I really am sick of you, unfortunately I can't stand being apart, so I will have to cope with this constant nausea... but don't think for a second that this means that I'll let you live this down, so you better do everything within your power to help me forget that you've made me sick to my stomach, because if you do then maybe, just maybe, I'll let you realize that you've got a diamond in your hands... a god-damned diamond! And don't ever forget that, for if you do, then I'm liable to get fed up with being so sick that I'll walk right out that door... and you'll be left here to wallow in regret thinking 'Jesus, I let the only thing in my life worth a damn slip right through my fingers.' Oh, you doubt that, do ya? Try me, just call the bluff; I bet you won't.

- Love

She has decided to dust the shelves. On the north wall of the cramped room we share together stands a shelving unit attached to the wall with adjustable shelves of varying width. Upon these shelves she keeps memorabilia, knickknacks, and novels that range from Dickens to Oates. The top shelf is dedicated to several small boxes, in which she hides all the memories she wishes to keep for herself. The second shelf is almost a memorial to the life and death of James Dean. The next shelf, one of the narrowest, houses several pictures of myself and her. From that point down rests all the literature that has made a difference in her life.

She took every item off the shelves and wiped them down with a windex soaked rag. She decided to rearrange the shelves since she had already removed what was resting upon them. She attempted various positions of arrangement; from a complex asymmetric layout to one with predictable symmetry. After adjusting and readjusting based upon the whims of her gut, she ended up with the exact arrangement that she was trying to change.

"I don't know, I'm not used to it," she said with a hint of triumph in her voice. I hadn't the heart to disappoint her, "babe, it looks great," I replied with my eyes glued to my book.

She wasn't pleased, but my despondent attitude was in line with expectations; anything more or less would have been met with either doubt or derision accordingly. She was still pleased with the idea of change even if it never materialized.

It's time to lay out my story ideas. I'll approach this like a one man writing group: first expose the ideas, then use my multiple personalities to give several subjective critiques.

A.) Story of the pursuit of perpetual creativity. This becomes an obsession and it costs the protagonist all that he failed to realize was dear to him. He eventually has chance to regain what he lost, and at that time serendipity presents him with the goal of his pursuit. Does he choose his passion or his heart?

Critique 1: This has been done before. Frame this story in a different light. Perhaps from the point of view of an AI entity recalling his beginnings.

Critique 2: The protagonist must be a computer programmer. The "pursuit" cannot be captured under any other character. But avoid the cliche Neo (Ken the Tech) type, otherwise we fly too close to the movie Pi.

Critique 3: The ties to music (harmony), progress, NP complete algorithms, God creation, life, etc... cannot be avoided. It would frustrate the audience. But do not introduce an actual God or an NP complete solution (dues ex machina... cheap trick).

List of characters and personality traits:

Jeff: The name itself means "Stranger". His last name could be "Mersault" in honor of Camus... Or "Lomman, which means "bare one" or "naked" since the stranger is a blank slate (could also bring up a death of a salesmen inference). This person is an ideal narrator, but shouldn't be used as a protagonist or antagonist. More of a Nick from Gatsby.

Keith: His name stands for "wood," which has a relationship with ugliness, decay and being at best a temporary luxury. The symbolism is strongest in science where quantum mechanics (particle physics) is considered wood (opposed to relativity which is marble). A good last name could be: Bhor, Feynman, Hadron, Timber or PLANK. He personifies a mess; a multitude of exceptions to the rule, an old way of thinking, a routine filled with quirks just to maintain a subjective interpretation of the world.

Dustin: His name means stone (like Peter), which is (opposed to Keith... marble versus wood) is associated with refinement. He is hard to challenge (even when wrong). His disposition could present a timelessness. Once again this character has strong physics symbolism, such as relativity; a strong geometric approach, while only varying the dimensions. This can be a dangerous personality, as anything is possible, the object simply reacts to its dimensions. Ideal last names include: Reimann, Alberts, Guth, Marabel or Pillar. He would epitomize order, cleanliness and class.

Scott: This name means "Tattoo" and would be associated with a primal, trashy or criminal type. Most likely from a small town; living on the outskirts (maybe in an unincorporated area) in a trailer, where the land overwhelms the law... OR in the slums where there's too many wolves amongst the sheep. The last names could be: Bush(nell), Casmir (meaning "to destroy peace") or Ervin (meaning "wild boar"). He would represent the uncivilized man... tattoo ~~ a stain.

I have nothing to say.

---

I am starting to feel a creative drought coming on. This may be due to several conditions:

1.) It is winter. The leaves are gone. Most plants are close to death and the environment is almost void of any animals besides man (and they are depressing enough).

2.) I have been saturated with rest. I sleep too much, lay down too often, watch TV, lounge and relax far too frequently. These lethargic tendencies seem to be lulling me into a vegetative stupor.

