Breath Me, Break Me (Chuck, Dave, Colin)

Breathe Me, Break Me
(:...Chuck, Dave, Colin)

Your face is bruised with charcoal
And the nite a tear of red
Absent from the emptiness
Hold on

Too soon for the mourning (morning)
Too late for the dawn
Do I celebrate your passions
Or break now that you're gone

(Chorus)
Thread time's ribbon gently even if it fails again
Through the tears of lovers
And the anguishes of friends
Fragile we may be but when we circle touching now
Breathe me break me breathe me break me whole

This goodbye will always be half away from done
Falling from the thunderheads
Into a midnight sun

I'll thread time's ribbon gently
Even if it fails again
Through the tears of lovers
And the anguishes of friends
Fragile we may be but when we circle touching now
Breathe me break me breathe me, make me whole

Virtual Cybernetic Extension Succesfully Implemented

Let me explain.

If you know me, or several member of my family, you know the horror of navigating from point a to point b unless there is a very clear, unambiguous and preferably graphically laid out route to follow. History has shown even that is not enough some times.

I have lost my way walking, driving, biking, busing. Never running, go figure. And in the woods I seem to be fine, again, antithetical to the problem statement but there you have it.

So, getting lost.

In a car is worst. Given my station in life, there is usually added pressure when I don't know where the HELL I'm going, given that somebody is depending on me to get them somewhere. Drop off. Pickup. Both. Add to that the fact that I am conspicuously and consistently late for most things, and you have the perfect storm.

Want to be self confident - not in a typical fucked-up man can't-ask-for-directions way, but in a lack-general-self confidence- most- of- the -time, behind- the -wheel -would -be -nice -so -I don't- look -like -a -complete -asshole way.

Now, along comes Google. And my new Samsung Jack. Google maps + GPS in the Jack = a fully functioning GPS.

Using this literally, literally changes my personality. I can drive stress free and confidently, and one of many neuroses is put to bed.

If I use it, however, and lose it - out in the boondocks, lose a signal whatever, the neuroses, anxiety and frustration jump back in the party lane with a vengeance.

So I am considering this a virtual neural implant into my behavioural and cognitive systems. Sound like an overstatement?

Try driving with me with and without my crutch.

Cal and I were talking about the visceral collective energy that crackles through a funeral gathering. Hoto referenced it too; holding somebody whose heart is so utterly broken that they are literally suffering from every pore.

And now, the flip side. Listenting to Awake by Scala, and thinking of what can be created when voices join together and create something bigger than the separate parts.

Haunting, ethereal, collective union reaches in behind the throat and eyes and pulls the soul out in naked fragility, if only for a few moments.

Grace.

28-21

28 - 21
Vas is das?

Let's see.

Knife Net, if you were into mnemonics and the peg system.

Or 4, if you were into numerological reductionism.

Or 25%, if you were to look at it as intended, which was an exercise in amusement that ended up, as always, leading my train of thought to deconstructing things to such an extent that the resultant pieces probably had more psychic weight than the original thought structure. To wit:

Driving for a doctor's appointment, through 45 minutes of drizzled traffic. Three quarters of the way there, late as I always am, I started thinking about those lollipop nightmares that can help or hinder a trip so effectively - you know, traffic lights. More specifically, I started thinking how much of perception is projection. The lights don't give a hairy rat's ass whether I'm late or not, and they certainly don't have feelings, thoughts, or the ability to take a willful engagement in my thoroughfare.

And yet, the natural reaction when approaching the x+nth light, [where the value of n inversely proportional to my rising level of frustration] is to squeal a mighty fuck you to the light.

...oh man, this is unbelievable. Every f*ing light that I hit is red. FUUUUCK

The intimation, of course, is that it is unfair. The intimation of the intimation is that they are stacked against me. They being the lights.

Across the firing of synapses, electrical activity becoming chemical and sorting itself off through god's own organic decision tree, I have very, VERY quickly gone from starting and stopping in a Pavlovian haze at every light, to anthropomporhizing the hapless bastards and making them little arch enemies of my traipse across town.

Even now looking at it on epaper, it sounds absurd. But thoughts are. And a car commuter's thoughts even more so.

Anyways, I chewed this over for a bit and decided to start keeping track, to see what the score actually was. On the mental left, ladies and gentlemen, the green light winner circle, and on the right, the red light winners circle. Simply stated, every green light I hit would be 'tallied' on my left hand. Being this was a mental process, it was an imaginary left. Why the left for green? I don't know, maybe something to research later out of curiousity, but for me green red left right seem to 'feel' more correct than vice versa.

