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Unlucky Sevens
General | Posted 19 years agoBrace yourselves: this post probably won't be as random or interesting.
I had realized at some point that my life is full of sevens, very strange sevens, and I'm not talking about the days of the week here. When I was seven years old, I broke a mirror, and INFURIATINGLY I had come to experience seven years of pure hell, coincidentally in perfect alignment to the superstition. It probably wasn't the mirror's fault, no, but it is a very sore highlight. In kindergarten, I was a loner; that much I remember. In first grade, though, I turned into an outcast... but by Second Grade, I'd inflated to full-fledged Class Scapegoat. Then for seven AGONIZING ETERNITIES, I was at the shit end of every stick.
Though, in retrospect I'll have to admit, I practically brought it upon myself. I gotta tell ya, i was one hella stupid kid. I didn't go off and nearly get myself killed, but gods damn I was obnoxious. I hated who I was and what I stood for. Vain, paranoid, yet somehow arrogant despite being at the bottom: the kind that you Loooove to hate. From second grade all the way to eighth, I was a first class ass -_- stepping right in the shit that everybody left for me. I used to think THEY were the problem.
Okay, sure, so they WERE, and ARE. They were NORMAL kids. They liked sports and fashion and horsing around. What did I like? ... fuck, I don't even know anymore. I was lost in a daze of nothing. I don't know how I spent all my time. I didn't have anything productive to do in my life at all, whatsoever...
but then...
I turned 14, and suddenly it all stopped. Coincidentally, this was the year that I shattered MYSELF. Ohhh this is a long story alright. Juicy like a bucket of week-old entrails. I got so sick of myself that one day, somehow, don't ASK me how I did it, I decided to stop trying to be a PERSON. People were filthy anyways, they can go follow their carrots-on-a-stick right off their own cliffs. I was clubbed repeatedly on the side of the head whenever I tried to look at the 'carrots', which led to me being awakened to Aforementioned Cliff. It was a very systematic and clean process. I decided that there were things wrong with human nature so I slowly began to vivisect my emotions right out of me.
Hate was a problem, so out the fucking window with THAT, then... and I suddenly didn't hate myself anymore; it was more of a pity, not in the 'poor me' sense, but in a merciful, understanding manner that offered a helping hand when I needed it. I was deluded enough to believe that this hand that was helping me was an imaginary figure, some of you may call it YAHWEH, but I won't be blaming my successes on an impotent, incontinent, mindless mass-hallucination entity anymore. Anyways, back to the PITY! Yeah!
I decided that Sadness was a problem; no reason, it just didn't feel good... so it was gone. Then anger. Then pride. Then ambition. Then empathy. Eventually, everything that made me socially human.
At the age of fourteen, I was a blank slate, reborn. And here it comes... I spent seven years searching for myself. And this year, I turned 21, and I realize, somewhat anticlimactically: Here I am.
I'm tired. I'm going to cut this out for now. Seeya.
I had realized at some point that my life is full of sevens, very strange sevens, and I'm not talking about the days of the week here. When I was seven years old, I broke a mirror, and INFURIATINGLY I had come to experience seven years of pure hell, coincidentally in perfect alignment to the superstition. It probably wasn't the mirror's fault, no, but it is a very sore highlight. In kindergarten, I was a loner; that much I remember. In first grade, though, I turned into an outcast... but by Second Grade, I'd inflated to full-fledged Class Scapegoat. Then for seven AGONIZING ETERNITIES, I was at the shit end of every stick.
Though, in retrospect I'll have to admit, I practically brought it upon myself. I gotta tell ya, i was one hella stupid kid. I didn't go off and nearly get myself killed, but gods damn I was obnoxious. I hated who I was and what I stood for. Vain, paranoid, yet somehow arrogant despite being at the bottom: the kind that you Loooove to hate. From second grade all the way to eighth, I was a first class ass -_- stepping right in the shit that everybody left for me. I used to think THEY were the problem.
Okay, sure, so they WERE, and ARE. They were NORMAL kids. They liked sports and fashion and horsing around. What did I like? ... fuck, I don't even know anymore. I was lost in a daze of nothing. I don't know how I spent all my time. I didn't have anything productive to do in my life at all, whatsoever...
but then...