3.) I am losing confidence in myself because I haven't produced anything grand. I am starting to think that it is beyond my reach.

4.) I am having a difficult time focusing on small individual tasks and large abstract ones. Its as though I can't see the forest or the trees.

5.) Things aren't changing quickly in my life. Change must occur for any progress. The air feels stale.

---

Jesus don't want me for a sun beam

- Nirvana

---

I can't stand phone cards. You spend 5 minutes punching in the ungodly amount of digits to make a 30 second phone call just to save 10 cents.

---

I have developed a strong appreciation for the dirty martini. Of course I would likely enjoy any drink that included an olive impaled upon a little skewer.

---

I think I know why I haven't yet written a novel: I am so concerned about choosing the proper setting, characters, plot and theme that I can't decide on any of the hundreds of ideas I imagine. There is no other excuse. I should just throw such immobilizing caution to the wind and go on instinct. Let the critics determine my fate (they can't be any worse then my own internal critic). This isn't my modus operandi, but I need to learn to adapt.

My dream last night was bazaar. I dreamed that I was a rodent in a community of rodents, and we all worked at scavenging these tiny flecks of gold. We'd gather them and form long ropes of brittle gold. I knew I was able to communicate with the other rodents but refrained from doing so in order to be more productive in my collecting of gold. The master of the rodents was a man in golden armor. From my rodent perspective these armored men were the size of buildings. But even they obeyed another.

The supreme masters were extraordinarily strange organisms that resembled a sweaty neck attached an electronic plate, anchored magnetically to the wall beside the door. This neck-like entity had a single orifice (like a sphincter) expanding and contracting as the neck curled from side to side overseeing the activity. This being communicated telepathically.

For some reason I wasn't susceptible to the mind control and I tried to convince the other rodents to revolt. My efforts failed to recruit any rodents, but it did draw the attention of the man in the golden armor. I wouldn't be silenced and kept pleading the others to join me; instead they just ignored me and continued collecting the flakes of gold.

The guard brought me to the wall and raised me up to the supreme master. I immediately felt the impact of it's presence and had a powerful urge to gather the gold specs strewn about the floor... my next memory was indeed that.

I gathered enough and forged a small rope before I realized I was under mind control. Instead of weaving it into the collective rope I dragged it to a corner and wound it into a golden disc. My intent was to destroy the supreme master, so I whipped the disc toward the wall, but the master used its power to deflect it back towards me... to kill me.

As the disc ricocheted back, time slowed and I was able to move aside, grabbing the disc in the process and using my center of gravity to swing the disc back with even greater speed. The supreme master was still too powerful and was one again able to deflect the golden disc, but not back in my direction. Instead the disc ended up lodged in the head of the man in the golden armor.

I was remorseful that this person died. As the man collapsed to the ground, the supreme master looked at me. I communicated to it that He (? sexless) was the intended target. Without reaction the supreme master's plate began to slide down the wall towards a communication console at the base of the door (likely to alert others of the escalating problem).

Taking advantage of the moment, I scurried over to the armored man and dug the disc out from his head in order to attack the supreme master again. Just as the neck reached the console, I threw the disc and sliced through the neck, severing the tip.

The sphincter pulsated a few times on the floor. At this time the rodents finally stopped their work. I tried to explain my reasons for trying to break the trend. I foretold of a less subservient and more fulfilling life.

After the sphincter's last pulse, all the doors slammed, the windows shut and the lights went out. There was a brief pause... then the rodents began to shriek. Nothing could be seen but I knew they were attacking one another.

I regretted ever setting them free.

I'm reading the Koran again after a 3 year year hiatus. I find it hard to believe that anyone takes this book seriously. Even people from the seventhcentury should have realized that they were only serving the interests of, not God, but Muhammad.

The only reason why that man got so many converts was the alternate options were death or enslavement. Not a tough decision for people of weak conviction.

Every religion has fail safes in place to dissuade conversion to another religion. So either modern religions were capitalizing on ancient religions that lacked this feature OR they ignored the trait of inconviction. The only reason such a weasley trait can be overlooked would be strengthen numbers. Muhammad and St.Paul knew the numbers game. The more people that bought the bullshit, then the more secure and successful their lives would become... the con artists of yor.

I have finished the Upanishads. It is quite interesting that these teachings that were derived from the Vedas could bare such a stricking resemblence to the teachings of Christ and the New Testament. Example in the Supreme Teaching; it states: "Let him not ponder on many words, for many words are weariness," and in Ecclesiasts (12:12) it states: "Of making books there is no end, much study is the weariness of the flesh."

