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chapter one is finished!

The end of chapter one of UndiaGnosed is near. So near you could click and be right there.


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That took a long time

So it took a little longer than I meant for it to but here is another section of the autobiography that will never end:

undia.gnosed.net/2012/02/22/chapter-one-point-oh-three/


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undiagnosed chapter one point oh two five

My extended holidays over, I finally posted another installment of UnDiaGnosed chapter one. Go read!


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Hey dreamwidth/lj! I wrote a blog post:

Why do men tell me things?


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Occupied

Here's a link to a humble new blog:

refugenik@wordpress

Hi! I've been busy and then I got sick and now I am trying to be busy again. I still read you all but hardly have time to think about replies. Life calls; I must answer.


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written on the internet

I have a limited time left before our internet gives out for the day, but I wanted to point out to any who still read me over here that I have begun releasing my autobiography online! It's exciting! I think.

Anyway, you can read the first 1400 words (of tens of thousands..) at undia.gnosed.net.

The extra dot is important.


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killing you softly

What defense against the apprehension of loss is at work in the blithe way in which we accept deaths caused by military means with a shrug or with self-righteousness or with clear vindictiveness? To what extent have Arab peoples, predominantly practitioners of Islam, fallen outside the "human" as it has been naturalized in its "Western" mold by the contemporary workings of humanism? ... After all, if someone is lost, and that person is not someone, then what and where is the loss, and how does mourning take place?
... If violence is done to those who are unreal, then, from the perspective of violence, it fails to injure or negate those lives since those lives are already negated. But they have a strange way of remaining animated and so must be negated again (and again). ...Violence renews itself in the face of the apparent inexhaustibility of its object.
Judith Butler, Precarious Life 32-33


Today being the day it is I decided that rather than participate in the public spectacle we seem intent on creating out of our inability to mourn whatever it was that we in the US think we lost ten years ago--although we may well have never had it to begin with --rather than go along with the ruse of our fallen, long-mythologized invulnerability to attack or even decay, that I was going to re-read Judith's Precarious Life, since in it she addresses violence and mourning in direct response to the war that we imagine only began in 2001. I wanted to try to understand what it was exactly in our fetishization of the images of destruction that I find so frustrating to deal with, beyond even practical and political concerns over the extent to which we seem to be willing to give up every last shred of dignity and "freedom" (were we "free" before?), if it will help us to reestablish our illusion of security and safety from political violence.
in which we get carried awayCollapse )


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News of the words

Two quick things:

One, my Kickstarter project is gaining momentum thanks to some generous people. Please go have a look, and if you know other people interested in somewhat unusual juxtapositioning of artistic genres, pass the link on to them as well. The more the merrier!

The other is that tomorrow night, Thursday September 1, at least one of my videos will be shown at the open screening at Artists' Television Access on Valencia Street at 21st Street here in San Francisco. I know it is probably too late for you all to buy plane tickets, but in case anyone is not at Burning Man tomorrow, it might be an interesting show considering everyone else will be at Burning Man.

Carry on. I mean, please visit the Kickstarter page, kick in whatever you might find in your heart to contribute, and then carry on. :)


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Got a moment? I need to hear first-hand or reliably-sourced experiences with the TSA full-body scanners and/or patdowns in US airports. I especially need to know what trans people have experienced while wearing "prosthetics" and could specifically use experiences flying out of SFO and SEA.

I am a transsexual man who packs and I am also a survivor of sexual abuse and assault. Given that, just how extensive is the average patdown? I would probably refuse a trip through the scanner if the patdowns themselves were not storied as invasive and traumatic. Either way I feel like I am bound to have a bad experience if I fly, but it is the cheapest way to travel on short notice.

Please share, and keep in mind that what is "no big deal" for a cisgendered or average body may not turn out to be no big deal for a trans person's body. That and I am not sure I would be able to refrain from punching someone if they touched my genitals. PTSD is a funny thing.


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Kickstarter started

I will probably post madly about this for a bit but I have only 44 more days to meet my funding goal so I have to blather about myself as I have never blathered before.

The Kickstarter project for One Last Ditch: the movie.s. has been launched and my first backer has already gotten the party started, so please go have a look and if you cannot spare a few bucks, please notify your most well-off and artistically sympathetic friends and relatives! If you do, I will be grateful until the time comes that I cannot be anything anymore.