I turned 14, and suddenly it all stopped. Coincidentally, this was the year that I shattered MYSELF. Ohhh this is a long story alright. Juicy like a bucket of week-old entrails. I got so sick of myself that one day, somehow, don't ASK me how I did it, I decided to stop trying to be a PERSON. People were filthy anyways, they can go follow their carrots-on-a-stick right off their own cliffs. I was clubbed repeatedly on the side of the head whenever I tried to look at the 'carrots', which led to me being awakened to Aforementioned Cliff. It was a very systematic and clean process. I decided that there were things wrong with human nature so I slowly began to vivisect my emotions right out of me.
Hate was a problem, so out the fucking window with THAT, then... and I suddenly didn't hate myself anymore; it was more of a pity, not in the 'poor me' sense, but in a merciful, understanding manner that offered a helping hand when I needed it. I was deluded enough to believe that this hand that was helping me was an imaginary figure, some of you may call it YAHWEH, but I won't be blaming my successes on an impotent, incontinent, mindless mass-hallucination entity anymore. Anyways, back to the PITY! Yeah!
I decided that Sadness was a problem; no reason, it just didn't feel good... so it was gone. Then anger. Then pride. Then ambition. Then empathy. Eventually, everything that made me socially human.
At the age of fourteen, I was a blank slate, reborn. And here it comes... I spent seven years searching for myself. And this year, I turned 21, and I realize, somewhat anticlimactically: Here I am.
I'm tired. I'm going to cut this out for now. Seeya.
Gods dammit. STICKS!
General | Posted 19 years agoSo, a few days ago, at work, I found a note on my locker!
The finding of this note was NOT COMPLETELY UNLIKE stepping out your front door to discover that some giggling dipshit has deposited a flaming bag of something nasty on your porch.
This note was here to tell me that IT ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH that I do EXACTLY AS I AM TOLD ALREADY when I work at night--in FACT, they want me to do MORE! This "moar", as one would put it, entails going to each subdivision DOOR-TO-DOOR, to STOP and Count the lights they have left on and divide these lights among several variations of lights somewhere in a 14-page-long CHECKLIST. THEN, go BACK to the office, and put it all into the computer. I did it. Yep. And guess what.
IT TOOK ME THREE-AND-A-HALF FUCKING HOURS
And then the following morning I had to explain to my supervisor why I couldn't perform my REQUIRED duties, because his little project for me ate up the time it usually took. Those three hours, from 0100 to 0430, completely fragged two corridor patrols and both mechanized patrols. Gods Dammit. AT LEAST I got my paperwork done. Christ, almost half the day. I only have eight hours to work with! It's like saying, "Play this feature-length film, and don't skip ANYTHING. You have twenty minutes. GO!"
But much how the proverbial shitbag burns away, so did this dillemma. My supervisor agreed: That task was crazy stupid preposterous and had absolutely no positive points left after all the negatives are tallied in, so he said the shit is going to flow uphill back to The Brass, which it turned out ordered this whole fiasco in the first place, where it shall be gargled and swished in their think tanks until they can come up with a feasible lighting check alternative. In the mean time, I've whimmed my own alternative, and it's actually... well... productive >_> usually my whims are very NOT productive. Usually my whims are composed of minesweeper (uck!)--which I am Totally NOT proud of... So at least that's taken care of...
HOWEVER, Also like the proverbial shitbag having burned away, this too has left an ugly, stinky burn mark on the figurative porch of my job outlook. The note didn't only tell me to perform this innane task and lead me to believe it would be a FOREVER thing (which thank gods it was NOT), but it also told me...
My Weekends Are Kaput.
Yep. LAST NIGHT was supposed to be MY NIGHT OFF. And so was TONIGHT. BUT GUESS WHAT!
...
...
...
RIGHT! THEY'RE NOT! WHEEEEEEEEeeeeeei'mso...fucking... ...tired...
AND YET, my friends, there is good news (but this is from two nights AFTER the aforementioned debacle). The news is: I've been drawing more. Last night was very successful, as you see "Molly" got drawn, and I discovered, on a flight of ponderance, how to beat my scanner into submission.
Furthermore, I discovered a Stick. It is... just a stick. Perhaps a 1d2 bashing weapon, which on critical does 2x damage and snaps to possibly become Two Jagged Sticks, short range 1d3 dual-wielding stabbing weapons that hit twice per round and cause bleeding status on critical... maybe.
It was in one of the dumpster areas at the facility, but rather far from the dumpster; clean, apparantly made of pine, about a centimeter in diameter, approximately three to four feet long, mostly straight although slightly bent, sanded and machined to an essential cyllindar, and it embodies, in as an extremely bored state I was experiencing, a philosophical question:
Have you ever realized... just how much ... FUN... you can have with a STICK?
