Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Conspiracy
I finally posted a song on purevolume.com. Click on the link below the weird graphic in the upper right of the page to reach it. Love to all.
How I Learned to Stop Worrying
I've been trying to put together a bit of the past for everyone to enjoy. It mainly starts with Sylvia.
She grew up in Grosvenor Dale with her mom, Lisa, and an array of would-be surrogate fathers. One result of her awkward home life was the amount of time she spent outside, trodding through the woods. Her first camera was the gift of one of her mother's suitors. In retrospect, I wonder if he bought it to get her out of the house even more. Even so, Sylvia was homeschooled too, and didn't know many of the local kids. When we first met, she talked about a girl that lived down the road from her, although I've never met her and I'm not sure she ever existed.
Our moms are got to talking when buying the same thing at an art supply store, or, that's how they tell it. Lisa brought Sylvia over when we were about ten. I remember watching City of Lost Children with her and talking about various secret places in the woods, and various theories on some unexplained phenomenae: a mound in the middle of the woods was a deer-fort; the field surrounded by forest was an alien landing site; the foundation of a mill on a stream was a man-made waterfall and likely installed to help the people of the area sleep better at night to the soothing sounds of... falling water. It was a couple years before we got to hang out again, and only after we insisted to our parents to do so.
There were a lot of good times. She was really sort of crazy back then. I wasn't sure I liked that, but I was really impressed with how she knew a lot of interesting stories and would sing songs to herself at the right moments. I learned later that a lot of her stories were invented, the product of a combination of reading a lot and having a boring life in comparison to what she read. We'd go hang out in the loft of my dad's work shed a lot, sometimes watching him work and sometimes Sylvia would tell him a story about Jacques Cousteau. Dad would correct her on some mundane detail and Sylvia would pretend to write it down.
Our parents never said we weren't allowed to date, but on my thirteenth birthday I was sort of told that Sylvia was a nice girl and was welcome any time, but that it would be nice if they got to see her when she was over, instead of disappearing as we often did. It was kind of too late at that point.
The last couple of years our moms have spent more time together than ever, although Sylvia didn't always come along. Lisa has been "taking a break from men" for awhile, and my dad was working a lot at the power plant. When she did come over, sometimes it was awkward for the two of us, because we felt guilty about going off to the woods or the loft because now, whether or not we were making out (i think once we didn't), we'd likely get some parental sass. I still call Sylvia my girlfriend, though, and only now do my parents acknowledge our love's legitimacy. Maybe just to try to make me feel better.
The last six months were really great. We watched Life Aquatic and Royal Tenenbaums about a million times, taking notes with Sylvia crying every time at the end of the former. I finally convinced her to sing with me on some songs, and begged her to play some violin to my guitar, but she was still too shy about it. I don't know...
The first day she was sick we were supposed to hang out. I thought she was sort of blowing me off, but when I saw her I knew she wasn't pretending.
The rest of the stuff I don't think I can really talk about right now. For a couple weeks I didn't really do anything. It was a like a fucked up nightmare trying to do anything - how do you replace or even pretend to heal after such a perfect girl comes around?
Today has been difficult. I woke up thinking about the ending of Science of Sleep, and Sylvia, and how fucked up it all has been.
She grew up in Grosvenor Dale with her mom, Lisa, and an array of would-be surrogate fathers. One result of her awkward home life was the amount of time she spent outside, trodding through the woods. Her first camera was the gift of one of her mother's suitors. In retrospect, I wonder if he bought it to get her out of the house even more. Even so, Sylvia was homeschooled too, and didn't know many of the local kids. When we first met, she talked about a girl that lived down the road from her, although I've never met her and I'm not sure she ever existed.
Our moms are got to talking when buying the same thing at an art supply store, or, that's how they tell it. Lisa brought Sylvia over when we were about ten. I remember watching City of Lost Children with her and talking about various secret places in the woods, and various theories on some unexplained phenomenae: a mound in the middle of the woods was a deer-fort; the field surrounded by forest was an alien landing site; the foundation of a mill on a stream was a man-made waterfall and likely installed to help the people of the area sleep better at night to the soothing sounds of... falling water. It was a couple years before we got to hang out again, and only after we insisted to our parents to do so.