The talk at Noisebridge went fine in that I spat everything out even more quickly than I did while practicing so I was able to show the audience most of the last video I produced. I don't really know what people thought of it because I was too nervous even to notice whether anyone clapped when I was done and nobody came up to me afterwards to talk but I do not look like the most approachable person ever and my tendency not to look people in the eye with enthusiasm probably does not help but I do not know how to look people in the eye with enthusiasm and in fact am in some deep primordial way scared to death to engage anyone in so spontaneously a manner as eye contact with strangers might precipitate.

But I did find a number of books in their library that I would like to read. If I still had money there are a couple I would just buy but I cannot afford books especially expensive tech books so it is good that they are right down the street. I probably won't go there today because I want to visit a couple of bookstores that are kind of out of the way from my neighborhood and it might take a bit of time to make the rounds.

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A little after midnight..

I wanted to do this at midnight last night but I fell asleep before the clock made it all the way to 23:59 and slept until sometime after. And then I slept some more.

But so now the One Last Ditch: the movie.s. Kickstarter project has been launched and I am committed to doing the work of publicizing it over the next month and a half even though I have never been particularly good at publicizing anything. Sometimes you have to do things you have no idea how to do.

A shorter URL is this:

tinyurl.com/onelastditch. I thought it would be good to shrink it to something more memorable.

Forty five days! I am excited and somewhat intimidated by what I have set before myself to do. But what the hell, right?


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One Last Ditch: the movie

So I sort of nominated myself to the roster of presenters at next Thursday night's Five Minutes of Fame at Noisebridge. I thought about it briefly, figured I might as well ask if self-promotion was appropriate and apparently that is what it is all about! The nice young man said he couldn't wait to see my presentation but he will have to wait till next week cause that is how long I have to fit everything I want to say about my poetry videos in five minutes.

Let's see. Look at this! Help me buy better equipment!

Oh and buy my book if you think about it.

That's about it really but I suppose I should tell them my name and stuff and when the book was published and maybe I should try to describe my genre of writing but I have no idea where to start with that. Anyone have any ideas? Beyond "poetry, sorta, but prose, sorta, also"?

I got so caught up in the laundry carnival that I forgot to post about going to the Python class there at Noisebridge on Monday night. The class met at my bedtime, but I dragged myself down there anyway. I decided that the best way to deal with the phone question was to leave my phone at home and use the old-fashioned buzzer if the door was not already open. Which it was so I just walked right up and found the stairs.

The class was fine. I would tell you about my question concerning recursion but maybe two people reading me would be interested. Possibly three. Oh ok: I asked if there were any rule of thumb for how best to recognize when recursion was an apt solution to a problem if it was not already obvious that you were doing the same thing over and over and the answer I got was "if it works." The guy leading the class appears to be a pragmatist and one who prefers iterative processes. There was a reason given but I do not recall what it was.

Otherwise nobody bit and nobody stared and almost nobody looked at me like I had three armpits except for one guy but if you are in a space in San Francisco that anyone at all can walk into you must be prepared for anything. So I decided that was his problem and not mine.

Suddenly it seems time for me to go to bed. Well, ok then.


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weigh in

According to my home scale, and allowing for inaccuracies both technical and visual (i.e. I need new glasses so it is hard to see clearly what is happening at my feet), I carried a mass of laundry weighing between 90 and 100 pounds to Fiesta Wash and back early yesterday morning. On foot. In one trip. Fiesta Wash is just over one tenth of a mile away.

No wonder I hate to do laundry.


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clean favorite socks!

I cannot tell you when was the last time I did laundry. I cannot tell you because even if I could trace it back I would be too embarrassed to say but mostly because I cannot trace it back to any particular month or season. I have a hunch about what year it was.