Shit!
Sticks! YES, STICKS! They are THE PRIMORDIAL TOOL. The first development of man, straight from nature. You can hit things with it, reach things with it, or find your way in the dark. I was sitting down in the office at work and I could still touch the cieling! two steps and I can flick that lightswitch across the room. That clock on the wall that is constantly ten minutes fast? I could take it down and fix it with that stick (But I chose not to, because I was having too much fun just waving it around like a madman)!
In an awakened imagination, it could be ANYTHING! Could it be a sword? Maybe a rifle! Or how about a metal detector? A cooling rod in an ancient reactor; an artifact of a lost civilization, or even just a handy backscratcher, in a pinch...
Sticks are incredibly useful, which is probably why a very large portion of all of our inventions bear a rather STICK-LIKE configuration--and if you THINK about it... YOU, TOO, MAY REALIZE that they're the most versatile basic component you will EVER know, second of course only to The Wheel and Duct Tape.
My stick was a floor-tapper and sword during my patrols last night. I liked the sound that it made as it skittered across the walls and floors while I dragged it like a lost toddler with his blanket. Suddenly the corridors were ALIVE again. There were monsters around every corner to be vanquished in glorious battle. I was an explorer in an ancient and long abandoned dungeon of flaurescent bulbs, rotting asbestos-packed cieling tiles, and tacky 1970's-era lead paint walls.
I can't remember the last time I had that much fun just walking around... And let me tell you, even though my twenty-year-old walky-talky brick handset might've been a FAR more dangerous blunt weapon when applied correctly and savagely to an assailant's cranium, the 'bumps of the night' were not so creepy once I had something rigid enough to swing threateningly with. WOOSH-SWISH! it always made such a satisfying CRACK when it made impact on the doors of the elevators. Sure, Lifting Motor, you may have your ominious hum, but I HAVE A STICK, HA-HA, AND I CAN CLANG YOU GOOD WITH IT!
My fellow officers will probably have thrown my precious stick away by the time I get back to work tonight; alas, it would not fit in my dinky locker. However, I'm still going to hope it'll be there waiting for me, and I will be sad if it is gone.
Oh gimme a break, I work third shift, I'm SUPPOSED to be loopy in the head.
The finding of this note was NOT COMPLETELY UNLIKE stepping out your front door to discover that some giggling dipshit has deposited a flaming bag of something nasty on your porch.
This note was here to tell me that IT ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH that I do EXACTLY AS I AM TOLD ALREADY when I work at night--in FACT, they want me to do MORE! This "moar", as one would put it, entails going to each subdivision DOOR-TO-DOOR, to STOP and Count the lights they have left on and divide these lights among several variations of lights somewhere in a 14-page-long CHECKLIST. THEN, go BACK to the office, and put it all into the computer. I did it. Yep. And guess what.
IT TOOK ME THREE-AND-A-HALF FUCKING HOURS
And then the following morning I had to explain to my supervisor why I couldn't perform my REQUIRED duties, because his little project for me ate up the time it usually took. Those three hours, from 0100 to 0430, completely fragged two corridor patrols and both mechanized patrols. Gods Dammit. AT LEAST I got my paperwork done. Christ, almost half the day. I only have eight hours to work with! It's like saying, "Play this feature-length film, and don't skip ANYTHING. You have twenty minutes. GO!"
But much how the proverbial shitbag burns away, so did this dillemma. My supervisor agreed: That task was crazy stupid preposterous and had absolutely no positive points left after all the negatives are tallied in, so he said the shit is going to flow uphill back to The Brass, which it turned out ordered this whole fiasco in the first place, where it shall be gargled and swished in their think tanks until they can come up with a feasible lighting check alternative. In the mean time, I've whimmed my own alternative, and it's actually... well... productive >_> usually my whims are very NOT productive. Usually my whims are composed of minesweeper (uck!)--which I am Totally NOT proud of... So at least that's taken care of...
HOWEVER, Also like the proverbial shitbag having burned away, this too has left an ugly, stinky burn mark on the figurative porch of my job outlook. The note didn't only tell me to perform this innane task and lead me to believe it would be a FOREVER thing (which thank gods it was NOT), but it also told me...
My Weekends Are Kaput.
Yep. LAST NIGHT was supposed to be MY NIGHT OFF. And so was TONIGHT. BUT GUESS WHAT!
...
...
...
RIGHT! THEY'RE NOT! WHEEEEEEEEeeeeeei'mso...fucking... ...tired...
