Should You E-fast?

On November 2, 2019 By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Humor, Philosophy, Psychology, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

IRL fasting has many benefits. Check out P.D. Mangan’s amazing anti-aging site for more on this.

If that’s not enough.

Even Jesus loves fasting. There’s some juju out there that can’t be banished any other way.

Except maybe the internet.

Image result for goetia" — Pictured: The internet in its most malignant form: Teh kittez. An ancient evil of possibly Canaanite origin.

So should you go on internet fasts?

Folks like Bryan Lunduke would probably say yes. Folks like me would probably say…maybe.

Fact of the matter is that I’ve been trying and planning to go on a no electronics sequester, where I produce a bunch of somethign, with a lot of focus; for well…it’s embarassing…for nearly….if not exactly a decade.

Sweet Elijah! You might cry. Your discipline sucks.

Image result for chariots of fire" — Lo! I have not gaze upon the spicy memes! Giveth me my wings, Lord!

At this rate the chariots of fire will never beam you up and reveal why Maynard is such an infuriating shtilib.

Absolutely. Yes. I’m a whimsical beast with very strong drives that are not easily tamed. Which is why I prefer letting them run free. Seems more humane. That is until they go over a cliff.

The nubmer one complaint with all things web related seems to be wasted time. The internet seems to be a distraction machine.

So, it is only natural that people throw up their hands and ask, “Hold on a minute! Hold on a minute! What if I wasn’t voluntarily pulled in a million directions at once! Wouldn’t that be…I don’t…sane?”

So all the goal setting and good intentions begin. Only to be shattered by the realziation that most of your work and social life depends on electronics. Even if you aren’t a blogger.

“Welcome to the machine.” – Roger Waters or some such hippy.

Yes. And now you’re booting up and logging on to answer e-mails or apply for jobs or write this or that and…boom now you’re on YouTube…and well….frankly…welcome to Hell and goodbye time.

Or so it would seem.

I’d suggest that there’s probably a happy medium, wherein you use your baser browsing urges to spice up the legitimate ones, and catalyze learning and productivity.

But at the same time perhaps some fasting would be good towards that end.

Not here to make proclamations just to ponder so…I dunno you tell me.

Or if you don’t want to chat with an overcaffeinated time slayer, then ponder your way to Vallhalla.

Speaking of Valhalla. Pillaging is no longer profitable and mead remains expensive. Please contribute to a thirsty bard.

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Quips Two – Men in Pantsuits

On October 31, 2019 By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Humor, Social Commentary, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Image result for business people — **Comrades!**

Comrades!

CEO’s and commisars have more in common than you think.
Corporate culture kills the host.
Management builds nothing, manufactures nothing, and costs everything.
Optimization means making people work faster for less. See Outsourcing.
Sensitivity training exists because being polite is preferrable to paying your employees.
The NuMale ubermensch leveraging his way to success via endless seminars often craves an empathy pantsuit. But only because he’s not allowed to wear a dress.
As a ~~commisar~~ executive your core competency is building consensus on how best to disrupt the flow of funds from the productive class into your bank account.
~~The politburo~~ Corporate exists for the sole customer-centric mission of ~~reeducation~~ marketing to leave the consumer with a lean and mean wallet.
At the ~~gulag~~ company you will build synergized ecosystems of equal parts cheap labor, ~~propaganda~~ marketing, and markups. This will be hailed as the pinnacle of capitalism despite getting most of your product from ~~communist~~ optimized countries.
You will be celebrated as the ~~supreme soviet~~ captain of industry that you are. Just remember to emote. You wouldn’t want to seem cheeky about the ~~holodomor~~ bonus you just got. As this will only make it harder to ~~seize the means of production~~ get bailed out in future.

I thought that by working blue collar I could escape all this…but alas new age incompetence has spread to something as unfuckable as putting a box on a truck.

Help me stay sauced and writing subversive poetry by donating.

Or if you prefer: leverage your money into my expense account to optimize output of literary junkfood.

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Quips

On October 29, 2019 By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Humor, Social Commentary, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

20181210_124946 — Or Reasons why I drink.

The Current State of Psychology

Pathologize everything.

The Current State of Science

No longer is science a specific methodology for studying empirically verifiable data regarding a narrow set of physical and observable phenomenon.

No longer is science a constantly updated body of knowledge derived from the scientific method.

Science is an answer.

One that you can use to make airtight and unquestionable forecasts about the future.

If you disagree you are a heretic.

You hate science. I might not be a scientist. But I love science. And the scientists who agree with me.