There is also a resemblence from the Upanishads to Camus' writing in "According as a man acts and walks in the path of life, so he becomes... And they say in truth that a man is made of desire. As his desire is, so is his faith. And as his faith is, so are his works. As his works are, so he becomes... A man comes with his actions to the end of his determination." Camus stated, "to be is to do," much more succinctly.

Then we have Socratic like verses: "Into deep darkness dall those who follow action. Into deeper darkness fall those who follow knowledge." All that contemplation could provide is more questions and less understanding.

There are also verses in the spirit of quantum mechanics: "For only where there seems to be a duality, there one sees another, one feels another's perfume, one tastes another, one speaks to another,one listens to another, one touches another, and one know another." Meaning that existence depends upon observing entities. Solike Schrodinger's cat, we don't know if it is alive or dead until it is observed and until that point the cat is both.

The references to love would rival Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet: " As a man in the arms of the woman beloved feels only peace all around... no desires are there, and there is no sorrow."

Important questions are given answers. Like is there life after death? Of course there IS but the big question is: are you consious after death? The answer (in the Upanishads) is NO. So cut and dry; not much room for argument. In explaination, it is believed that the sould, the seed of consciousness, returns to the source (which is Brahman and is the ALL), and since the soul becomes the all, there are no distincions to cause contemplation. Without distinction, nothing can be compared.

The Holy Trinity:
...)[the father]([the holy spirit])[the son](...
Jesus was the son of God and will come again; just like the waveform vibration reforms a node. He appears as a focus point of the holy spirit. This focal point can land on any person. Jesus didn't mean that he was the one and only son of God. We are all GOd's children and all have the capacity for loving unconditionally as the Christ. It is a tragety when someone doesn't realize this potential. The problem is that the "Good Word" cannot be forced upon another. They must reach that wisdom of their own volition.

The holy spirit is the force behind the observer; the eye's eye.

I love you all, but you are all sick.

The thought of writing a book has disgusted me. Not due to the self-agrandisement, but rather that someone would waste their time skimming over the labors of my spleen, but worse yet... that no one would bother.

Why should man worry about the "why" of evil and ugliness when so much of the ugliness and evil of this world is the work of man. >> UPANISHAD [Juan Mascaro]

Those things that are beyond thought should not be subjected to argument. >> UPANISHAD

When we can argue about a thing it shows that it is not worth arguing about. >> BUDDHA

I must create a system, or be enslaved by another man's; I will not reason and compare: my business is to create. >> BLAKE

Distorted imagination is the source of all fanaticism and superstition... it is no wonder that that those who, through the lack of SPIRITUAL DISCRIMINATION, cannot see the difference between faith based on vision and fear based on superstition may be bound by a merely EXTERNAL RELIGION or condemn all religion. >> UPANISHAD

There is nothing more common to man than wasted talent. >> TS Idiot

There is a path of joy and there is a path of pleasure. Both attract the soul... Pondering on them, the wise choses the path of joy;the fool takes the path of pleasure. >> UPANISHAD

It is the love of creation that moves the sould of the artist.

Science makes concrete things abstract, art makes abstract things concrete. >> UPANISHAD

Silence and action collect the thoughts and strengthen the spirit. >> ST.JOHN OF THE CROSS

The most sure sign of love is to do works of love. >> ST.TERESA

A bane upon them; may the worms of their avarice consume their intestines.

AVARICE: Ecessive or insatiable desire for wealth or gain.

BANE: A source of harm or ruin.

POX: A disasterour evil; curse; plague.

We've got a kinder, gentler machine-gun hand! - Neil Young

---

They string me to the gallows
Put a hood up over my face
And keep telling me
Soon I will leave this place

---

I'm sure that it would be annoying having everything in a constant state of perfection, but I'd bet that that imperfection of perfection would provide relief.

---

An ordinary man's good qualities could become crushing accusations against a guilty man. - Camus

---

According to him, human justice was nothing and divine justice was everything. I pointed out that it was the former that had condemned me. - Camus

---

Do you truly cherish these earthly things? - Camus

---

I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself... I had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hatred. - Camus

---

I have just finished The Stranger once again. This is the fourth reading and yet again I feel the lucid reflection of myself in Mersault. I have changed my life in so many ways, but my outlook on death has yet to diverge from Camus'. No matter how often I detect that delivate connection to all things and realize that death ends nothing, I still find myself tormented by the thought of it. I have no faith. None, not even in my senses, especially not in my rationalizations. I need to trust, but before I can I'd have to give up my struggle... That is not in my composition.

There are hundreds of thousands of people willing to depart with the established order. These people are frustrated, alienated or angry. There are so many problems with every single level of social institutions. The real upsetting thing to me about these problems is that they tend to center on policy. When the country dedicates almost half of it's revenues to national security, let corporations write legislation, appoint officials based upon their unwaivering adherence to party platform and maintaining a majority by lying and misleading idiots, one can't avoid being upset.