There were a lot of good times. She was really sort of crazy back then. I wasn't sure I liked that, but I was really impressed with how she knew a lot of interesting stories and would sing songs to herself at the right moments. I learned later that a lot of her stories were invented, the product of a combination of reading a lot and having a boring life in comparison to what she read. We'd go hang out in the loft of my dad's work shed a lot, sometimes watching him work and sometimes Sylvia would tell him a story about Jacques Cousteau. Dad would correct her on some mundane detail and Sylvia would pretend to write it down.
Our parents never said we weren't allowed to date, but on my thirteenth birthday I was sort of told that Sylvia was a nice girl and was welcome any time, but that it would be nice if they got to see her when she was over, instead of disappearing as we often did. It was kind of too late at that point.
The last couple of years our moms have spent more time together than ever, although Sylvia didn't always come along. Lisa has been "taking a break from men" for awhile, and my dad was working a lot at the power plant. When she did come over, sometimes it was awkward for the two of us, because we felt guilty about going off to the woods or the loft because now, whether or not we were making out (i think once we didn't), we'd likely get some parental sass. I still call Sylvia my girlfriend, though, and only now do my parents acknowledge our love's legitimacy. Maybe just to try to make me feel better.
The last six months were really great. We watched Life Aquatic and Royal Tenenbaums about a million times, taking notes with Sylvia crying every time at the end of the former. I finally convinced her to sing with me on some songs, and begged her to play some violin to my guitar, but she was still too shy about it. I don't know...
The first day she was sick we were supposed to hang out. I thought she was sort of blowing me off, but when I saw her I knew she wasn't pretending.
The rest of the stuff I don't think I can really talk about right now. For a couple weeks I didn't really do anything. It was a like a fucked up nightmare trying to do anything - how do you replace or even pretend to heal after such a perfect girl comes around?
Today has been difficult. I woke up thinking about the ending of Science of Sleep, and Sylvia, and how fucked up it all has been.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Showboating and Alarmism
It's been nearly a week since my last confession. Nothing has changed. I received a visit from my good friend ben recently, and it did help a bit. I spent some time above water, and was able to do a full recharge of the sub.
There was a moment, when we were floating on the lake and enjoying cigarettes at night, when it felt like it was almost summer. After more than a decade of training to feel the seasons and the rhythms of schooling - which even I was party to - that first twinge of summer is about the most envigorating sensation I can think of. Looking back a year is sort of bewildering, and thinking forward a year is perplexing but exciting. Then I ran out of gerunds.
The longest topic of discussion was the idle quest for information that we both share. Neither of us feel isolated in the world, despite our relative un-worldliness (or otherworldliness?) to certain city-folk, mainly because of a certain general philosophy about learning. It might be mostly trivia, but it annexes our studies in music and art and culture to a way that gives the most modern perspective our limited minds can arrive at. Knowing that the proper name for Webster Lake, the Morale's headquarters, is the longest place name in the US somehow feels relevant when studying all of these artsy type things. There is no such thing as artistic truth... just pursuit. I'm sure that's been said before, but not from a submarine.
I never wrote about Borges, and I should've. My favourite story can be found here. The narrator tries to find the source of an encyclopaedia article about a country that doesn't exist, but, in telling the story, references books that don't exist... There is more to the story, but I don't want to spoil it for anyone, not that it matters much. The idea kind of creeps me out, like, it sort of makes me scared to be an Atheist for some reason. It just reeks of death. Apparently the story is supposed to have some political implications. I'm no literary analysis major, nor do I presume I will ever become, but I think Borges is more the natural extension of Camus or Kafka than anything else... I feel the same way about living and accepting my reality when I read him as I do they. Which is to say, I sort of want to die.
Anyway, I realised I know nothing about building web pages, so Sylvia's memorial page may be slowed down a bit. I also starting reading Brothers Karamazov. It's long, and I'm pretty sure I'm missing something, but Fyodr is the biggest asshole in history, even though he has some interesting arguments.
One good thing: I created a purevolume account to post some music. I'll have to make a string of them, because you can only have four songs per account, and the compression will likely suck balls. I need to shop around for a good music site to post. Fuck Myspace, naturally.
There was a moment, when we were floating on the lake and enjoying cigarettes at night, when it felt like it was almost summer. After more than a decade of training to feel the seasons and the rhythms of schooling - which even I was party to - that first twinge of summer is about the most envigorating sensation I can think of. Looking back a year is sort of bewildering, and thinking forward a year is perplexing but exciting. Then I ran out of gerunds.
