Lock-out

M smiles.

Or so he thinks, at least.

He smiles in his sleep, for he is dreaming. He dreams of the future, of the past, of things that might have been but never were. Of things that may be, but never will. Images of impossible things. Of cigarettes, of tobacco, of electronic key fobs that are rendered ineffective by airport X-ray machines.

M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) dreams of curly hair that never was; of presidents who light a cigarette, but never smoke.

aide: "Wake up, O esteemed leader. The sun is nigh, and we must make haste."

M: "What have you been smoking for breakfast, you idiot? Whats up with the high-elven-queen speech? Overdose of Tolkien, I guess. And why must we make haste? "

aide: "Forgive me, senor M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him), but, as the elders say,
there is unrest in the forest,
there is trouble in the trees;
for the maples want more sunlight,
and the oaks ignore their pleas.
"

M: "Wow!! you mustve snorted all night. I wonder why I havnet fired you already, you moron. Is my bath ready?"

aide: "Yes, sire, your bath awaits."

M: "Jeez, man. You so need to be in rehab. You're cooking your brain with that shit, I tell you."

M shakes his head and walks to the shower.
...
...

M: "THE WATER'S F***ING FREEZING!! . @#!$@!#, you ass&*!@(#!@*!@#"

Lentil Soup for the monotonous soul

M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) views the distant hills with suspicion as the slant rays of a golden evening cast sinister shadows in the deep folds on the hillside. The summer has parched the grass to a dull dusty color (this is one way of avoiding having to state any color, in case you are color blind) and the hills look like they could do with some water. In these parts, the days are deceptively warm. The heat of afternoon might seem like the precursor to a warm night, but with the melting of the sun comes the chill of a desert night.

M is now bored. The caffeine he had at 7 pm is keeping him wide awake.

M: "Dimwits! Where's the f***ing wine?"

aide: "Terribly sorry sire, but you asked not to buy any."

M: "Oh, did I?."

aide: "Yes, senor M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him). I would have personally bought some now, since you seem to want some, but all the stores are closed for business, sire, being a Sunday night."

M switches off his sixty-inch plasma TV, mountains, slanting light, melting sun, desert and all, and tries to go to sleep with a caffeine buzz so he can wake up bright and early to start the week.

Who ate the ping-pong ball?

M (also known as Dr. T, Praise be unto him) decides to camp for the night, against the suggestions of his whimpering aides. Their horses, however, are happy to rest after a seemingly endless day of trudging with fat losers on their backs.

The aides are scared that the local savages will silently creep in from the darkness and carry them away into the black of the pine forest, to be sacrificed to the pagan Gods. They hurriedly find a few twigs, start a whimpering fire, and start pitching their tent as fast as anyone has tried to pitch a tent before.

M is amused.

Later in the night, as the horses are making love, pale-faced people with dark body paint and little clothing appear from the woods. Their teeth are a dirty shade of brown, their eyes seem to glow yellow, and their body paint is grotesquely mesmerizing. Slithering as quietly as they can, with strings of little bird bones and feline teeth across their necks, they take away M's aides.

Enough of this!

==[The scene: A dark, cavernous hall atop an old stone castle. Little lamps high on the towering walls try feebly to light the dark that seems to be waiting to creep down upon M and his two aides. M sits on his cold throne, low to the ground, and looks out upon the endless hills, wet with the rain from the grey sky that has been weeping for as long as the elders can remember.]==

M: Who's responsible for this mess?! (tm)

Insignificant aide: The mob has lost it, sire. Its a f***ing massacre out there. They are baying for your blood, senor M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) .

M: Who starched their underwear?

Insignificant aide (Ia): I cannot say, sire. Some of them might not have the luxury of wearing any undergarments.

M: Screw them, I say! Gas them all! Bring out the agent orange, my man. And jump to it!

Ia: We are running rather low on agent orange, O esteemed leader. We might be able to gas a few, but most of the scoundrels will run free; or worse still, they might terminate the gasser in their irrational rage.

Whiny aide to Insignificant aide (waIa) : Walmart has a sale on agent orange this week. You can save three dollars on a couple of gallons. More if you return the container.

Ia: We do not have an atomizer.