Old friends and circle members know that I own an obscene number of socks and a semi-obscene number of pairs of underwear. When we lived in the warehouse in downtown Seattle in the early 90s I developed the habit of buying new socks and underwear when I ran out because it was such on unwieldy process to do laundry there. There were no laundromats nearby so lisagail and I would have to pack up all the dirty clothes and linens and towels and blankets and put them in the van--which was purchased mainly to haul musical equipment but worked well for lots of other things--and drive to some laundromat hoping that there would be both parking and unoccupied washers and dryers. Somehow it was much worse than walking to the laundromat is now even though I did not have to carry 50 pounds of laundry on my back down the sidewalk in the middle of the night because it back and pwas in the van and we did laundry during the day like more normal folk.

Not that we were normal folk. We were both diurnal back then though.

But so I have a large collection of socks and underwear some of which came with me from Seattle to here in 1996 because for at least twenty years now I've continued to repeatedly buy a couple of new pair in order to put off doing the laundry for a few more days. Unfortunately I cannot afford to do that anymore. I can barely afford to do laundry but one must have clean clothes so oatmeal it will be for the next week. But fortunately I have amassed so much underclothing that I can go for months without doing the wash.

And so I do. Because what is a more hateful chore than going to the laundromat? That is a rhetorical question. Everyone knows there is no more hateful chore than going to the laundromat.

Unless there is one nearby that is open 24 hours a day. Then it is slightly less hateful because there are fewer people in the middle of the night and thus row upon row of washers and dryers wait emptily for your dirty clothes. And the laundromat that is nearby and is open 24 hours also charges less per load between midnight and 6 or 7am. So that is when the nocturnal poor do their laundry. The rest of the time the place is mobbed.

I am back from the laundromat. I have not unpacked my clean clothes because I am too worn out from hauling them down the street and back. I am thinking of weighing them before I unpack them tomorrow just to see what I did manage to burden myself with. I think I pulled every muscle in my back and possibly some of yours but right now ibuprofen is taking care of inflamation so when I wake up in another 12 to 15 hours I will probably then know precisely which muscles I trashed.

The sad thing is that there is actually a bit more laundry to do. I need to wash a bunch of towels and the bathroom rug but there is a limit to how many muscles I am willing to sacrifice at one time. So with some determination perhaps I can really finish the job next time I am awake at night. Because actually, once I was there? Not so bad. I mean I still lost three hours of my life to watching bad tv in between checking to see if I had used enough or too much soap or if anything was dry enough to pull out so that the hot air it was taking up could be released to absorb water from something still damp.

And I think to myself that I will never let it pile this high again. But I know myself pretty well. I might want to go back to lifting weights so that next time I can carry twice as much.


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is there a cup of joe in the house?

Over the weekend I bought a pound of coffee, filling the bag about half full of regular and adding decaf to fill it up. I shook the beans and poured them into the grinder at the store. Once poured I stirred the beans a little and then ground them. After they were done I shook the bag some more and when I got home I shook it again before dispensing some into the container I scoop coffee out of to brew it.

I cannot stay awake. I am beginning to feel a nasty headache coming on. . The coffee tastes weird; I cannot put my finger on why but decaf turns my stomach the way aspirin would turn a junkie's stomach. How could I possibly have not mixed the beans well? Did I unwittingly get two different kinds of decaf? I am going to have some ibuprofen and some black tea. If that does not take care of the headache I will put clothes back on and go up the street to buy a cup of certified fully leaded coffee. I wanted to just chill as I have no energy but I am beginning to suspect there is a very simple explanation for this lack.

What is it with me and loose coffee? This is the second time in a year that I've somehow managed not to get what I wanted in my cup. I'm going to have to start buying prepackaged only I guess. And look very closely at labels.


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what I did not do on my summer vacation

I was going to go to Noisebridge this evening.

I actually shaved my head, trimmed my beard, took a shower, found a clean pair of jeans that sort of fit, and then
yes..?Collapse )


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adventures in One Last Ditch

So I may have mentioned something secret about One Last Ditch depending on where you might be reading this. The secret is not quite ready for public viewing yet but I will tell you what it is: I am going to be trying to raise funds on Kickstarter to finance some better quality shooting for the rest of the videos that I want to make for every single piece in the book.

I submitted my project proposal to Kickstarter and it has been approved, so I will be putting my pitch together in the next couple of weeks and then unleash it on the world. If you especially want to be kept in the know about how it is unfolding, drop me an email and I will add you to the Kickstarter email list.