The ones that disagree are paid by the patriarchy, Big Oil, and the Green Lobby and hence are not real scientists.

I am qualified to agree or disagree with scientists because of my humility. A humility demonstrated by my admission that “I am not a scientist.”

Nevermind that I don’t understand what I’m agreeing with and can’t explain it. I am humble you see.

Literate people who have gone through twevle plus years of schooling cannot fathom the various mystery schools of Science.

#I Fucking Love Science

The Current State of Entrepreneurship

Rejoice! You are no longer a shopkeep or a franchisee. No! You mighty one are an innovator. Your ability to get real worked up about minor accomplishments like printing out a business card or filing a 1099 have landed you a mediocore income selling novelty buttplugs to the emotional support baristas of redudant career women the world over.

What’s that skippy?! You’ve discovered e-marketing? Well, hot dog you friggin rascal! Nevermind that there are streamlined flowcharts developed over the course of more than decade. You’re a tech-savvy genius!

You my friend are on the primrose path to easy street! And you deserve it. I mean who else could marry the easily exploitable labor of third world sweatshops to Amazon and Ebay via a well developed digital pipeline!

Get em tiger!

Please donate. I need wine.

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Blossom (Poem)

On October 24, 2019 By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Philosophy, poems, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Image result for night flower — Image Source – (Gives a database error. Go figure.)

I expand

And become

Formless as the void

Blossom

Through the through and through

And the in between deployed

Blossom

Gather dew

Drunk and drinking

The stem, the root, the measure

Never few

Thought is living in its death

Ah the blossom

Of the soil that’s Void

This is not a song of gloom

Bloom O blossom

Bloom

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Getting in the Mood for Mystery

On October 24, 2019 By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Humor, Philosophy, Psychology, Social Commentary, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Image result for appalachian stream at night — Image Source – ideas.ted.com – Radim Schreiber

Or Notes for Pedants and Spoilsports

It’s altogether easy to lose your sense of wonder. Especially when questions can be answered instantly.

But it isn’t the answer that kills the magic.

It’s the speed. It’s the lack of space.

Mystery is a living thing and needs room to breath.

One cannot write weird fiction or write at all without the animating force of wonder.

Why describe a twilight Appalachian brook if it’s just rainwater lazing through rock and dirt?

If its suggestions are nothing more than the inevitable electric pulses stirring a chemical stew whose aim is to leave behind a profusion of bones?

Yes, in such a world of concrete half truths. In this world that is the foundation of life there can be no mystery…no art.

How glad I am that I’ve been given the space to wander, to spy the stairs and landing, and to ascend through the door into the house of Magic where true life dwells.

For a house is not merely the foundation.

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Um…

On October 23, 2019 By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Humor, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

I’ve been dwelling in a hotel for the past month, probably two. There has also been the business of tending to family. Due to repairs I’m still two to three weeks away from having full use of my house.

I think I’m out of the dizzying funk of it all and will be posting regularly soon.

Thanks for sticking with me through two or so months of static.

20191021_182525 — That’s about how I feel. No need for poetics.

Why History? Why Learning?

On September 30, 2019 By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Current Events, Philosophy, Psychology, Social Commentary, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Image result for lyre — God damned hippy

So, I stumbled across the Shindo Renmei. An interesting group that sprang out of an interesting set of circumstances. It is a peculiarity in the truest sense of the word. Absolutely dependent on the specifics of its time and place.

That is the case with any bit of history.

So why study it?

The popular answer is so that we do not repeat it.

I see no reason to be contrarian. But I also see no reason for such narrow apologetics.

I think the main reason to study history is that it is a gold mine of catalysts and ideas. I think this is the main reason because it is so much more fertile. And also because the wise fear of repeating history is often hijacked by this or that pundit to cherry-pick examples that ‘prove’ why this or that is going to be catastrophic. Or more colloquially, “You’re just like a HitlerStalinTerrorist.”

I think it’s possible to extend this notion even further. This ‘mine’ is perhaps the ultimate case of art for arts sake. Art here being any endeavor including science and philosophy.

Art…or ‘well informed doodling’ should practiced precisely because practice begets art. There needs be no other reason. No harried seeking of supporting themes, or grants, or panty parting guitar solos but simply doing for doings sake.

So, go forth and study for no reason whatsoever.

In so doing I guarantee you’ll find one.

