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C. Ockwald Blaster II, CEO and President of Stabco
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| Seems like a good idea at hte time |
[Feb. 26th, 2009|10:33 pm] |
Class on Wed night--the end of a long day, normally, but this time I took vacation to nurse my headache--yielded discussion about what it is in human nature that drives one to "wrong". I think it is an issue of mind fighting nature, delineating right and wrong at an offset of what human desire and instinct lead you to. Period.
The evidence is around you if you look--how many find reality clearer when bent through the lens of drugs, alcohol most notably included? This guy, with two thumbs, for one. There is, within an envelope of fallen away filters, ashen analysis, and the esophagal warmth of emptied goblets a perception of what is; unjudged, unmeasured, and innate.
Awe finds you. It taps your shoulder, pinches your nipple, and dances in the corner of your eye. It's there, and you're lucky to glimpse its shadow; luckier still to hear its whisper or feel its zephyrous brush against your face. I am lucky. I know love. I know warmth, and safety. Excess as well as rest. Yet I know hate. Fear, worry, the smell of sulfur and the stench of many nights awake and unsettled.
But I know love. Have tasted awe, have heard the far off cries of joy and the immeasurable contentment of embrace.
Here walks a man, confused, lost, riddled with frustration at the limits of 24 hours, 12 months, 28 years of inquiry. And one who, 20 minutes or 12 hours from now will awake to the same filters and lenses and mirrors of the day to day.
But now I scribble. Sip, and gaze, and lust and wonder and fall. Now I gaze into the fog, sit amongst the rooftops, and savor. |
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| I R MIA and selfindulgent |
[Feb. 20th, 2009|08:22 pm] |
What the hell.
Leave one memory that you and I had together.
It doesn't matter if you knew me a little or a lot, anything you remember.
Don't send a message, leave a comment on here.
Next, re-post this in your journal and see how many people leave a memory about you. |
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| Retiring to Mexico, Big ol' fake tits, and The relief in giving up |
[Jan. 19th, 2009|04:19 pm] |
Assuming the word "retire" is still defined as "stopping working" by the time me and my generation get to the ripe old age of liverspots and incontinence (or, conversely, full on cyborgian conversion), I would consider moving to small town Mexico just to cuss, argue, throw back beers, shoot at cans, and eat with this guy. Who will be long since dead by that point.
Observe:( Read more... )
That's how I picture this guy.
I just found out yesterday that my real estate broker/exotic dancer friend in Vegas is getting, as she put it, "bombs" from a doctor in Tijuana on Wednesday (who, she says, has done great work on people she knows personally).
In asking about the surgery and trip, recovery time, what she expects the cost/benefit of the surgery to be, and other suchness she said something to the effect of "if I go down, I'm going to go down in flames" responding to finances, considered salaried day-jobs, and the possibility of having to move back to WI if things go to pot.
I can't help but admire that. As someone who's wired to plan and stress over "life plans" or whatever you want to call what we're supposed to think we're aiming at, I can appreciate the more immediate approach at life. Stopping and smelling the boobs, such as it were. And stupid this girl is not. As I've gotten older, I've definitely seen the futility in excess worrying. It's good to have an idea of a plan, but you'll lose more sticking to the freeway than if you just keep the cardinal direction in front of you.
Which brings me to the relief in giving up. I've been stressed beyond all reasonable levels about work for the past who knows how long. I finally realized last week that I'm done trying to do what I think is "right" for its own sake. The ever-present "they" have sapped it all out of me. For now. I will do what I can, the way they want it done (within reason), and stop trying to swim upstream all the time. That said, I'm still a schemer and will always try to find a better way through.
The past 3 workdays, as busy as ever, have been the most relaxing I can remember. |
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| This is all I can muster because I'm a mus-tard |
[Sep. 8th, 2008|12:59 pm] |
We're gonna frickin; lose this thing (unless a giant gong of WAKE THE FUCK UP falls from the sky). Or people can look past Palin's milfishness to see the bible-thumping, chemically imbalanced, wholly inexperienced and unfit Caribou Barbie frothing back at them. From in front of Methuselah the forgetful "what's this here internet I was in a war" Bush-hugger Mcfuck.
I'm planning to go to Minneapolis/St. Paulie midday Friday, Sept. 26th through Sunday; I will be riding with Andi, one of the rollergirls who is visiting one of her friends up there, and hopefully my awesome ladyfriend Wendy.
Evidently, ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) i_h8_jailb8 and paulkjelland are also heading up there, which means there will be 4 asstonnes of sweet sweet nectar heading up to see you all between 8 wheels. Who's around, what's going on, and who wants to put us up? |
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| about 90% sure |
[Aug. 20th, 2008|11:11 pm] |
I'm not entirely positive, but I'm pretty sure this picture is destined for ttam's ( witness )
arguably nsfw |
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| Nerdgasm |
[Jul. 31st, 2008|09:05 am] |
From yesterday's penny arcade news post:
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A man near the door threw his arm wide at the crescendo, granting me entrance with a grand sweep. It was Lieutenant Commander Riker. Sitting to his immediate right sat Avery Brooks, who played Captain Sisko, nodding me in. After this, linear time was completely obliterated.
My consciousness bobbed like a bottle in black water, so that the rest of the evening exists only as discrete moments. In the first memory, Jonathan Frakes is singing a duet with the woman behind the piano. In the next coherent droplet, I am in another part of the room. Avery Brooks is now behind the piano, finding chords in it that I have never heard, and when he asks what he should sing next the woman pauses, and then says "Summertime."
I thought, "Oh shit," but I must have thought it with my mouth, because I said it aloud. He doesn't need the whole song, though. He only needs one line of it:
There is nothing can harm you.
He takes this line and turns it into a kind of meditation. Trying to absorb every band of data this man is putting out is sheer agony. My mouth just hangs open, all parched basset, and I cover the hole with my palm to hide my uvula. He is cracking open the universe, he is destroying me. I don't know how you can hear music like this and live.
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HA! |
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