So probability cloud wafted into my perception, and collapsed as I hit each stoplight. What was interesting, though, was how this simple act could become so awesomely complicated with very little effort. To wit, I had to decide:

-What constitued a 'true' vs. 'non-true' green or red? Simplest case, pulling up to the light, no cars ahead of me, and the light turns as I approach. Trickier case - pulling up to the light and being stuck behind one person making a left hand turn. The light was green when I got there, but I could not proceed...Does it count as green or not green? What about coming up to a long line of cars where there was no obstruction per se, but it took a while for me to get to the crossing point and then the light changed. Green or not green?What if I arrived at the light behind cars and it was red, but turned green after I had only just tapped the brakes on?

Which led me to think what my motivation was.

And on and on.

I settled for some simple rules, clear cuts were clear cuts, any marginals would lean one way or the other based on the flow. Did I ultimately get held up at the light or get to proceed based on the light's status?

The take-away friends? Several thoughts:

• Ultimately, even though it SEEMED I had a shitload of lights to wait through, 25% MORE of the lights that I went through in total were enablers (green) as opposed to hindrances (red).
  
  
• At times during the trip, it was pretty much balanced. My guess is the longer the trip, the more normalizing the curve would be.
  
  
• That modelling something even this simplistic needs to rely on lots of variable and interdependencies - some external, some internal
  
  
• That I could easily decision-tree out from there to the universe and beyond without much skull-duggery:
  
  
• 28-21 today. Thought experiment. Let's take all the lights that I hit in a day, and use them as a marker as to how the probability cloud 'favoured' or didn't 'favour' me today. Let's add all those up for a month and see if it's been a good bad / month. Let's keep going - year, years, life. Now let's add similar markers from across my life - how many elevators are waiting for me, crosswalks with a walk sign when I approach, change rooms at the pool there for my taking no waiting, on and on and on. Let's graph them all and slice them and dice them and numerologically reduce them and chart them and look at my life through a shimmering blanket of scatter points that fold in and amongst themselves then explode in a glorious unending cacophony of light. yes, Cacophony of light.
  
  
• Now, lets take all those numbers and add them to every number-reduced word and number I have ever had associated with me. Let's reduce them all and see what number I am.

36/9?

Good Night Chuck

Good Night Chuck

Sharp black eyes, quick hands
Taut spring
Fueled.

Instinct drawn into your fingers, voice, and loins
Currented through me
Shes;
Us.

Electric black center
Bolt of colour; careless focus - or a zen cut
Tears - or laughter

Rainbow splayed tannery
Many costumes cut through the years
Until
No color left
Fabric tattered and diffused into emptiness

May you rest now,

Peace

Choking on this

Sadness, a bird
Caught in the throat and struggling for release
Then crushed in sallow passion

No heart here, just the offspring
Moving towards the cavity that should embrace
Proffer, dance and heal

No stomach here, just a slow descent
Without detachment
Malignancy, waiting in disbelief for the dawn

Gods Inkwell (Alone, Together, Into the Sun)

The backdrop.

An existentialist, for whom all points back to the one as opposed to the One. Everything points back to self, and the bright lights of the intellect clearly articulate the borders, the end point. Anything beyond is not worthy of attention, could only be the result of an overactive imagination or the failure to see Reason.

The narcissist, who simply lays claim to the existentialist's illumination as another shimmering piece of chattel, more of the inventory that can be used in the supply and demand of their need's needs.

Picture it.

Endless black, God's inkwell. This time, from nothing, two - the Narcissist and the Existentialist, a mere speck but growing larger. They pass the vantage point and we have a clear view of the two in their bubble, looking through each other with indifference. Things change with light. Faint and diffused at first, silk mesh across the inkwell, blue ice to white heat
to saffron fire.

The Existentialist notices the heat first - the Narcissist his discomfort - as the mercury climbs. First boundary gone as the bubble contorts and dissolves as the sheet of fire grows beyond imagination.

Fear bursts the next boundary unconsciously, as they embrace in the face of the known-unknown. Narcissist's wings blaze around the Existentialist, and for one glorious, naked moment before conflagration, the final boundaries are transcended, four eyes become two eyes; and I-I swallows the sun whole.

Posted by shadechaser at 1:06 PM