I am going to be trying to learn how to publicize and network virtually like never before and because I am not the sort to go to gatherings to schmooze I will have to be very creative about finding other ways to find support. Anyone with any ideas that do not include going to parties, do tell.

I think I will try to do a talk during the Five Minutes of Fame series at Noisebridge, but first I have to sort of learn how to hang out there and then submit a talk. I have no idea how many people apply to present each month but only ten are approved so this will be interesting. Thus as you can see I am not averse to addressing largish crowds. What I do not do well is "mingle." If there are other places that might be open to listening to a poet plead for funding and you think I might not have thought of them, I would like to know about them as well. I am comfortable with a mic but not with a cocktail in my hand. It's one of my ironic little personality quirks.

This is sort of scaring me to death at the same time as it is making me excited. I have no idea whether I can succeed but I intend to have a good time trying. It is also an excuse to make another video about the other videos and I am coming to like making videos so, well, wheee!


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lost week

On Monday my sleeping cycle was disrupted by two appointments one of which I needed to be asleep during to make my day and night the right length. It did not matter which one--they were at opposite ends of the day but unfortunately I had to be awake for both of them. I have not gotten my circadian rhythm back on track yet although it is looking like I might be able to rack up a good 12-13 hour sleep later on this morning so maybe I can get reset.

I have been taking shortish naps of three to five hours and then not being able to get back to sleep. Even though I am not drinking more than a cup of coffee every 24 hours I have been having trouble staying asleep for a full complement of rest and so I am up for seven hours then asleep for five then up for eight hours and asleep for three and on it goes in completely irregular chunks.
sleeping and not sleepingCollapse )


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Tiny text take two

So now I am writing my journal entry with a "real" text editor, vim, which is much more useful on the iPod with its limited keyboard. I am hoping that I do not have to come back and put the paragraphs in by hand but I think the line length problem should now cease to be a problem.

I did put on street clothes and leave the house today which is usually a good thing. I have been living on oatmeal with peanut butter punctuated by occasional ice cream indulgences. I may have mentioned already that I have moderated my ice cream intake by becoming obsessed with a single flavor that is often not in stock nearby so either I must walk a mile to Safeway to get it or do without much of the time. Either way works out to my advantage since so often I only get the ice cream if I walk two miles first.

I have an editor and I am going to write with it!Collapse )


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Sick day

So I mentioned in the badly-formatted post that I called in sick to my life today and that truly is what I did except there was no phone involved and I did not have to deal with a skeptical voice at the other end: "you are sick again?"

Back in the day I called in sick about once every two weeks. I worked nine days out of ten which I could barely manage back then when I still was able and willing to dissociate in order to go to work because I thought that was normal although I did have some suspicions that not everyone felt suicidally depressed on Sunday night--every Sunday night.

So on Mondays I stayed homeCollapse )


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Charming

This is me using a command-line client on my
iPod to post simultaneously to DW and LJ. As
counter-intuitive as it might sound to use a
terminal on an iPod there are only two LJ
apps out there and the one that does not
completely suck provided no easy way that I
could find to direct it to DW instead of LJ
which is how I need to do things the way my
crossposting is set up.

For some perverse
reason I want to find out whether there is
any way to get this client to crosspost to
twitter and Facebook because although there
are plenty of apps that do that just fine I
like the idea of posting in four places at
once from the command line.
 
Yes my iPod is
jailbroken. I am using charm which is a
python program and yes you can install a
reasonably late version of python on your
iPhone/iPod if you are up for jailbreaking
it.

Now I want to learn iOS programming so
I can try to write a GUI DW client. But for
now this will have to be the extent of my
microcomputing DW/LJ capabilities.
 
Hi. Today I called in sick to my life and
decided to play with computers all day. The
only annoying thing is that I keep getting
hungry and so have find something to eat. I
like food but sometimes it is just a
distraction.


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video shoestring

I finished another video last night. It occurs to me that I should just embed them here rather than make you go clicking around to see them, so under the cut are the last three. The two before can also be found at onelastditch.com but they are slightly less interesting. If you want just to see the very last one, go directly to the last entry there.

words pictures musicCollapse )
My poor aging computer crashed about five or six times during the production of the last video, taking the whole project file with it once. Nothing particularly fancy about what I was doing but I think weird things are happening on the motherboard. Anyone wishing to donate funds toward a new video editing machine please feel free to paypal any amount to eriktrips@gmail.com.

