i had a choice. i chose rejoice.

the snow is glorious.

description of the weather: what the hell is going on?

description of my truth: true.

Making up for lost time. Making out with upset flowers. They were in a pot before, with soil and sand. I planted two seeds. Alarmingly waited for petals to push. Three days in a row of 2007. It's as if the year is different. Everything seems closer to ending. Everything is old in 2007. The home is old. The job is old. The wake is old. The busses are old. Everything is old, except for all that preceded. I touch the welt on my head to make sure it's still there. The head, not the welt. It wonders occasioanlly about the condition of nature and humans. There is no human nature. For instance, why is their a gun shop at the end of a long row of nondescript business complexes? Or else, what is the difference between now and then and when? Moreover, how can you exist in internet? I snowboard the bus each morning and that is when my head wonders off.

Description of 2007: Containing four digits two of which are zero, one of which is two and the last of which is seven. Representative of the year society currently exists in. Began, as with all years previous, on the day of January 1. Will run continuously for 365 days as specified by time.

Description of home: Wooden floors, glass windows, porcelain toilet, doored rooms, electric chair doorbell, located in St. Paul.

Description of job: Project Implementation Manager (corporate speak for something less obtuse I'm sure) at MarketTools, Inc. On site at General Mills World Headquarters. Fun stuff.

Description of busses: 63 down Grand, for one. 134 down Cleveland, for two. 649 to SLP, for three. 144 down 94, for four. 94 down 94, for five. 50 down University, for six. 84 down Snelling, for seven. Other busses ventured, some express, some limited stop, some blue, for you. All use numbers to designate route.

Having aligned my back straight along the back of the chair, I retired to the kingdom of my mind. Having dialed the required number of digits to connect my telephone to another telephone somewhere else, I retired to the kingdom of my mind. Having struck my fingers against the keys representing each letter read henceforth, I retired to the kingdom of my mind.

naturally, the death of panoptican.org causes ontological damnation to assault your friends page once again. my apologies. fruther consequences of the death of panoptican.org include:

- mountain dew
- tic tac stalemate
- drug store collapsal
- an intense desire to recreate
- invention
- misspellings

i love you. good afternoon.

also, i'm in cedar rapids for two more days. any takers?

save panoptican

Apologies to those who subscribe to damnontology. I was playing around with the RSS feed and for whatever reason it republished everything. Unfortunately I have no control over how LJ syndicates it after it scrapes the feed.

i present to you, dear reader, a most straightforward update:

- my urine smells of golden crisp cereal lately.
- i am moving back to minnesota on november 4.
- i unadded a bunch of you lj people. nothing personal.
- i haven't had golden crisp in years.
- my allergies flared up when i moved down to iowa and haven't settled down since.
- i forget to zip up my pants at least three times a day.
- i fell way behind on my 52 books in 52 weeks goal, but i've read 4 books in the last 7 days, so there's still a chance.
- the minnesota twins will defeat the los angeles dodgers in the world series.
- skype is a wonderful service. i recommend it to all.
- i've become addicted to mountain dew.
- i drive a 1989 full-size chevy van.
- i wear size 9.5 shoes.
- i've been sleeping well.
- most of my "creative" writing is over at ontological damnation. it's also an mp3 blog apparently. you can add it to your friends list if you haven't already.
- isaac is wonderfully perfect. walking and talking and dancing and prancing.

coming tomorrow, a most elusive update!

This isn't a true story. The events described happened exactly as written. No facts have been changed. The lies are truth. When I say this is an absurd story of fiction… I mean just that. But the reality is that this is fantasy. A fantasy that is real.

from linduzapalfrey@mailc.net:

buckboard, sentries concentric fowler
lustful frailty aficionado reformed

Hello dear friend,
mumblings protest sermons quartet
annul, Hillary voicer
wanna be a real man?
Molochize presiding rewrites
Thornton lacquered finitely, spreadings route death
metes hogging shoved itemizes dumber lemonade

breakup sacker strongest
bribing waived seclusion
Yes
vaults Richard alias
sockets feminist unnerve.

"You're back in the theatre now. It is very dark and there is no popcorn. You are completely alone and you can sit anywhere you want. Jason. On the screen will appear something very important to you. On the screen will appear an animal. Your animal. The animal is you. You are an animal."

