whatever comes to mind

          collective silence
            powerful stuff
          rendering targets
          attention unworthy

              you get it

            yet you still
                do it

           and still wonder
              whence the

               real isness
         requires no individual
      sensing its falling of plenty
          in an allegoric woods
              to make it so

                 in fact
          seems utter denial of
               real isness

                 see it

           see how unnecessary
               "me" is to
               real isness

Ah, Thursday!

“I” was born on a Thursday. Or this body, at any rate. Not really much sure about the “I” part at all, come to think of it. It's said to have occurred to me, but there's some vicious horse/cart-ishness to it.

Great homemade pizza leftovers providing admirable creature comfort – and vitality, no doubt.

<next day>

Rough night, last. I could probably get away with a description of “work-stress-fueled possession”. Not here on the homefront, mind you, but certainly amongst those who'd just be pretending to listen whilst gearing up to bore me with similarly tedious personal details.

<next day>

I've been told today is Saturday.

Not by anyone in particular, mind you. There's this sort of species agreement, you see. Some take it even further than convention to the point of saying today “is” Saturday. Personally, I'm not going to go that far. As far as “I” can tell, what seems to be seen/known keeps turning out to be purely conceptual models of assumed-to-be objects/stuff...

... ack.... doncha ever get tired of words?

And then there's this.. what is it? A nagging.. and agonizing. Somehow it seems others need

<wife appears, role formalities ensue>

to know what I'm thinking...? And yet it can't just be my thinking, but more like MyThinking++: enhanced, produced, mere yarn spun what is believed/hoped to be clever, lotsa stress in that... must couch... present (verb) (which is kind of funny given its distraction from the present (noun)..).

And there will be posting mechanics, a sense of completion, of having put IT out there.

But it never satisfies. One is never even remotely sure others are seeing let alone understanding let alone enjoy it to the point of thinking one a really swell guy, and etc.

So again. And again. And projected infinitum!

Another Wednesday.

Work? Same old.

Weather? Same old.

Wife looking suspiciously my direction because I'm typing instead of sitting looking comatose straight ahead at a show?

Oh my fucking god, same old.

For the goddamned love of what breeds contempt....

But, well, it won't be long. I'll not make it to Vietnam like some. Not find sufficient ongoing satisfaction in mostly blogging like others. The costs of change tend to be in accord with what I want to call “casino odds”, i.e. one step forward, less than one step back.

There's no winning but to no longer need to win.


So, wow!

I've honestly not so much as glanced at since saying so. I can't even remember when that was, and don't even feel compelled to figure it out. It's just, well, I dunno.. a bit of pride over finally attaining unto genuine “throw it over the wall” blogger behavior.


Definitely feeling less mania in the direction of feeling obligated to keep up with

The icing? Turning off the mechanism showing numbers of reads of past posts as well.

So what happens when not getting lost in a screen space that wasn't what one imagined it to be anyway?

Nothing. It's classic “what happens to the space formerly occupied by one's finger in a glass of water after yanking said finger out” territory.

Like.. never.. happened....

Which, of course, begs all kinds of questions about the nature of “happening”.

But, nah... no one ever gets that anyway. Or, okay, maybe here and there... but generally sufficiently incorrectly to feel it appropriate to run from it, pangs of suspicion of how interwoven “it” and one's seeming self, well.. seem....

But, oh! What a day and evening, yesterday! Sun, big time spring temperatures, guitar on the deck in and around wine sips, met another neighbor.

And this, now... writing about it? Same old oblivious-to-the-world-in-hypnotic-screen-stare, mind this side supplying all definition, context, meaning, significance while pretending it's coming from without.. pretending reading-about somehow reasonably approximates actual experience.

Or does it, with so-called “'actual' experience” playing severely overrated burger?

Super fun day with my wife and brother and sister-in-law!

Lots of driving in the country, a “medicinal” purchase, some (locally brewed) beer at a wine bar, snacks at home with an eye to carry-out dinner later, the kind of banter possibly only between brothers, Alexa serving Zeppelin albums.

<next day>

            the day, 'tis new
              and so are you
           said thought refined
             add dash of time
                oh, mind!

Okay, this is the real 1700th.

How is everyone?