The longest topic of discussion was the idle quest for information that we both share. Neither of us feel isolated in the world, despite our relative un-worldliness (or otherworldliness?) to certain city-folk, mainly because of a certain general philosophy about learning. It might be mostly trivia, but it annexes our studies in music and art and culture to a way that gives the most modern perspective our limited minds can arrive at. Knowing that the proper name for Webster Lake, the Morale's headquarters, is the longest place name in the US somehow feels relevant when studying all of these artsy type things. There is no such thing as artistic truth... just pursuit. I'm sure that's been said before, but not from a submarine.
I never wrote about Borges, and I should've. My favourite story can be found here. The narrator tries to find the source of an encyclopaedia article about a country that doesn't exist, but, in telling the story, references books that don't exist... There is more to the story, but I don't want to spoil it for anyone, not that it matters much. The idea kind of creeps me out, like, it sort of makes me scared to be an Atheist for some reason. It just reeks of death. Apparently the story is supposed to have some political implications. I'm no literary analysis major, nor do I presume I will ever become, but I think Borges is more the natural extension of Camus or Kafka than anything else... I feel the same way about living and accepting my reality when I read him as I do they. Which is to say, I sort of want to die.
Anyway, I realised I know nothing about building web pages, so Sylvia's memorial page may be slowed down a bit. I also starting reading Brothers Karamazov. It's long, and I'm pretty sure I'm missing something, but Fyodr is the biggest asshole in history, even though he has some interesting arguments.
One good thing: I created a purevolume account to post some music. I'll have to make a string of them, because you can only have four songs per account, and the compression will likely suck balls. I need to shop around for a good music site to post. Fuck Myspace, naturally.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Pussyfooting
Well this is fucking great. After 36 hours of having no contact with human life (internet down) I'm finally finished with my first and second electronic songs. It's sunny out today, which is nice, because I actually am awake to get some sunshine through the portholes. Natural light is healing, my dad always says. I think he's an idiot most of the time, but it's fucking great to see sunlight.
I had some really fucked up dreams the last couple nights/days. One of them involved living in a series of tunnels where there was no law, no adults, just kids - some of them in their 20s. I don't understand exactly how older kids can act so childish after being in college or whatever. I don't want to be one of them. In the tunnels I just sort of just explored and had wild sex with my dead girlfriend (who was alive in the dream) and random other girls, all clad with post-apocalyptic garb. Needless to say I enjoyed that one a lot.
I don't even know if I can finish doing this stupid blog, or this whole isolationist bit... The last two days have been really bad. I sort of had a panic attack and thought that there was no air coming into the sub or maybe that the CO2 wasn't being filtered. I freaked out and sort of cracked my head against a pipe. This whole exercise is fucking with my head. I'm trying to be productive and try to make something for Sylvia, but I think I may just be causing some real damage. But I don't even care. Part of me wants to die down here. Yes, part of me must die down here.
Songs posted whenver I figure out how to upload them without using shitty Myspace.
I had some really fucked up dreams the last couple nights/days. One of them involved living in a series of tunnels where there was no law, no adults, just kids - some of them in their 20s. I don't understand exactly how older kids can act so childish after being in college or whatever. I don't want to be one of them. In the tunnels I just sort of just explored and had wild sex with my dead girlfriend (who was alive in the dream) and random other girls, all clad with post-apocalyptic garb. Needless to say I enjoyed that one a lot.
I don't even know if I can finish doing this stupid blog, or this whole isolationist bit... The last two days have been really bad. I sort of had a panic attack and thought that there was no air coming into the sub or maybe that the CO2 wasn't being filtered. I freaked out and sort of cracked my head against a pipe. This whole exercise is fucking with my head. I'm trying to be productive and try to make something for Sylvia, but I think I may just be causing some real damage. But I don't even care. Part of me wants to die down here. Yes, part of me must die down here.
Songs posted whenver I figure out how to upload them without using shitty Myspace.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
all the ghosts
I just woke up. it's 2:17 in the morning. I ended up filling several sheets of graph paper with some terrible drawings and working a bit on that first electronic piece I mentioned. It's really scary to wake up and have it be "late." I don't have any sort of schedule, so it shouldn't matter, but I can't help feel that I'm losing touch with things by getting into this really dissociative routine. Victor says I'm playing isolationist, but I didn't even originally think of it that way. It was just too hard to stay at home and let Sylvia's death pin me to my bed, thiking "what next?"