Enough for cup of Philz is also appreciated. :)


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not the Friday we were expecting

So yesterday I was doing something interesting and productive--studying Objective-C perhaps--and as these things often happen, I slowly became aware of the sounds of helicopters and sirens in our general vicinity here in the Mission and because it is the Mission I mostly shrugged but out of idle curiosity dialed in the police radio app I have on my iPod and although it was not broadcasting a particularly clear signal I managed to pick out the words "fire near Twentieth and South Van Ness" and I thought well that's kind of close so it might be worth finding a source of more specific information but they kept repeating "South Van Ness" so I was not too worried yet.

So I googled fire mission district breaking and I got back links about a fire currently being fought in the Mission and I clicked on one and it said the fire was on Capp Street which is the street between us and Van Ness so I am hoping it was across the street or at least across the intersection but after a moment of noting that odd addresses are on the East side of North-South streets and that this was an even numbered address I googled the number and saw that it was basically across the alley and about two doors north of us so I thought oh shit!
Read more...Collapse )


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Simon Baron-Cohen is at it again

Giving me something to write about but I am too tired to do it now. And too tired to find the original study but I doubt it is less wrong than this blurb:

Female-to-male transsexuals could be more autistic:


"If such girls do believe they have a boy’s mind in a girl’s body, their higher than average number of autistic traits may also mean they hold their beliefs very strongly, and pursue them to the logical conclusion: opting for sex reassignment surgery in adulthood.”


It's just symptomatic of the assumptions that appear to drive the study in what little is said about it on that page.


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video killed the..

I am not sure how to finish that phrase in a way that makes sense in this context: I have released my second poetry video--not to be confused with the videos in which I just read to the camera in my laptop.

Here is an embed from YouTube in case you do not want to make the trek over to onelastditch.com to watch it over there:



Hope you like it or would at least let it sit with you at lunch if it had nowhere else to go.


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I did not really have anything to report

I have become diurnal this week. Not at all on purpose and in fact I get annoyed when a mere 14 hours have gone by since I awoke and I am too tired to do anything but stare into space and slowly lose consciousness to wake up in some of the strangest places including on the toilet more than once.

I don't exactly have narcolepsy but sometimes my body pretends that it does. The last time I woke up on the toilet I had been there, asleep, for four hours. I did not recall getting up out of my desk/sleeping chair and going into the bathroom at all and I certainly did not remember closing my eyes thinking "this will only be a second" which is how I usually fall asleep in places where I was not planning on sleeping.

Last night I slept eleven hours. That should have been enough to get me a good ways into the wee hours this morning but I do not think I will make it. Maybe if I went into the kitchen and did jumping jacks I would stay awake a little longer but that seems like a rude thing to do to the downstairs neighbors although they rarely seem to be home. I never hear them. I don't think they actually live there: perhaps it is just a big expensive post office box without a "box" in the address.

I am kind of a dork. I wrote to Rae Armantrout to thank her for telling Lyn that she liked my book. I could not think of what else to say but I wanted to acknowledge her attention in some way so I told her I was making poetry videos and she was invited to look. This means I need to get working on the second one. I have ideas but for some reason it is taking longer to pull the images together. I have more than I need already on my hard drive. I don't really think I have anything I must shoot first although I might want to go make some field recordings with my little stereo condenser mic. I can record stuff to my iPod with it. It is all sorts of geeky cool. I bought it years ago when I was pretending I could support myself.


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The newest clip from One Last Ditch is up at onelastditch.com. It is a little unusual for poetry reading and I think you might like it if you click on over there.

Even if you don't like it, you'll have only wasted a little more than three minutes of your time and I can confidently say that it will add more to your day than taking another quiz. After all, even if you hate it, it will have done something for you.

Do click.


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week in review

Last week at this time I was stressed because the next day I was meeting for dinner a friend whom I had not seen in at least twenty five years and of course that is sufficiently an unpredictable social situation to cause me to freak out slightly but I still went and it turned out so well that I thought all that stress was for naught but you know it was still unpredictable so I am not sure there was anything I could have done to make it less so. Hindsight is quite predictable and so from the two perspectives the event looks very different.

