Sometime in the early fall of 2021, I wrote, sitting on a bench in Pagan Park: > The waft of mental filth roams with me through the park. It is a space without its personal memory. It is merely a collector. Like most spaces, it prompts the memories of those who wander within its confines. The babe without a single drop of remembrance would swim in the nostalgia of all that came before. I soaked up myriad musings stretching back to the dawn of the universe as I sat on that bench. I _was_ the babe without a...
So, Renata has handed me the lyrics to Olšanské Hřbitovy. They are the following: ``` Sluneční žár zalévá hrob svým nektarem žlučovitým smrt se nezdá smrt je tu všude ``` The sun's heat waters the grave. It is its nectar. The desiccating corpse below the ground is slowly emptied of water. It no longer needs its water or water from elsewhere. It's DONE, vole! Watering the grave with the sun's rays is a method of display, though also of outer decay, as the tomb itself will erode with time. I've probably m...
My productivity went UP yesterday. I actually spent "quality" time practising guitar, plus I added a section to Gibbet. _Gibbet_ is the working title. The piece doesn't actually sound like a gibbet, as there are too many major 7 chords one after another, cascading. There is one Jazz Standard that also does that for a time. It may be Alice in Wonderland. That being claimed, the whole is not focused around major 7 chords. The main sequence seems to ever return to a harmonic major tonality. One day, some one w...
I've been awake for less than ten minutes and I can already feel the fatigue pulling my eyes inwards. Normally Herr Jet Lag doesn't last this long. Or does he? It's nearly five in the morning in Seminole. My time here so far has been wholly unproductive creativity-wise. Within me is a piercing guilt. Perhaps it is a gradually newfound perception of mortality that creates this guilt. It's not a guilt associated with any harm I've done or could do to others. It's as if I am cutting myself down with the blad...
My dreams during the night, and especially dawntime, were as clear as the air between my smudged window and El Parque de los Enamorados. The last one featured Loyal as not a drum instructor but a _meta-drum instructor_. What is a _meta-drum instructor_, you ask? Well! A _meta-drum instructor_ collects information about potential students and, according to that information, assigns a _non-meta-drum instructor_ to said student. In the dream, I was the potential student. A group of us were sitting around the...
@rusty@sonomu.club _tooted_ the album that I'm listening to as I begin to scribe today's entry. It may be this _week's_ entry, actually, as I've been _slacking_ on my blog writing duties. I laughingly call them "duties". As if I owe _words_ anything. What have _words_ ever done for me? Absolutely nothing! They only suck up time and energy as they bombard me from every angle - acute, obtuse and metaphorical. Unfortuntely, to fit into any clan at all and be somewhat comfortable in said clan's bubble, one must...
My parents informed me a few days ago that their friend Noka is now a corpse. Those are my words, of course, since, according to those who don't _get_ my so-called dark humour, I am an insensitive galoot. Be that as it may, Noka is now a corpse. Though it is a common thing, it still astounds me the ease at which a human can transition from a dynamic state into corpse-state. Noka experienced this transition after living for more than eighty-two years. According to my parents, she simply _gave up_. She had st...
Since November is, as they say in the old lands, _just around the leering hulk of the mutant termite mound_, I've begin to prepare initial ideas of tracks for the so-called _Noisevember_. Noise! Everyone likes noise. Noise is the ever present fluid that allows us to swim through life. Those who take time to sculpt it to be their own are exquisite or damned. One of the two or something lurking within the infinite in-between. Actually, one idea, currently titled _Mollusk Pantheon_ is mostly done. It blossomed...
So here I sit once again atop the bed, propped up like a mannequin and typing into _myx-nulu_, the trusty tablet with a cheap, bluetooth keyboard. Hey - it's part of the morning routine, so I am certainly not complaining. I swigged the remains of yesterday's Earl Grey with a dash of leche semi-desnatada. In a previous life, I always had a problem with the word _desnatada_. I saw it as something altogether different, such as _desinatana_ or something even stranger. I believe this springs from an acute dyslex...
Living by one's principles is similar going through life interacting with a universe of human life forms that are figments of one's own mind. It is a form of solipsism. Instead of seeing one's brother or step-mother or next-door neighbour as an incrementally changing, dynamic human life form, in place of that realism, one interacts with what I call an eidolon. An eidolon is a construct formed by these aforementioned principles. Thus, one's principles, or I could say _traditional family values_ or _tradition...
The current Project Euler is going to force me to create a program that does _manual division_ and that is quite ok, but it's getting late and yes that's an excuse, but fuck um. I shall write some hovno and then get on with my day, saving the _manual division_ for tomorrow morning. Hopefully, my sodden brain will muse over it throughout the current day and my sprightly morning mood will conquer it's flimsy heights with ease. But yes - tomorrow. I've begun the second revision of _Pony Ride_. It gurgles and ...