It is really lonely though. It's easy for a few hours to remember what it was like as a child to have a lot of time alone, playing, learning. I retain focus on one task and follow through. Before it was with K'nex. Now it's with computers, books, and music. Music is probably the hardest. It flows the easiest sometimes, but so rarely is that comfort level there when it was like building a ferris wheel on the livingroom floor out of plastic rods.
But that difficulty is more the case with guitar-based music. With electronic music, I have a clean slate. I don't know anything about how to make it, so it's new and exciting. Every 'breakthrough' I make with it has probably been done to death by others, but I don't care - my girlfriend died of rat shit poisoning and I'm in a submarine. And I'm managing to have fun. On ubuweb I found a nice little treat that Sylvia used to talk about. I'm using it for this electronic thing, although I feel like I'm surgically implanting greatness by doing so.
More things I found out today: "The Morale" is a band name out ofMichigan
Tonight, I will take kava and read more Borges.
But that difficulty is more the case with guitar-based music. With electronic music, I have a clean slate. I don't know anything about how to make it, so it's new and exciting. Every 'breakthrough' I make with it has probably been done to death by others, but I don't care - my girlfriend died of rat shit poisoning and I'm in a submarine. And I'm managing to have fun. On ubuweb I found a nice little treat that Sylvia used to talk about. I'm using it for this electronic thing, although I feel like I'm surgically implanting greatness by doing so.
More things I found out today: "The Morale" is a band name out of
The idea of the phrase “Today is Everyday” as having some sort of zen, postmodern significance occurred to me a while back when playing some game with Anton about how some sentences were intrinsically true, but not necessarily obvious upon first reading or listening. Additionally, if today =everyday, there is the connotation that today is the culmination of days past and future, not just that today happens everyday. These days, and moreso with each passing one, today is everyday. It could be that every day we get older and closer to death and that an infinite amount of data is born and dead in a single day, but so much that I could never hope to be aware of it all. The fact that several other sources have used this phrase and possibly created it independently of each other sort of strengthens that idea. I'll have to look more into it... I remember reading about some phenomenon where several people in different places invent or do something at around the same time without having any communication between them.
Tomorrow I will make a list of goals.Tonight, I will take kava and read more Borges.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
I have no beers
My apologies to my adoring readers for not posting again last night. When Lucier finished downloading I logged off to save some energy. It was not quite as spectacular as I imagined, but the slowness of the development made it really interesting. I remember hearing some Steve Reich and thinking of it the same way - at first I thought it was silly, but became entranced by it. I passed out without doing any recording, but did a lot of thinking instead.
I realised that today was supposed to be St. Patrick's day, and I have no beers. I thought about Sylvia, and how it's been over a month since the funeral. I came down here as much because of her as anything else, but I haven't really faced it yet. There was no preparation time. She had Hantavirus and no one knew it until it was too late. It's such a ridiculous disease. I'm guessing she got it at the Ramtail factory a few towns over in Rhode Island. She went to get some pictures and probably went into some abandoned building that was contaminated.... that was sort of her thing.
I also realise that this is the first time I've mentioned that Sylvia is dead on this blog. I guess the people that know me already know, and those that don't probably don't care. It's a little dramatic to feel like proclaiming to the world that some one they didn't know died... I just wish that more people got to know her. She was even more shy than me, and most of her friends were mainly mine... I got some of her digital photography and I'm thinking about trying to put together a sort of memorial page to her. She was never all that into online stuff - she was more a book person, but I doubt I could have the discipline to write a book for her. I can barely finish a blog without getting distracted. She would go off into the woods and read for hours at a time or take pictures...
Anyway, I think I may have finished a song this morning, or I'm at least pretty close. I dont' know how the hell I'm gonna upload it, but I'll figure something out. Also, today I started reading one of Sylvia's books, a short story compilation from Jorge Luis Borges. The guy is crazy, but really fascinating. I only got through the introduction so far, but I'm kind of stoked for it. Also, word to Anton. I'm glad things are looking up for you. Come down on the Morale! Bring some Nag Champa or something if you do, though... I think it's starting to smell kinda weird.