But it was very cool to hang out and I enjoyed talking about these shared memories that we have each been carrying around for almost thirty years some of them but never had a chance to talk about them before and that was kinda neat. This person is a freak in the good way that is in the same general way that all of my closest friends and myself are freaks and it was good to reflect on the fact of our survival for all this time. Not everyone has been able to do that and of course it is impossible to tell when we will become no longer capable of it but for the time being we are still around and sometimes it is made clear what sort of miracle that is.

Then what happened. The usual unusual sleeping routine for another seven of your days and five of mine. I am considering publishing my autobiography online in a form that is not simply downloadable but that creates a place on the web to go and look at it. I do not know if I want to get fancy with it quite yet because if I do this I am first going to put it up a section at a time. Just doing that could easily take a year or more.

But as more and more of it appears online I think maybe it would be interesting to come up with a way of navigating it that is consistent with the medium as well as the general shape of the narrative. Part of this might depend on whether I can successfully get my own server up and running. It is much harder these days because there are so many people out there that want access to your machine for nefarious ends that security itself is a project for specialists and since I cannot afford to pay specialists I have to become a specialist in every technology I try to deploy. Or at least I have to become marginally competent. I can run a webserver on my home network but it is a different proposition entirely to open it up to the whole world.

I also want to write songs and on Thursday night I saw with another good friend the very first film ever to make me want to make a film of my own. There are not enough lifetimes available!

In the meantime though, I am going to continue to beg people to go and watch me read my book on video at onelastditch.com. I put up the second video in the middle of the day Saturday. I am thinking, because of what I saw on Thursday, that I should do something with the visual end of this that is more than just my head in front of the camera, reading. Not sure exactly what but I have some ideas. Question is can I make them into something worth looking at. Well if not there will still be the reading itself going on. You all can always look away.


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Video reading number two

Managed to record and edit this in less than two hours. iMovie is beginning to make marginally more sense.

Erik reads "ode, continued" and "siege at times" live and in person or in a little box on your screen rather.


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I made a blog post about home because it wouldn't all fit as a comment on [personal profile] tim's poll on the same subject.


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Tags:

minutes overtime, exurb

After struggling for a couple of days with iMovie '09's many needless changes from its earlier iteration I managed to produce a video of myself reading the first two pieces from One Last Ditch just moments ago.

Actually I finished it a couple of hours ago but then I took a nap while it uploaded. I did not plan on taking the nap; it just happened. Sometimes that is how it goes.

In any case, you can now go watch and listen if you wish! Try not to laugh at the funny-looking man. Unless you really want to.


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This journal is brought to you by

I am going to do this thing here in a second and I hope that it does not get irritating if I do it from time to time but it seems to me that different people are or will be paying attention at different times and even if everyone were paying attention all the time it might or might not happen to be a good time to go download something much less consider buying something and so I thought that it might be a good idea to just mention this from time to time:

You can download my book One Last Ditch for absolutely free if you visit onelastditch.com and click on the download link top left.

It's a pdf of the manuscript so not as fancy as the book but it says pretty much the same thing except for that which is said through cover art and typesetting which might be considerable but I can live with there being two different versions of one book out there.

So that's all. If you have nothing better to do, click!


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I was bored.

Boredom was not simply an unfortunate mood or an annoying state of mind but a crime for which it was necessary to interrogate oneself for the cause hiding somewhere deep inside knowing that it could not make itself invisible in the face of he who had no face but was the eye alone penetrating heedlessly through time and space so as to finalize your conviction for having shown yours here on earth the earth itself revolting and spitting you up as its refuse ready for examination.

A simple bad mood became cosmically significant as though the suffering of millions were somehow made worse by your having dared to suggest that you yourself might be in some sort of pain since that sort of pain was always already your due.

This same demand for absolute responsibility overrules whatever energy I have for finding a practical way to talk myself out of mere boredom because boredom is never a trifling thing as though somehow to be bored were to question the entire authoritative hierarchy in which parents were the divinely appointed guardians of their children and therefore never to be questioned and never to be informed that the life they had made for you was for one reason or another coming up short. I do not recall my boredom being an attempt to place blame but they were swift to point out that it was not only not their fault that I was bored and not god's fault that I was bored but completely my fault and what's more not simply inadmissable but completely outrageous in the most literal sense.

