Apparently you can type things into this little box below and something will happen...


Friday, December 12, 2014

Ice Like Frozen Steel

By now, they must have an "app" for extracting the precise number of ice cubes that one desires from the tray of clearly too many ice cubes at once, despite any eloquence in twisting.

Do people with the "SmartPhone" disease even experience this dilemma anymore? Or do they have new ice cube trays that match their phones, SmartIceCubeTrays, that can be programmed from their phones prior to arrival at the freezer?

My first attempt at serious writing went terribly, as do most. Perhaps not terrible by any objective means, but I can remember reading it later, and thinking that I have a better grasp on clipping my fingernails that I do on writing. But writing did slightly edge out clipping my toenails on the list of things I've done passably well.

Does anybody actually read this shit????????

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Horse Feathers

Horse Feathers, bowed, sticking out from foot of hoof
You don't really have?
Yes, it is possible...

...there is another plane of life amongst infinite planes of life and death
criss-crossing at unknown hypotenuse synchrononicity
a large insect flies into a window, a bug dreamt the night before
How does it all................connect?

Your delusions are not my reality, but real nonetheless
So why try to prove who's right?
Acausal coincidence on higher and higher plane
Like endless inception, did my bug fly into your window?

Have you stripped all trust away?
And how would I know?
Last night I dreamt that I bored two holes into your legs
countersunk for flush screws, to help you, to keep you from running away
while I conducted the operation
I had to get to the bottom of it, drilling down, down further still,
there were answers in there, somewhere, but time ran out
and it all unwound in perfect reverse, ending
with me putting the drilled shavings back into your legs
and letting you go

The rain came down like a broken piano,
turning the gutters into brown muddy rivers
There is a tornado in Tacoma?
Or did I dream all of this, too?
Yes, it is possible...

Saturday, September 27, 2014

Little Known Facts About The Universe:

Seemingly, a marathon happens. Brothers? No, but will run together like wet bleeding ink down your back in a rainstorm. No water here. Just perspiring droplets of pain and endurance and joy. And some beer in a ten dollar plastic cup. Jump up...

I have lost nearly all my friends now. A few remain, straggling behind the others, probing at me with a long wispy branch or over a phone signal. Electronic impulses have replaced hugs. Have I really lost them? Or have they lost me? I push away from the shore again, one shattered paddle and some fiberglass resin for hull repairs, a good jacket and hat, nose to the wind but it shifts. I drift. I dream. Some other life somewhere. Is the water bluer over there? Can it possibly be bluer than this?

I feel as though I've spent 30 years building this car, my Great American Car, by hauling one piece at a time up these creaking stairs, to the fifth floor. Working mostly at night, assembling the car from scratch, I have innumerable cuts and bruises to show for it, chronic pain in my back, and it is almost done. I have forgotten so much, so many along the way. I will barely be able to remember how to start it. And as for driving it, there is nowhere to go but down....

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Begrudgingly I will be grudgingly continuing my project

Well goddam it, this thing just won't die. Apparently, what hasn't killed it has made it stronger. It has recoiled, ready to rip jugular at the first hint of unexpected movement, chomping at the bit to be given another chance. But it is docile, too, not wanting to bite the hand that feeds it, or to hurt anybody who didn't deserve it. And having learned patience through years of menial work at the behest of its master, it knows that it can wait a few more days, or months, or years, before its next chance will come. A resurgence? Not exactly, for it never really had a surgence, but it did exist once and it did have a chance before. Quiescence has made it dangerous though.

"It" is the intangible Project that is this blog. As intangible as all the world is devolved and dissolved into social media madness, which is intangible as well, but that is the world now. If you don't like it- congratulations! but go fuck yourself because the world is passing you by. No quarter will be given as the wires and wireless creeps into our DNA, attention spans rolling up like a busted achilles. Fuck it, the world will move ahead in its own way, but the basic principles will always remain, and a computer cannot provide food, shelter, or clothing (yet), or sex for that matter, either for pleasure or reproduction, and so it will always be inferior to nature. A tree will always have more knowledge than a computer, and can smash it, too.

This digression has been noted by The Administration (in all places under the influence of Great Britain  [either past or present] known as "The Ministry"), and also by the Americans, and so I shall meander back to the point of all this: it seems that The Project will continue. My project. This blog. This blank canvas, this platform for shameless self-promotion. I don't know who will ever hear it, see it, read it, feel it, or understand it. I don't really care, either. I suppose I should try to make this thing work for me in some way, and maybe I will. But maybe I have drifted too far off the line. Maybe this will just be documentation of my descent into madness. Maybe it will be a job application. Maybe it will be a purely experimental digression, a pressure-release valve, a water slide, a taco-on-a-stick. Either way, it will be fun, which is something that I wasn't able to divulge in the last time around. It's probably time to look at someone's tits. It's probably time to dance like nobody is watching. It's probably time to arm-wrestle Sylvester Stallone with my hat turned around backwards. It's probably time to take a serious look at the Syria situation. It's probably time to shave. It's probably time to go to bed. Whatever.

So I guess an update is in order, for the purely formal purpose of continuing the imaginarily serious narrative created before, just in case there is anybody out there who was actually reading this shit. The band, The Nothing Free, is no longer. In previous episodes, I had asserted that this blog would be the platform for this band's adventures, and it was for awhile, but almost as quickly as it was declared, the band dissipated. And soon following that dissipation, my job, which was the cause of the decline of this project in the first place, also dissipated. And so now I am back at nearly the same place as I was before, at least here in "the blogosphere," and so my shenanigans shall continue.

Nobody knows what will happen next, but I do know that the possibilities are unknown. If predicting the future was so easy, I'd jump off three bridges at once, and if Love were so easy, they'd make hundreds of shitty formulaic paperback novels by the time I post my next entry.

Until next time, if there ever is one,

The Dude

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Shifting/Grinding Gears

So in the interest of self-interest and in the process of processing the necessary evil of social media in order to advance one's self-interest, this blog has undergone several necessary and unnecessary transformations and changes, one of which is the transition that is occurring at this very moment, both in our own heads as well as in the head of the world Mother Gaia and her evil twin Technology, and here in the blogosphere things are always in a state of transition, and now we are in space with David Bowie and everything is hunky dory.

Now that we've cleared that up, it should be clear that this blog is now the platform for the adventures of The Nothing Free and will be maintained as such until something else happens. Check out these other great things:

There is lots of shameless self-promotion there, plus some cool music and nifty outfits! Until next time...

Peace and Destruction,

The Nothing Dude