I know.. weird question to ask given I'm not going to look for replies.

But I can pretend.

Isn't it all pretend anyway?

Especially the pretending to not be pretending part?

Beautiful day out there. Work is the usual instances of human conceptuality bouncing off each other thang.

Brother and sister-in-law visiting this weekend, commencing tonight! There will a knock down, and there will be a drag out. Keeping up with the much larger and 5.5 years younger brother can be a challenge at this point. And of course the big (temporal sense) brother doesn't want to merely keep up, but to lead!

Put up more shelves and pictures last night. 'Tis an amazing place. And to think I was was somehow down about life, yesterday. But that's what happens when making things personal, i.e. carrying on as though a person one is imagining to “be”.

This is actually my 1699th post here, but I didn't feel like throwing up (!) a filler post just to get the number where I want it. I'm also vaguely recalling not being sure my accounting is absolutely perfectly accurate due to factors whose description would be far longer than it could possibly be worth to anyone else.

(As though any of this could possibly worth anything to anyone else, right?)

Sipping me a brandy-based manhattan (thanks, honey!) after a few errands after work. Brother and sister-in-law visiting this weekend – likely the usual male sibling intake stupidity rivalry. Some of you might know what that means.

So... where was I going to be going with this post...?

Oh, right... I stopped my personally coded means of viewing Gonna try just throwing textural monuments (aka re-presentations) to self over the wall like most everyone else and see if that makes me feel any more like a real blogger. Something about what I'm doing keeps leading to it feeling like my being here constituting a waste of time. I think it's because I either expect or hope for more than this could possibly be.

Now... such is not the case over at Midnight Pub.

Is it simply the possibility of comments (and threads thereof) making the difference?

Hard to say. It also seems rather a different crowd.

Regardless, there being only so much time in the day, well, you know. Or maybe you don't know. What I really meant was “well, you – if you're at least 59 – probably know”, because until you feel Death's proverbial carbon-monoxide-rich breath on your neck, it's practically inconceivable.

Or, at least, it was for me at younger ages. I frittered and wasted the hours in offhand ways to beat the fucking band.

> As of now, the current scenario I am in, error-wise (which > I am not soliciting input in/advice for – just blogging > about it :))


Got it.

<six or seven hours later after much busy>

An oddly misty day that somehow meandered to 52F. A little sun, and a swimsuit might have felt appropriate relative to – if not middle-finger extended toward – the month and a half of seemingly continuous cold and snow.

Much joy in householder tasks along the way.

<next day>

> If a person conducts themselves in a manner that shows > they are a sexual harasser, a bigot, sexist, transphobic, > racist, vote suppressors, domestic violence perp . . . then > for me that person is cancelled.

I find it interesting how closely that tracks to this other arguably puerile fundamentalist point of view:

“But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and
 murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters,
 and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth
 with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.”
                           – Revelation 21:8
Anyone else here want to cast an infinitely self-righteous first stone? ;–)

> Is it “OK” to be alone?

Have you ever heard the phrase “hell is other people”?

Do the math.... ;–)

I'm kind of kidding, and kind of not. As always, plusses and minuses. Tradeoffs.

> My anniversary of being retired. I got my life back. Found > happiness and sadness. Walked a lot. Got lost. Resisted > google maps. Took a lot of pictures. Now I live here. Life > is good. Thanks to all my friends for putting up with > me. Most of all so grateful to be here. Right now. ❤️ > u Vietnam.


Also, my wife's been to-the-point-of insisting I go that direction, so your posts often double as inspiration and micro-nudging for me. It's just I'm so used to working, and agism is at least as real as the other -isms (although of course it can only be truly seen with suffiently old eyes), so it's easy to imagine there being no way back if/when letting go of it at this point. Yes, I realize you're saying there doesn't have to be a going back. But I'm saying inner mental and emotional habits throw more than a little leery trepidation into decision-making mix.

Another aspect is my wife has to work in education for several more years to attain unto some student loan interest forgiveness, and it just wouldn't feel right being retired whilst she's still strapped to employer-supplied electrified water-boarding equipment (in education it comes with a built-in backside-kicking attachment..). So even though she states wishing retiring upon me, I imagine said imbalance could work out bittersweet in practice.