I realised that today was supposed to be St. Patrick's day, and I have no beers. I thought about Sylvia, and how it's been over a month since the funeral. I came down here as much because of her as anything else, but I haven't really faced it yet. There was no preparation time. She had Hantavirus and no one knew it until it was too late. It's such a ridiculous disease. I'm guessing she got it at the Ramtail factory a few towns over in Rhode Island. She went to get some pictures and probably went into some abandoned building that was contaminated.... that was sort of her thing.
I also realise that this is the first time I've mentioned that Sylvia is dead on this blog. I guess the people that know me already know, and those that don't probably don't care. It's a little dramatic to feel like proclaiming to the world that some one they didn't know died... I just wish that more people got to know her. She was even more shy than me, and most of her friends were mainly mine... I got some of her digital photography and I'm thinking about trying to put together a sort of memorial page to her. She was never all that into online stuff - she was more a book person, but I doubt I could have the discipline to write a book for her. I can barely finish a blog without getting distracted. She would go off into the woods and read for hours at a time or take pictures...
Anyway, I think I may have finished a song this morning, or I'm at least pretty close. I dont' know how the hell I'm gonna upload it, but I'll figure something out. Also, today I started reading one of Sylvia's books, a short story compilation from Jorge Luis Borges. The guy is crazy, but really fascinating. I only got through the introduction so far, but I'm kind of stoked for it. Also, word to Anton. I'm glad things are looking up for you. Come down on the Morale! Bring some Nag Champa or something if you do, though... I think it's starting to smell kinda weird.
Friday, March 16, 2007
It's really quiet in here. I laid on the floor for a few hours today and just listened to the sound of the room, sort of thinking. Kept trying to pick up the guitar and say something, but I don't know if I have it in me. Anyway, the guitar sounds like garbage in this place. I tried putting up some of my blankets on the walls which wasn't as bad, but acoustics won't make a bad song sound good. Like Mick says, "you can't polish a turd."
Part of the problem must be that so much is riding on whatever I do down here. It doesn't really matter so much in the grand scheme of things, but I really don't see what the purpose of living would be if I can't even write a song when I want to. I have an idea, though. On the floor i decided I would just record the sound of the room and use that as an instrument. When I looked up the idea, I found that a lot of classical composers had used similar ideas in the 60s and early 70s. I linked my favourite one, from Alvin Lucier. I'm still waiting for the mp3 from ubuweb to download, but I love the idea. I'll probably post again when it finishes.
The idea got me thinking I should take a stab at is electronic music. I never really tried before, and I used to think it was kind of trite. Now it seems like a pretty cool concept. Traditionalism in general is sort of a hindrance. I'm not sure I want to be the fucking guy with the guitar forever... there are plenty of them already, and if John Mayer is the most famous one at the moment, I might just give it up and learn violin or something. The fact is that beautiful music can be anything. Sylvia was really good at showing me that. No matter how hard-headed I was about hating something she liked, she would just play it over and over again... pretty soon I could tell why she thought it was good. Bands I have to thank Sylvia for: The Magnetic Fields, At the Drive-In, Sleater-Kinney, and Hank Williams, among others.
I started making an electronic song, but I'm not sure when it'll be done. I've been really trying to dig into Protools and start sampling some things. Eventually I'll add some guitar but I don't really know what to play yet...
Still like another half hour before Alvin Lucier is finished downloading. Oh yeah, and I've been going crazy with Wikipedia, so forgive me for all the links going to Wiki. People don't just look shit up like they should. If you're reading something and you don't know what the hell the person is talking about, your ass should be looking it up. But I'm weird and look things up for fun...
From the murky depths of boredom,
Michel
Part of the problem must be that so much is riding on whatever I do down here. It doesn't really matter so much in the grand scheme of things, but I really don't see what the purpose of living would be if I can't even write a song when I want to. I have an idea, though. On the floor i decided I would just record the sound of the room and use that as an instrument. When I looked up the idea, I found that a lot of classical composers had used similar ideas in the 60s and early 70s. I linked my favourite one, from Alvin Lucier. I'm still waiting for the mp3 from ubuweb to download, but I love the idea. I'll probably post again when it finishes.