Even if I were the culprit in my own boredom it needn't have taken on such monstrous proportions and I do not understand to this day why my boredom angered them so. Against whom was admission of one's loose ends such a high blaspheme? And against what held so dearly? It sometimes seems to me that to find an answer to this question would unlock more than this particular quandary I find myself in whenever I get bored but also the primary process of whatever it is that keeps my head hung in shame.

Because boredom and shame are very much entangled but I do not know exactly how or why. That I should have been ashamed of myself was not necessarily the retort to I'm bored but in case I thought to mention that I was unhappy usually I was referred to some much unhappier situation that someone somewhere else might find themselves in and was I not ashamed for complaining about mine given how much worse this phantom sufferer had it?

It was almost as though by declaring my boredom I was questioning their right to their own.

I'll give you something to cry about is not so far from I will find something for you to do: both completely silence the expression of pain and make of it an especially shameful act.


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this is a little strange..

The poem has a different ending now, so if you want to see if it makes sense now, please go look!

I have been up for 24 hours and I am not particularly sleepy. Is this to make up for the round-the-clock sleeping last week? Am I becoming bipolar?? Nobody spends thirty-five years with severe unipolar depression and then turns bipolar at almost 50 after over a decade on SSRIs. Do they?? WTH.

I am going to have to keep track of my mood and sleep. I awoke yesterday after 'only' eleven hours of sleep which usually means I will have a nap a little later on but there was no napping and I am still awake the next day at the same time which is not all that unusual but I am starting to wonder how eccentric my circadian rhythm is going to get. I hate having to keep explaining to my psychiatrist that normal is not necessarily my ideal.

Wo0t I get to make up a spreadsheet. That will either put me to sleep or keep me up tweaking formulae.

I guess if it doesn't hurt anything or anyone it doesn't matter as long as I don't go careening off too far in one direction or the other. I've always been a bit of a late-bloomer.

A flight of ideas would be interesting. Mostly I feel a bit wired like if I closed my eyes I would probably drop off but because I get more obsessive as I get more fatigued everything on the internet is infinitely fascinating at this point.

I am hungry. I think oatmeal might be a good thing. Warm, soothing oatmeal.


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You may have noticed, or not, that I have not been writing much. Aside from the poem I put a link to in my last post and to which I will link again (be aware that the poem does deal with sexual assault in a way that I think is fairly plain) I have not managed to spit out many words in the last month or so.

I've been sleeping for one. Sleeping about 18 to 20 hours a day sometimes which if I had been awake for 36 hours beforehand would be understandable but I was doing this about every 24 hours meaning I was sleeping more than Santiago at times. I think I might be on the verge of some energy but I can never be certain about this no matter how optimistic I might feel at any given time.

Not everything has come to a complete halt, though; I have managed to do a couple of things, like prepare an electronic version of One Last Ditch and post it for FREE download yes that's FREE download at onelastditch.com. I was inspired--and convinced--by Cory Doctorow's rationale for offering his books up for free. His basic point is that writers have more to fear from obscurity than from piracy and I rather agree so in an effort to reach as many English-understanding readers as possible, I made a nice .pdf of the manuscript of One Last Ditch. It does not have the full size pretty color and it is not in fancy typesetting, but all the words are there and if you want the cover and the typesetting and my autograph (how could you not??) you can still send me money for the more object-y sort of book version of the book.

But so anyway I realized I had announced this on facebook but not on DW/LJ, and I know that some of you have not decided to encapsulate your days in tiny little snippets but sometimes I forget that people are still over here. I mean, I still read all of you, but my LJ reading list is getting quieter and my DW reading list is not growing very quickly and so it sometimes seems overly quiet in these parts.

I realize of course that if I wanted it to be less quiet I could write more, and I would like to do that if I can stay awake for enough hours to be able to think of something to say. I have also been fighting with language for about three weeks now, finding it very difficult to come up with anything substantial to put into words, so there's been that. I hope that this poem knocked something loose. It was very hard to start writing and I didn't think it was going to go anywhere at first and then I thought it was turning out completely all wrong and then I deleted some parts and rewrote them and I liked it better so I kept working on it and then I could not figure out how to stop. I am not sure it is finished but I am done for the night.