Me: Elephant. Elephant. Elephant. Elephant. Elephant.
Me: Wait, what?
Me: Elephant.
Me: Oh, no. I didn't fart.
Me: NO! Elephant!
Me: I'm not understanding you very well.
Me: The animal, the theatre. Remember.
Me: It's actually been a while since I've seen a good film at the theatre.
Me: Damn you, what's your damn problem. Focus on the damn animal.
Me: Animals? What are you talking about.
Me: You are an animal.
Me: No shit Sherlock.
Me: Um, wait. Now I'm confused.
Me: Well so am I. But my brain is only the size of a peanut and well, peanuts are good.
Me: Yeah they are.

i'm entirely sure that you are right. but that's a set of different words for a different space in time. instead, the light focuses on affliction. standing there behind a wooden tree, one wonders if affliction is playing the part or just a bit shy. "i see you." it blushes. it leaps. it devours. me whole.

on the right side of the stage is madness. if madness could hide it would be veneered slightly by a drape of darkness. inconceivably iridescent. the impossibility of averting your eyes is only achieved when you are being gouged. madness watches as affliction feasts. with a grin. it transforms.

and so do we.

to the second person.

or not.

returning to reality for a moment, i notice that there is far too much organization in this room. far too little poison in my body. and far too persistent a throwing motion in my arm for the firsbees to just lie on the ground. i correct all of these anti-anomalous actualities in one feel swoop. the power of a frisbee and a cartwheel. each time i destroy myself and destroy my surroundings is an opportunity to rebuild. for whatever reason though, i put everything back exactly where it was. it's as if nothing ever changes.

and so do we.

to the second person.

or...

the third person, or fourth person depending on how long we've been doing this for. think about that for a second. i figure it was sometime this year actually that i changed from who i was before to who i am now. but prior to that, my memory was abducted by disrememberence, discontinued in favor of a newer, cheaper model that is slightly less fuel efficient. each of my thoughts are new, perspective makes them so. these words i type are certainly convoluted, transfered from my mind through my fingertips into plastic blocks adorned by letters and travelling a tiny wire into a board with flashing lights and then somehow impressed upon a window that overlooks an entire macrocosm, eventually accepted by your eyes and processed by your brain. but they're new. and so are you. a second person, each one sprouting within itself.

Can't write, can't write. The moon calls, no time to write. Oh, the moon says "Hi." Thanks moon. Can't write.

Bottle Defilement
Yellow Paroxysm
Radical Decimal
Language Anguish
Langauge Amish
Pity Crash
Castle Danger

Oh wait. Dang, it's already taken.

i've noticed that i'm becoming easily persuaded by internal forces. my spleen suggests i buy just one more pack of cigarettes and i comply. femur thinks sleep for just a few hours would be a great idea and i guess i do too. of course it's my brain that does the most damage. it's unfair that that it gets to set the debate, argue both sides and determine the outcome. i wonder if there is part of my brain that i don't know very well. at least that part is very quiet because i generally only hear the arguments for why i should do such and such. and they're always such great arguments.

oh minnesota.

all of the sudden, i'm not a serial monogamist. that's what the bumper sticker said. i followed the car on my bike. it was downhill and the driver was getting nervous that someone driving a bicycle was going so fast. it's easy to read the bumper stickers off of slow moving vehicles. just try it. but then, i want to be. maybe not the part about serial but certainly the other part. i think 4 is a large enough number to be comfortable with that sort of decision. it's not.

oh minnesota.

in three weeks, i will return somewhere for once. to be honest though, who cares. it's merely a distraction from that other stuff. literally, it's stuff. it goes into bean bags. that's a lie. not the bean bags, the stuff. basically it's like this, ...next.

oh minnesota.

i'm in a strange place right now. half way between thought and truth. it's an empty place. even when i do make decisions, i remain. endlessly walking aimlessly. it used to be one crisis after another. at least then i had some reference point. empty vessel, prepared for loading. we'll travel the sea together, i promise. please come aboard. i've got a number of rather cozy rooms. i suppose that's what advertising is for. now, i can't really tell if it's a crisis or just existence. i've paired down to two essential moods. whimsical and cynical. it is in these moods that either everything matters but it doesn't make sense or nothing matters and that is all that makes sense. and then a spark, however meaningless...

oh minnesota.

I made a golden promise, that we'd never fall apart. Oh well. Bart of Darkness is the my favorite Simpsons epsiode ever.

You have selected regicide. If you know the name of the king or queen being murdered, press one.

I enjoy the NBA.

In lighter news, Michael Jackson can dance. I almost forgot.