The idea got me thinking I should take a stab at is electronic music. I never really tried before, and I used to think it was kind of trite. Now it seems like a pretty cool concept. Traditionalism in general is sort of a hindrance. I'm not sure I want to be the fucking guy with the guitar forever... there are plenty of them already, and if John Mayer is the most famous one at the moment, I might just give it up and learn violin or something. The fact is that beautiful music can be anything. Sylvia was really good at showing me that. No matter how hard-headed I was about hating something she liked, she would just play it over and over again... pretty soon I could tell why she thought it was good. Bands I have to thank Sylvia for: The Magnetic Fields, At the Drive-In, Sleater-Kinney, and Hank Williams, among others.
I started making an electronic song, but I'm not sure when it'll be done. I've been really trying to dig into Protools and start sampling some things. Eventually I'll add some guitar but I don't really know what to play yet...
Still like another half hour before Alvin Lucier is finished downloading. Oh yeah, and I've been going crazy with Wikipedia, so forgive me for all the links going to Wiki. People don't just look shit up like they should. If you're reading something and you don't know what the hell the person is talking about, your ass should be looking it up. But I'm weird and look things up for fun...
From the murky depths of boredom,
Michel
Thursday, March 15, 2007
The Ides of March
It's now tomorrow, but today is every day. Yesterday, only a couple hours ago, was March 15th, or the Ides of March. I made it through, though. I found out that in 2001 March 16th was the only day in which no one committed suicide in the UK between 1993 and 2002. I hope to fare as well as those British citizens of 2001 on this March 16th, but here's little to stick around for.
I don't like to be so dramatic, but it's difficult not to. I don't even know why I decided to do this. I've been underwater now for a few days trying to collect my thoughts but instead I keep thinking that it's all just pointless. Just fucking writing about things I don't really understand is just stupid, but I don't know what else to do. I've tried making music, but nothing really feels good enough. There's not much to do on the sub. I just have some books and CDs things to go through. All I've accomplished is getting really fucking good at Tetris and waiting for things to load online. My parents think I'm crazy... it's not that that's new or anything. I'm just glad my dad let me use his sub for awhile. He spent probably more hours working on the fucking thing than with me. He he. Not that I'm bitter or anything. He always promised to let me take the Morale out on my own, but it took him almost a month to finally make good on it and not bring up some shit about responsibility and stuff - but I'm done with highschool now and I'm not even 17 yet. All my friends that weren't homeschooled hated highschool or just dropped out. It's even more bullshit. More than just hiding out in a lake and fucking breaking down and making a blog for no one to read.
It's so vain to think that people want to spend their time reading your ideas, whether or not you have a publishing deal or not... I don't know how famous people can even live with themselves. I mean, people actually listen Ann Coulter, though, so I guess people are dumb enough to waste their time on other people's ideas. How presumptuous of me to think that some one will read this - or even think about it.
I dunno. I'm starting to get pretty tired and really sick of waiting for shit to load on this thing. Best to just power down. Maybe I'll write more later.
I don't like to be so dramatic, but it's difficult not to. I don't even know why I decided to do this. I've been underwater now for a few days trying to collect my thoughts but instead I keep thinking that it's all just pointless. Just fucking writing about things I don't really understand is just stupid, but I don't know what else to do. I've tried making music, but nothing really feels good enough. There's not much to do on the sub. I just have some books and CDs things to go through. All I've accomplished is getting really fucking good at Tetris and waiting for things to load online. My parents think I'm crazy... it's not that that's new or anything. I'm just glad my dad let me use his sub for awhile. He spent probably more hours working on the fucking thing than with me. He he. Not that I'm bitter or anything. He always promised to let me take the Morale out on my own, but it took him almost a month to finally make good on it and not bring up some shit about responsibility and stuff - but I'm done with highschool now and I'm not even 17 yet. All my friends that weren't homeschooled hated highschool or just dropped out. It's even more bullshit. More than just hiding out in a lake and fucking breaking down and making a blog for no one to read.
It's so vain to think that people want to spend their time reading your ideas, whether or not you have a publishing deal or not... I don't know how famous people can even live with themselves. I mean, people actually listen Ann Coulter, though, so I guess people are dumb enough to waste their time on other people's ideas. How presumptuous of me to think that some one will read this - or even think about it.
I dunno. I'm starting to get pretty tired and really sick of waiting for shit to load on this thing. Best to just power down. Maybe I'll write more later.
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