And the last thing is that I started an Infamous Menagerie blog/site over at wordpress now that I have realized how easy it is to set up shop over there in multiple guises. Not much is there yet but I hope to get some mp3s linked later tonight and then in a few days when I can afford the mapping fee infamousmenagerie.com will point to it. So stay tuned. I mean, I will try to keep this part of my internet life appraised of general progress.

I am still freaked out that my cousin dropped dead at 47 a month ago but that is something that is going to take some time. I would like not to lose quite as many important people this coming year please.


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a poem. !

I wrote a poem! I am excited because I have not written much at all in a bit of a little bit of time and I sat down with this knowing only that I wanted to write and four hours later it may or may not be finished but I put it up in my enthusiasm for new work.

I know I could copy and paste it here but it would really really make me just a tiny bit more happy than I currently am if you would click on the link and go read it over there. No I don't make money on clicks and I don't have any ads or anything other than the ubiquitous one for One Last Ditch but I like to think people are looking at my blog even though I hardly ever update it. I keep thinking if I had an audience I would write more but I need to write more to get an audience and then I think about the autobiography I am trying to finish and about getting readings for having published the book I've already published and I think about DW and LJ and all the places I have not written and I get a little overwhelmed and start clicking refresh on various pages over and over until it becomes clear I am the only one there.

But so this is the blog entry with a new and untitled poem that I really really really want you to go read and then comment if you feel moved to do so either here or there or anywhere really.

Oh wait. Actually, if you are not in the mood to see mention of sexual assault, you might want to read this later if and when you are equipped to encounter such things.

Otherwise, I'm going to post something else in about a minute more, so go read! Go!


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another letter

I want to write letters. Dear Michael. Dear Richard. Dear Patti.
I have written the last one already but it is possible to write a thing more than once and sustain the same sort of sense while varying the precise wording each time.
dear youCollapse )


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ice cream and geek distractions

I have tried this once already but it was long enough ago that I forgot how so I am trying this command-line client for posting. I am doing this after having ice cream for dinner because I wanted ice cream for dinner dammit and you know what it actually made me feel better. I still feel better, two hours afterwards so I think the sugar rush must be done by now but maybe also I am starting to feel the effects of nonstop sleeping as in maybe I have actually obtained some energy from all this sleeping I have been doing.

why sleep well why notCollapse )


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It has been written in several places none of which I am inclined to go looking for right this very minute but it should not be hard to find them if you yourself were to go look that we who suspect we are and/or have been classified by someone with the power to so classify people as being on the autism spectrum often feel that we were set down somehow on this planet from some other so strange do the people here seem to us and although I have felt this way for almost as long as I can remember having the imagination to worry about such things as alien parents or my own sketchy origins it is not at all clear to me that this feeling or suspicion or general impression of having been misplaced comes from any single cause because I can think of so many reasons why my particular alleged time and place of birth may have been a misfire on the part of whatever demiurges oversee from where our sense of "self" emerges.

I was told when I was little that I did not look like anyone else in the family even though a little later in life everyone who met us all said that we kids looked like dad and my mom looked all alone or at the very least surrounded by my father's image without anyone looking exactly like her to look back at her and I do not really know whom to believe. Certain circumstances have led to my looking here in my middle years like one of my mother's brothers and unfortunately for her one whom she has good reason to feel less than charitable towards but even so she did used to say I reminded her of him and usually in the same breath she would emphatically express how weird she thought this brother of hers was and so perhaps one can imagine how that struck me having already known that my genetic lottery had resulted in someone barely recognizable as family well as time has passed I have had a harder and harder time of imagining where my place might be in the family of humanity itself or at least those parts of it with which I have come into contact so often seem like such distant cousins that I feel more kinship with those mammals who for the most part have not yet lost their fur in the way that most people have and this might explain my desire since I was very little to be able to grow not only a beard but to sprout hair on my chest and belly and even on my back despite the general consensus of my contemporaries that back hair is disgusting. And yet they stroke their cats daily. Which is it?

I"ve been thinking about this for a little whileCollapse )


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