Here lies Martes Flavigula, eternally beneath the splintered earth.

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Blog -

Tue, 22 Dec, 2020 11.57 UTC

And December progresses. Blather is transcribed directly from neural circuitry to VIM. Tea steeped. I fetched it and imbibed it. All this is part of another morning in Logroño. Mornings in Logroño are, by now, a routine, or each morning routine is chosen from a selection of those I have at hand. The only consistent facet in the selection of routines is the tea. All praise Tea. Most importantly, _writing_, which is part of a number of the aforementioned routines, gives me a sensation of accomplishment. Othe...

Sound design
Thu, 17 Dec, 2020 11.25 UTC

Of course, the tea has steeped and has been ready for consumption for some minutes now. To be completely honest, I've already consumed two cups. In contrast to yesterday (or yesteryear, for those of you in the throes of severe time dilation from marijuana or other assorted psychedelics), I'll be drinking _English Breakfast_ today. It's wondrous bitter tinge overtakes whichever metaphorical warmth I'm feeling at the moment. In my musings from over a month ago now, which were meant as the raw material for th...

Mon, 14 Dec, 2020 09.43 UTC

I recently realised that I didn't have a copy of Peter Hammill's _X My Heart_. I quickly remedied the atrocity and then listened to said album. I find it glorious. It was released around 1998, around a time of great change for me. The song _A Better Time_ was on some compilation or other that I was listening to in those days. Such compilations were one way to discover new music, just as hanging out on Mastodon is today, though slightly less dynamic. The "gap" in my psyche that not having this album produced...

Sloppy thinking
Thu, 10 Dec, 2020 09.30 UTC

I have lost the thread. I am certainly out of practise, writing-wise. This is true even if I've been more or less consistent over the last month and a half. Or so I tell myself! I sit down and I find myself in a state of pause more than in any other state. The flying fingers of yesteryear are but nostalgia! Oh, woe! Fuck um. Similarly, my fingers stumble after being away in Praha for a week and I begin fumbling at the guitar again. Most past routines, once abandoned, reassemble themselves, perhaps not in th...

Fri, 04 Dec, 2020 10.20 UTC

Speaking of James - Well, that is an odd way to start a blog entry, isn't it? _Speaking of James -_ has no context. Actually, considering that I do look back over old entries from time to time, given my writing history, it's not a very odd way to start a blog entry at all. So, I'll begin again. Speaking of James - and possibly drifting into _quejica_ mode - he is wandering more and more often into the sea of marketing. I do understand why, naturally, and don't necessarily blame him, though that doesn't me...

Sound design
Tue, 01 Dec, 2020 16.10 UTC

Today is the first day in a few epochs that I've awoke without a headache, however slight. My final conclusion is carbohydrate intake within a certain number hours before going to sleep and slowing my metabolism. My main crime is eating something in bed before retiring. Pistachios are culpable. They will be banished. Yesterday's experiment, which I shall repeat today, that resulted in a morning without a dull, cerebral ache, involved having NOTHING to eat at all after approximately 15.40 except for the las...

Tue, 24 Nov, 2020 15.38 UTC

I have an empty cup that used to contain tea sitting before me. It was Earl Grey. The confusion before the word / preposition _before_ is astounding. Before it irks me further, I'll expound, as it was fucking with my development of _Lakife_. In English, _before_ can mean temporally in the immediate past of whatever temporal theme is being discussed. It can also mean _spatially_ immediately to the front. This ambiguity is not amusing to me. It is an abomination. My solution for Lakife is to clarify the diff...

Sun, 22 Nov, 2020 11.16 UTC

What I have come to think of as the _oblivious nature of the Spanish_ or simply the _Spanish behaviour_, just occurred outside my apartment, in the stub of a corridor, in front and partially inside of the lift. That last bit is very important. Our new neighbour, whose name is Juanco or somesuch, stood in the stub of the corridor speaking to another human who stood partially in and partially out of the lift. This latter human was therefore blocking the lift and preventing anyone else in the building from usi...

Thu, 19 Nov, 2020 10.26 UTC

Speaking of Michael Achenbach, I should attempt to look him up. My first question to him will be _Did you ever get around to making your own music?_ He was the _intuitive_ type, musically, though he studied to be a mechanical or electrical or some other sort of engineer. He'd pick up a stringed instrument and it just made sense to him. Though, admittedly, I did hear him spending long hours practising in his disheveled hovel-room in the Enfield house. _Intuitive_ contrasts with **me**, one who struggles with...

Tue, 17 Nov, 2020 11.35 UTC

A stalk of bamboo hovers over me in eternal vigil. Eternity is the span of its existence, of course. Isn't _eternity_ the span of any _entity's_ existence? Does it take eternity to pass from the burp from the womb into the sudden state of decomposition? Does it take an eternity to pass from a smooth seed cradled in sod into the sudden state of decomposition? The span of life, this _eternity_, passes in a flash. Every detail of its presence evaporates. He / she / it who perceived the passage no longer exists...

Mental models
Sat, 14 Nov, 2020 09.05 UTC

The tea is made. It steams beside my telephone and painted fish. My palate and stomach awaits a plate of waffles I just concocted. Yes, on weekends, I abandon my "diet". Fuck um. Plan! Does routine really unhinge time so it passes like a flutter in a 12 year old hag's loins? It depends whether it is an ingrained routine or a "conscious" routine. And I think that even the former can be converted into the latter if one denies the _random pathway_ module of the brain dominance during said routine. The _rando...

Along with martens, goulish goats and the rippling fen -
these writings 1993-2022 by Bob Murry Shelton are licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

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