AND YET, my friends, there is good news (but this is from two nights AFTER the aforementioned debacle). The news is: I've been drawing more. Last night was very successful, as you see "Molly" got drawn, and I discovered, on a flight of ponderance, how to beat my scanner into submission.
Furthermore, I discovered a Stick. It is... just a stick. Perhaps a 1d2 bashing weapon, which on critical does 2x damage and snaps to possibly become Two Jagged Sticks, short range 1d3 dual-wielding stabbing weapons that hit twice per round and cause bleeding status on critical... maybe.
It was in one of the dumpster areas at the facility, but rather far from the dumpster; clean, apparantly made of pine, about a centimeter in diameter, approximately three to four feet long, mostly straight although slightly bent, sanded and machined to an essential cyllindar, and it embodies, in as an extremely bored state I was experiencing, a philosophical question:
Have you ever realized... just how much ... FUN... you can have with a STICK?
Shit!
Sticks! YES, STICKS! They are THE PRIMORDIAL TOOL. The first development of man, straight from nature. You can hit things with it, reach things with it, or find your way in the dark. I was sitting down in the office at work and I could still touch the cieling! two steps and I can flick that lightswitch across the room. That clock on the wall that is constantly ten minutes fast? I could take it down and fix it with that stick (But I chose not to, because I was having too much fun just waving it around like a madman)!
In an awakened imagination, it could be ANYTHING! Could it be a sword? Maybe a rifle! Or how about a metal detector? A cooling rod in an ancient reactor; an artifact of a lost civilization, or even just a handy backscratcher, in a pinch...
Sticks are incredibly useful, which is probably why a very large portion of all of our inventions bear a rather STICK-LIKE configuration--and if you THINK about it... YOU, TOO, MAY REALIZE that they're the most versatile basic component you will EVER know, second of course only to The Wheel and Duct Tape.
My stick was a floor-tapper and sword during my patrols last night. I liked the sound that it made as it skittered across the walls and floors while I dragged it like a lost toddler with his blanket. Suddenly the corridors were ALIVE again. There were monsters around every corner to be vanquished in glorious battle. I was an explorer in an ancient and long abandoned dungeon of flaurescent bulbs, rotting asbestos-packed cieling tiles, and tacky 1970's-era lead paint walls.
I can't remember the last time I had that much fun just walking around... And let me tell you, even though my twenty-year-old walky-talky brick handset might've been a FAR more dangerous blunt weapon when applied correctly and savagely to an assailant's cranium, the 'bumps of the night' were not so creepy once I had something rigid enough to swing threateningly with. WOOSH-SWISH! it always made such a satisfying CRACK when it made impact on the doors of the elevators. Sure, Lifting Motor, you may have your ominious hum, but I HAVE A STICK, HA-HA, AND I CAN CLANG YOU GOOD WITH IT!
My fellow officers will probably have thrown my precious stick away by the time I get back to work tonight; alas, it would not fit in my dinky locker. However, I'm still going to hope it'll be there waiting for me, and I will be sad if it is gone.
Oh gimme a break, I work third shift, I'm SUPPOSED to be loopy in the head.
A beginning? An Ending?
General | Posted 19 years agoI just don't know anymore. I was never good at these journal things, but I'm feeling ... generous with my time. Yeah, let's WASTE some! Whoop-de-doo.
Alright so, for the longest time, my job had me working seven days a week. Okay, so it wasn't THE longest time, but good god it FELT like it. Shit. I've had years that passed quicker than those two weeks... I couldn't even REMEMBER one payday by the time I got to the next. But you see, that's a rub, isn't it, when all you're concerned about is paydays... When all you're looking at is what's 'next'. Gods.
This is what happens to NORMAL people. This isn't supposed to happen to me, dammit!
THEY get all wrapped up in what's 'coming'. Others get all wrapped up in what 'happened'. Really it's all fiction next to the allmighty NOW, and NOW I think I could go for sleep a little more than chinese food, but that's besides the point. If you think about the future and you think about the past, you don't have enough time to appreciate what the hell you're doing right NOW! Anything that isn't the present is a potential rut. Gotta open your mind. Ask yourself unlimtedly sometime, "what do I really, really want, RIGHT NOW?"
Don't limit yourself to grandiose terms. You might actually find it refreshing if you just admitted that you'd really like a sandwich. Or a soda. Or ... if you'd like to look at a sunset, or a deep forest, or to satisfy any given sense or any number of senses. Living in the moment may sound like a sad, impotent way to live... but how is it any worse than spending day in and day out growing ulcers over shit that you only think is important because THEY TOLD YOU SO?