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The Cottage – Chapter Thirty – (Short Story)

On September 30, 2019 By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Original Fiction, Original Fiction Series, Stories, The Fractal Journal, Uncategorized, Weird FictionLeave a comment

Image result for whiskey tumbler falling — 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

The cottage seemed even emptier than before. Luckadoo’s party had pressing matters across the pond. They did not tarry long.

It was annoying. Everything was always open ended. Just left there laying vague and cryptic.

It felt like trying to get a direct answer from a Sunday School class.

Jim pushed an empty tumbler across the wooden floor with his boot. Watching as geometry and gravity drew it along in a lazy semi-circle.

It was just so.

Drawn along by necessity.

Jim did not like the idea of fate. His heart sank as he meditated on the inevitable sound of glass on wood.

It was a thought that made the twilight even gloomier.

He stopped the arc.

Slowly but surely it dawned on him. Slowly but surely his mood brightened.

He wasn’t just so.

The arc had stopped. It had stopped not by some mechanical necessity but by something wispy and wild. It was a variable. A very peculiar one. One that had neither weight, shape, nor volume, but occupied all those dimensions on a whim. It was the ultimate unknown.

The thing, the x, was will, and it belonged to him. It empowered him to solve, to balance the equation.

Ok, so he had pep. But he didn’t know what to do with it.

The gloom returned.

Again the thought of the tumbler depressed him, how it was drawn along by whims as cryptic as his uncles ravings.

But it did roll…didn’t it…

That’s all it could do given the situation…but it did something…

‘Maybe that’s all I can do…just roll with it.’

And so he burst forth from the cabin, in the direction of the caves, to do something till something…somethinged…

Of course he didn’t get far.

‘I’m not a fucking tumbler.’

He plopped down into the tall grass by the border of the wood. The uneven prickly surface and cool air quickly reminding him of his limitations.

He’d have to wing it. But he needed wings.

As sense returned he trudged towards the cottage to read, gather a pack, and nap.

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Under Construction – Up Since Three

On August 31, 2019 By Alex V. WeirIn Alex Weir, Humor, Philosophy, poems, Stories, The Fractal Journal, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Image result for birch tree ice

I sit staring at a hotel curtain. The pattern reminds me of birch trees. Beyond are some Loblolly pines and Carolina starlight.

The room has that new plaster smell that reminds me of the apartment I stayed at while working at a fiberglass plant. My highschool buddies dad was some bigwig there and it was my buddies apartment. I was gonna pay rent but got pissed and decided to try living off of cheap tobacco and tins in my hatchback. It’s just a few towns over.

Showed up on a girls porch to talk shit and get drunk. We kissed at some point and went to the stupid ocean and came back and loved but sort of off and on.

The place had an Irish name and was still under construction. Sort of like everything is, and will be forever, since forever.

The stars are constantly reconfiguring themselves, exploding, and assembling into perpetuity. Like shitty cosmic suburbs. That’s right God I just compared your handiwork to Detroit.

There was a birch tree covered in ice – dripping ice outside my elementary school window in Moscow. That was more than a few towns over.

The chronology isn’t very linear but I’ve never been good at keeping rhythm. But sometimes I imagine I make pretty sounds and that’s enough for me.

Once my dad punched an icicle under a kiosk and got a bloody knuckle.

I was at a paramilitary summer camp and felt my head explode as it hit the hook on the door. The short kid I was boxing was pissed. We both ended up sharing aspirins and laughing at the faces we made as the water stung our bloodied lips.

The ceremonial cannon shots exploded. Exploded like memorial supernovas. Bursting in realization that these grounds, this grass, had drunk a crimson dinner.

Gotta lose a few when everything’s under construction. Ever see a worksite without sawdust? Forget about it.

What I can’t forget about is the madness of that shitty feeling that comes from pairing Lagers with waffles. How strange for it to mix with symphonies and the crisp cold magic of space dotted with shreiking angels of flame.

Angels that build while molasses drips.

Like the tears from her eyes after I’d given her a good fucking and she was afraid that I’d leave.

No it wasn’t the poems, the wit, or the dinners. Just a good shag. That’s what made her pine. I don’t grudge her for it. I’m a lousy lay most times. But then so was she. So I guess we’ll call it even.

Cause we’re both under construction. We just built in different directions. Maybe some day the buildin wind will blow bits of our ashes into the same lighthouse. And our ghosts can teach the birches to bear the ice just as beautifully as they always have.

Cause freezing over is the same as thawing out.

It’s just under construction.

I’ve been up since three. There’s everything right here. In waves that undulate like the corporately clean curtain.

Under construction since three in the AM.

Till sleeping adds some temporary walls so I can’t see inside the house again.

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