Warm n Fuzzy

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So Coast to Coast just came on across my old mid 90’s radio my grandad now uses to listen to conservative talk radio.

Gave me a warm n fuzzy feeling.

Same as when it came on in the wee hours of the morning as I was driving through a college town looking for a lady friend that I found asleep in her car outside of some kinda hall.

I always know when people are being dumb somewhere. And Art Bell is always there to tell me that the ghosts, aliens, and alien ghosts that tell me these things like some sorta cosmic Lassie are probably real.

Warm n fuzzy I tell ya. Warm and fuzzy.

Like a Sasquatch.

Image result for sasquatch
Though many of em are known to be smooth and cool.

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Tidy (Poem)

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So clean and so neat

Doesn’t it just insist

That there is a steady beat

That things persist

But the static on the screen

Seems less uncanny

Than what is plainly seen

All or any

Tidy

On the shelf

Tides are never tidy

You’re talking to yourself

Slip and fall into a pool of summary

Drowning for a grip

In a sea of solipsistic symmetry

Till there is a slip

And a billion points of light

Reveal the origin

The tidiness of sight

Complete in shattered pieces of a glass of gin


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Jack was always last…

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“There’s nothing out there,” I said stepping across decript floorboards.

They creaked in protest.

“Ok,” I responded. “I guess there’s some wheat in the field. Though it’s wilted.”

The wind shuffled the flies on the brick windowsill.

“What? You thought they were paper airplanes?” I chuckled.

It was cold. It was cold for a few nights now. I wondered where Maria was.

I looked at the tracks. The train was still. I wondered what it was waiting for.

My father’s watch was broken. I left it open where the flies had been and let the rising sun glint off the face.

It’s reflection traveling in the direction of Novgorod.

A crow cawwed in the distance.

It must have been a week since I’d gone up the stairs. I judged as much by the empty tins clustered like crown jewels in the corner.

I fiddled with the cross round my neck.


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Cheap Perfume (Poem)

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Barely breathin

Through the incense

That’s hidin

The cigarettes

And the mysteries

of the Orient

Are just histories

Wrapped and bent

Dropping into ashtrays

Just behind the whiskey glass

Rouding days

Up with tallies made of grass

You’re dirt

My dirty cheap perfume

And you hurt

With your strange silver smile in the gloom

Can’t dispel

That memory

The smell

Is too deep in my skin and my hair

Now there’s nothing left to do

But sit in the rain

With a head full of you

This much is plain

Drink in the dew

Till the morning unfolds

Like the pictures you drew

Still that perfume holds

Till I drown just to wash off

Must become a river

With a life like a moth

Dusty waters deliver


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There is no Homunculus (Vlog)


I’m a simple man with a simple lager and proabably should tackle less complicated things. But the more I drink the less I fear looking like an idiot.

So….here goes…

https://www.pnas.org/content/116/10/3948

“Modularity refers to the idea that mental phenomena arise from the operation of multiple distinct processes, not from a single undifferentiated one. Inspired by evidence in experimental psychology, by Chomskian linguistics, and by new computational theories in philosophy of mind, Fodor theorized that human cognition is structured in a set of lower-level, domain-specific, informationally encapsulated specialized modules and a higher-level, domain-general central system for abductive reasoning with information only flowing upward vertically, not downward or horizontally (i.e., between modules). He also formulated stringent criteria for modularity.”


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The Cottage – Chapter Thirty One – (Short Story)

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                                                                                              Hellier                                                                        Part One | Part Two |Part Three |  Part Four |Part Five |  Part Six |Part Seven |Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen |Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen |Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty One | Part Twenty Two | Part Twenty Three | Part Twenty Four | Part Twenty Five | Part Twenty Six |Part Twenty Seven |Part Twenty Eight | Part Twenty Nine | Part Thirty

There amongst the stones he lay again. And again he had no thought. And again he found it good. But now there was no fear. There was no apprehension.

For he had reckoned the symmetries.

The propitiations had been made. The ginseng laid. The feng shui done.

He rose and strode without fear through the dark.

It was not sight that guided him.

Not sight but knowledge. Knowledge laid down from the foundation of the world. And not this paltry sphere with its pregnant groans of promise. But the world as the breath of God. The first inhilation of divine will animated his profane skeleton and reanimated that wick so long dormant with the idle cares of flesh.

A bear approached, reared on its legs, and Jim looked upon it. With a whimper it fled.

Everywhere he tred the world grew still. And the faeries followed.

The sunken lake in the heart of the mountain swallowd him whole. His drowning was the sweetest whiskey. He was drunk with the music of the spheres.

Sinking to the magenta bottom he drug the fiends along on invisibile threads of covenant.