Though it's worth noting that some people really get a kick out of servitude... I've known a lot of really great people who were submissive. They get a buzz out of making someone happy. That's fine, as long as you don't stress yourself out about it. What good is life if you don't have fun with it.
The biggest problem I HAD with my job though, was that it was obstructing my access to the NOW. Because, so often, "NOW" intersected with Work Time. 50% of ALL 'NOW' incidences, for that time, occured at Work, where I couldn't just go down the street and get a sandwich, what with all the sandwich shops being closed, since I work third shift... not to mention the fact that I catch hell when I leave the facility before my shift is up. BLAH. The mind ends up falling into a zombie mode... just as useless as sleep. I already spend one third of my lifetime being unconscious... don't need to make it two thirds.
But I've digressed a LOT so far, so I'm going to draw a line. Moving right along, my job gives me weekends again, and suddenly there is free time. It's amazing what a measily 64 hours of no obligations can do. NOW is no longer fogged by fatigue and soreness. I can actually get myself in the mood to DRAW while I'm sitting at my desk between patrols.
And personally, I have known no greater SLACK, PURE SALLACK, than creating something pretty, having people look at it, and observing them in a state of pleased-ness by appeasing their senses with the work of MY HANDS. It's almost like the power to play god! YOU! BE HAPPY! YOU! FALL IN LOVE! The right image can sculpt emotion as surely as clay. I could swear that the USE of Art is as much of an Art as the Art ITSELF.
I am ending my ramble.
Unconscious state approaching in 10... 9... 8... 7...
Alright so, for the longest time, my job had me working seven days a week. Okay, so it wasn't THE longest time, but good god it FELT like it. Shit. I've had years that passed quicker than those two weeks... I couldn't even REMEMBER one payday by the time I got to the next. But you see, that's a rub, isn't it, when all you're concerned about is paydays... When all you're looking at is what's 'next'. Gods.
This is what happens to NORMAL people. This isn't supposed to happen to me, dammit!
THEY get all wrapped up in what's 'coming'. Others get all wrapped up in what 'happened'. Really it's all fiction next to the allmighty NOW, and NOW I think I could go for sleep a little more than chinese food, but that's besides the point. If you think about the future and you think about the past, you don't have enough time to appreciate what the hell you're doing right NOW! Anything that isn't the present is a potential rut. Gotta open your mind. Ask yourself unlimtedly sometime, "what do I really, really want, RIGHT NOW?"
Don't limit yourself to grandiose terms. You might actually find it refreshing if you just admitted that you'd really like a sandwich. Or a soda. Or ... if you'd like to look at a sunset, or a deep forest, or to satisfy any given sense or any number of senses. Living in the moment may sound like a sad, impotent way to live... but how is it any worse than spending day in and day out growing ulcers over shit that you only think is important because THEY TOLD YOU SO?
Though it's worth noting that some people really get a kick out of servitude... I've known a lot of really great people who were submissive. They get a buzz out of making someone happy. That's fine, as long as you don't stress yourself out about it. What good is life if you don't have fun with it.
The biggest problem I HAD with my job though, was that it was obstructing my access to the NOW. Because, so often, "NOW" intersected with Work Time. 50% of ALL 'NOW' incidences, for that time, occured at Work, where I couldn't just go down the street and get a sandwich, what with all the sandwich shops being closed, since I work third shift... not to mention the fact that I catch hell when I leave the facility before my shift is up. BLAH. The mind ends up falling into a zombie mode... just as useless as sleep. I already spend one third of my lifetime being unconscious... don't need to make it two thirds.
But I've digressed a LOT so far, so I'm going to draw a line. Moving right along, my job gives me weekends again, and suddenly there is free time. It's amazing what a measily 64 hours of no obligations can do. NOW is no longer fogged by fatigue and soreness. I can actually get myself in the mood to DRAW while I'm sitting at my desk between patrols.
And personally, I have known no greater SLACK, PURE SALLACK, than creating something pretty, having people look at it, and observing them in a state of pleased-ness by appeasing their senses with the work of MY HANDS. It's almost like the power to play god! YOU! BE HAPPY! YOU! FALL IN LOVE! The right image can sculpt emotion as surely as clay. I could swear that the USE of Art is as much of an Art as the Art ITSELF.
I am ending my ramble.
Unconscious state approaching in 10... 9... 8... 7...
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