Spineless aide (Sa): Can we do this another time? I need to pick up the kids after school. My wife's working late this evening.

M: Enough of this nonsense! I will quell the mob myself. Bring me my Blackberry! and...

==[Ia and waIa scramble out into the darkness and return with a Blackberry. M types furiously as the raindrops come heavier and distant thunder seems to blow a cold draft into the room. M blogs on as the clouds darken. He hits the "post" button, and, the skies begin to clear. The patter of the rain on the window panes gives way to the chirping of little birds. The blue burns the gray, and the sun blazes across the grassy hills. The mob finds softer underwear.]==

Fly away to a brighter day

The future looks golden, but only if we can keep our wits about us on the murky path upward. Gold or not, we keep moving on, taking time now and then to remind ourselves how far we have come from depths that were darker than dark.

A walk down Alki

Life is busier suddenly. Its good to finally have real deadlines and expectations that border on being unrealistic.

There is no way I can do justice to all. Some owe my allegiance over all others, till the end of days.

As the mince boils on the stove, and the water is not "separating from the fat" like it should, I see a chaotic pattern: the eternal struggle between now and forever.

Running away is easy. Its all a mindgame. Staying put is just as easy, if you think about it. Happy Cinco De Mayo to you too.

Each betrayal begins with trust
Every man returns to dust

-- Ray Anastasio, Farmhouse

The roads not taken

Do the roads not taken really exist outside of poetry?
Can we reach out into parallel universes?
Can we taste and smell alternative worlds?

Is it worth thinking about them? Do we have enough time to?

Measuring a summer's day
I only finds it slips away to grey
The hours they bring me pain.

-- Jimmy Page, "Tangerine", circa 1970.

Between waiting for the long days to end and living before its too late, a balance needs to obtain. Sooner rather than later.

Work

"Your work does not define your life." I have heard this one many times; it also comes with minor variations. However, work does become a significant part of our lives because it pays the bills and because you take up a job you enjoy doing. Consider this: If you were a rock star or a tennis superstar, your work would be your life. You would want it no other way, and neither would the millions who adore you. If you were a business tycoon or a politician, the same would hold.

So, it seems to me that if you are either rich, or famous, or both, then it you are not only allowed but also encouraged, or should I say, expected, to make your work your life. If not, you have to somehow have a "life" that is completely different from and more important than your "work."

While I do not promote people working 12 hour days or living in their office, I think a good balance is required. If work is not take seriously, maybe its time for a career change. If you think you are overworked, look for another job, or ask yourself if you can live happily with a lower paycheck.

Back when I was in elementary school, it seemed like school was my entire life. There were many Sunday nights (and panic Monday mornings) when I wondered if life can get any worse, since I hadn't done my homework that was assigned. However, I was told school was very important. I did try to stay at home to "spend quality time" with my parents, but I was forced to go to school, even if I were sobbing. Cut to 20 years into the future, and the prevalent attitude is that it is normal to "spend quality time" by taking time off from work.

Why was going to school more important than going to work?

I think people should decide for themselves. If you really love your work, you will spend time there as needed. If you really love your life outside of work, you will spend time there as well.

Chocolate Covered Grahams

Talent . Ive come across the word quite a few times in the recent past. Interestingly, the word is applied only to abilities related to the fine arts such as pencil sketching, painting, dancing, music, singing, and sometimes to sports.

Patience doesn't count as talent, neither does the ability to keep a cool head, to keep things in perspective, to be strong when everyone around you is losing their head.


Everyone is talented. Every single one of us. People work hard for things that are important in their lives. People are very talented.

The Notorious Mr. Wallace and the shining serpent

As Vishwas says: "Life is short, make it long."

Two short lives.

Wealth, drugs, and poetry.

Memories

• What are memories? Do they exist without consciousness?
• What is consciousness?
• What is a blog?
  
• Who is the chief of the Peruvian ministry for tourism?
• What does one fill in line G of IRS form 0603 SS-8PR? Why not anything else? Why?
  

These are fundamental questions that science is yet to answer. As things stand, this should clearly support my stance that science has given us more questions than answers. Science may be a good thing, but I am convinced that it's not good for humanity.

There is one other question I read somewhere online once, and it has haunted me since:

• Who is General Failure and why is he reading my hard disk?