Day seven and there is still a proliferation of random objects in arbitrary locations around my place of "work". The word _work_ is a slippery one, especially on the lips of the American humans I grew up around. Though it never quite implied the same thing each time I heard it, it was almost regarded as _sacred_. Our indoctrination during childhood was to always focus on _work_. _Work_ was the road to a "successful" future. _Work_ was the path to salvation. From the perspective of adulthood, this shifty w...
Today is day nine. I shall pour myself some Houjicha - another reminder of Japan. I mentioned Japan the other day not only because Christopher is there but because to me it is a vague concept. Yes, it is a concrete land-mass, but the reality of actually being there is just an abstraction. This points back towards my resolve to not make plans that are, as it were, etched upon the surface of my skull, or upon the surface of anyone's skull, for that matter. Leaving future ideas abstract creates multitudinous a...
The ancient tapestry (I laughingly call it a tapestry) that habitually covers the Raspberry Pi with attached mini-screen whose name is _Yak_ and to whom I am connected now writing this was on the floor at the base of the monitor stand earlier. Yak sits on top of the monitor. Possibly it's not the best position for him / her / it / zubby, but I chose it for its proximity to the 12TB hard drive that is filled with backups from various parts of other machines round the household. Oouh, baby. Now what was the p...
Day 12. I just played with the cat a bit, and, as the song says, or at least implies, _I'll miss my cat_. After all the trinkets, feathers and simulations of twine we've bought for her, in the end, the most effective device for pay is a long, wobbly, flexible (but not too much so) wire attached to a handle that has a piece of _real_ twine tied to its end. Goes to show you that some ways from the ancient epochs are the best ways. Or at least the most effective ways. As is usual when a threshold is approach...
As I just wrote to the swarm of protozoa that infest my "friend" Christian's living corpse, the new album (the one about _greenhouses_, if you are curious) is now published on Mirlo, Jamcoop and my own Faircamp. In celebration, I'm listening to the album. I thought I might have burned myself out mixing and mastering it, but I am enjoying the run-through. The Yamaha HS5 monitors gurgle forth its mellifluous recital. Speaking of the Yamaha HS5 monitors, they must be _taken care of_. **Taken care of** not in t...
Today is Day 14. I didn't really want to do it, but a part of my mind insisted. Yes, I do not have complete control of all of my mental modules. Such are the days. So today is day 14. I didn't really want to do it, but one of my mental modules began a countdown. At least I got to choose to name this day _fourteen_ as opposed to _fifteen_, making the day when I actually depart day _zero_ instead of _one_. It makes more sense to the majority of the remainder of my mental modules this way. I shall create a sh...
There's certainly something about freneticism that fascinates. In any case, thinking about it is my only pastime other than playing backgammon with myself. I know there are others here, proximous, but my cloister is sealed. I'm told - or rather, I've read - that the original vegetative experiments quickly got out of hand, thus my mention of freneticism. The stems and stalks wound and warped themselves through the diameter of the moon, in one side and out the other, looping back around to make further plun...
Shambal Brambel was part of the first group that arrived. The goal was terraforming and experimental neutronium injections to increase the moon's gravity. He observed and was nominally a part of the quick rise and fall of a cobbled topography that at its peak consisted of pragmatically identical structures for housing, processing or atmosphere production. The so-called city was webbed with motorways. Vehicles of every sort streamed along them almost like fluid, casting whorls of grey waste in their wake. T...
My implants must be malfunctioning again. The ones that control subtlety of hearing and touch. I usually get them calibrated before each cycle, but immediately following the end of the last one, I ran into a clone of my old friend Acy from back in pre-school and primaries for the eighth colony in-vitros. Turns out this version of him is over on Nereid. Or **in** Nereid to be more specific. We got shitfaced on ostensible White Russians on the temp base. I dare not think too hard about what passes for "Kahlúa...
My companion, or rather my ex-companion, had to be removed from the project on Larissa for attempts at sabotage. Most of him was unmade and joined the particulate matter flowing through ducts between algae farms. I maintained his skin to create crude, flappy percussion instruments. I spend some of my downtime practising them. In the flat space, they sound more like bangings on hard rubber than what they are supposed to be, but that may be the fault of the resonating chambers or the general lack of acoustic ...
The structures that now adhere to an erstwhile rubble-mound were a dream I had epochs ago when I gazed from our station orbiting Neptune outside the Adams Ring with one eye closed like a cyclops through my telescope. If the rifts and crags are poems scrawled across the so-called surface of the moon, my greenhouses are diacritics and vowel marks that allow them to be deciphered. The sprawling atmosphere machinery is calligraphic accretion and wheezes rhythmically like the bellows of an accordion in time with...