For a sacrifice of the elder blood was a rite beyond bargaining.

There within the twinkling madness in the chasing of Ariadness thread Jim was free to dance and to bind in rhythm those maggots that would have their feast too soon.

Their will dissipated and the ghastly forms returned to stardust to lonesome fade till the appointed hour.

There he hung in a whirling vortex that would surely have shattered the earthen vessel that he had so recently abdicated.

‘Fuck.’ Jim screamed through the ether. ‘How the fuck am I going to make it back?!’ At the Jim shaped grain of dust clinging mouth agape to the cold silt.


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Invoking Apollo (Poem)

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O you somber

There in myriad ringing notes

O

Cast forth from Crete

As the eleventh hour floats

Abdicate mere merriment

Be fleet

In bending sail with wind of sacrament

Angel of weeping

Mourn now Dionysus as his blossom wilts

Raise your crown and kiss Persephone

Her silver foots procession

Be friendly unto us for we have torn free

Our beards at a season that knows not youth’s possession

Gird our loins incline our ears to listen

To the subtle symmetry of spheres

How the tears they glisten

With the awry wearing of eternal years

Yet the heart is young

Beating fast

Thundering strong

O to last

Our hope is in you – your song

Thumos – hold fast

To you o minstrel at the gate

O solemn master singer

The hour is late

Give us strenth to ever linger


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Communication at UPS – Should I File A Grievance (Vlog)


This video is about my recent experience as a preloader. If you came here looking for advice on filing a grievance click this link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPHjXmLobfE . I’m just here to lay out some concerns peculiar to my hub in the interest of promoting communication and on a personal note to vent a bit.

I’ve held the position for two years. This is my third peak as I started in December of 2017. I believe that what one of my full time supervisors asked me to do today was in violation of Past Practice. I learned that term after I made this video. But I’m glad that my ideas (if I understood the concept correctly/there is no fine print) about something being amiss were legitimized.

We have had three injuries in my hub this year, if I’m not mistaken. Sure you could say that’s because some of our employees are sub-par. But as someone who has been here for two years I’d say that’s definitely not the whole of the story. The management style and company culture is severely compromised by corporate pressure.
I understand the need to profit. But I think that UPS has had a wide enough margin that this corner cutting, union dodging, irrational authoritarianism is not only unnecessary (it never is) but compromises the ability to perform the job safely.

It is just a few days shy of Christmas, meaning that we have already worked a good portion of peak season, does it make sense to approach an employee at the end of the shift and tell them to rescan all the packages on the trucks because of an alleged misload registration. Especially if the misloads are not misloads as admitted by management? Especially if there was no prior practice of manually scanning out of the trucks? Especially if the supervisors do not do it and the employees do not do it.

There are further details of counterproductive and arguably abusive practices in the video. I will likely follow up in the near future as I get a better handle on the situation.

Neither my coworkers nor I should have to work under these conditions.


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Rings – The Meditations of a Mortal

Hand holding a cigarette with smoke rings, a stylized monochrome vector image.


You.
You there.
Yes, you with the hair so like the leaves that autumn brings.
Do you know why fall is my favorite season?
It is not just the hint of chill in the air.
It is because rings are made.
Yes.
I love fall because I love decay.
Because I love the evidence of life that has been lived.
The gentle descent of death into rivers as cool, and deep, and gray, as those eyes you’ve fixed upon me.
You shudder and wonder what’s so great about rot.
Well look at the tree’s hair that’s just landed on that delicate shoulder, so near your own leafy crown.
How I love the slight bend in your neck.
How tenderly the angle travels to the collarbone.
You know I see you as a skeleton,
Shhhhhhh… relax a bit,
you’ve drowned your cigarette in gin,
I’ve no desire to harm you.
Here take mine,
a famililar act should steel the nerves.
You know that such lovely lips should not be chimnneys.
But while we’re on the subject of smoking,
why is it that we love it so,
the wrapping of these dead dry leaves and their cremation?
We inhale decay.
And in rings the evidence of life’s passage curls round us.


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The Most Valuable Lesson I Learned

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The most useful thing that you can do to improve your odds in any situation is one that I learned from Alan Watts. The thing is a realization. That realization is that all those factors working against you are like the ground that pushes up your feet or the hills in your way that take you higher.

Whether this was an original thought from Watts or some bit of wisdom he picked up, I do not know.

And really it’s irrelevant aside from the fact that Watts is peculiarly appealing for me due to my development.

Wish I had the clip on hand to share. But no such luck. Perhaps I’ll find it, at which point I’ll share all this again, since such things are worth the repetition.

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AlanWatts.org

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