaved head over and over. I stood there with my pessimism sinking deeper in. How could things ever get better if this is how we are? There was a skinhead there, too, who couldn't help but throw up his hand, that heil hitler thing. There needs to be an incision somewhere, along some ridge of the brain, some cut to dig this out of us.
Some of you remember the spiders. I've finally gotten some comments from some people doing searches. Part of what's got me cleaning away the glop is that I feel like I ought to at least say thanks, I really appreciate that some people bothered to share that they're also wondering why the fuck it's so hard to find information about those things. I'm convinced they were robots now, constructed by the prop department.
At work we've moved offices, I'm elsewhere from somewhere else. At least when I'm there, which I'm currently not. Which currently. Currently which. There are languages sometimes that
Speaking in.
EMusic's unlimited service ends in a few days. Here's where I wrote about that before. I haven't cancelled yet, staggering as usual across the top of this fence. Listening now to a shuffling of whatever I've gotten thus far from there, still hearing things I've not heard, and missing it before it's gone. Heard some Bert Jansch just now, followed by some June Tabor, Ty Tabor, Henry Kaiser and David Lindley.
I step around this, going nowhere, being here. I've got a lot of things I'm half paying attention to and I suspect I'll be updating less often for a while. Granted, usually I'm mistaken when I predict my own behavior. Have considered changing hosts, for various reasons. Maybe that'll come up and I can re-think and re-align and cover myself in some of this glop.
"After passing this circuit breaker (fuse), the line maybe branch to any part of the house and each part usually completed with another circuit breaker. This circuit breaker placed in a panel board (distribution panel). Distribution panel also used in the building or in the staged house. From here the line maybe used for lighting or to electric outlet. Always keep in mind, before do some electrical job, always off the circuit breaker or take the fuse from the holder first."
(Thanks to my other brother for that one.)