People yearn for change which won't come unless they band together. If even there were a small collective effort, the balance would be tilted away from deception. All they need is an opportunity.

I had an odd dream last night. I was in the back seat of a convertible and we pulled up to my old school, St.Pet's. Cyndy was sitting shotgun and Rich was driving. I was spinning a basketball on my finger when we pulled over. Rich asked if I was going to get Dan. "He's still in school?" I asked. He told me it was a monastary. Noticing that we had stopped alongside the rectory I jumped out with the basketball and asked if either of them would come in with me, that I could show them around. They just sat there without responding. I went through the double doors. I remember the dense red carpet that just slightly shifted under each step. I climbed the winding staircase and went to Dan's tiny cell. He was dressed in a thick cloak and wore a russian cossack. He was kneeling beside the narrow bed praying with beads in his hands. I stood at the foot of the bed and asked him if he wanted to play basketball. He didn't reply so I started bouncing the ball and implored him to join us. He finally looked away from the beads and I stopped dribbling. He asked me how I expected to play without any socks to cover my feet. I looked down and was shocked to find my bare feet. Telling me that he had socks that I could wear, he reached under the pillow and handed them to me. The socks were stiff, made out of some polyester vail-like material with some intricate embroidered pattern that looked familiar but I couldn't place where I had seen it. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled them over my feet to find them incredibly too big. I started to twist them hem and as they wound tighter they resembled ordinary socks. Finally finishing I was eager to go play basketball and Dan even rose to his feet as though he planned to leave with me to the courts. We were about to leave when two very tall priests entered the room and told me to leave because Dan needed to pray. I told them that we were about to go play basketball. They looked at him disapprovingly then turned to me saying that he was not the one to make plans and that he had to stick to the "schedule". Dan went to the side of the bed and knealt back down to pray. The priests grabbed me by the arms and dragged me out of the rectory. They left me at the sidewalk. It was raining and there was no sign of Rich and Cyndy. That's when I awoke.

A strange thing happened today. On the way to work, I was checking my voice mail and got a message telling me to pick up some coffee and creamer for the office. I decided to stop at a Jewel supermarket. There are two stores near my route into work, and both are about the same distance out of the way. I was considering which to stop at when I came to a turn and found a detour sign, directing my travel towards the Jewel on Main and Roosevelt in Lombard.

With the decision made for me I drove to the shopping center. On the way into the store from the parking lot I made eye contact with a hispanic donation collector standing near the entrance. I had seen him twice earlier that week at different times of the day and we shared "hello"'s as we did again. Noting the remote probability of this circumstance, I told myself that I'd have to give a donation.

After navigating my way through the store I purchased the coffee, creamer and sugar for $8.08. Like always, I used the self check-out and noticed $5 in the change dispenser. I debated telling the supervising check-out clerk, but decided against it. The money was obviously someone's change and such an insignificant amount that wouldn't be noticed. Jewel would only stand to profit since the customer would likely not travel back to the store to reclaim the forgotten bill. So I took the money.

I was wondering what kind of chi the decision I just made would bring as I picked up my bag and left the store. On the way outside I took my wallet from my back pocket and unconsciously pulled out the $5 bill. I went through the automatic doors and immediately heard the bell being rung by the donation collector. It all became perfectly clear. I folded the bill and stuffed it into the red plastic cauldren next to the man. he smiled and nodded and I reciprocated.

I did my part and a perfect balance was attained.

I've been feeling remarkably stable for the past several weeks; no manic anxiety, no self-destructive depression. I feel as though I'm drifting through the midpoint of the emotional continuum. I haven't been taking any of that St. John's Wart or Ginseng supplements I purchased a while back. So that means this isn't an artificially induced state. I am in a natural balance and am happy with every aspect of my life, even though certain areas could go for some improvement. This is a rare pleasure for me. I realize that a state like this tends to signify the impending dawn of a dark time or the coming of bad luck, so I am just going to enjoy this moment that I have and not think about any doom to come. I wish I could put my current emotional state on reserve for when I really need it. :)

The only appreciation my father ever voiced for The Catcher in the Rye, was Holden's protection for his sister. He said he liked how Holden turned every "fuck you" he saw written on walls into "Book you". This never happened in Salinger's novel, instead Holden smudged the writing from the wall.

---

I finished A Catcher in the Rye for the seventh time. This book never fails to uplift me (well, maybe no thte first couple times around). Such artistic expression, such style and grace, what a message... "Be true to yourself." It really is too bad that almost nobody is authentic. When we first start lying to ourselves, it seems so innocent and harmless, but before we know it our lies become our lives and that lack of honesty no longer takes the form of a defense mechanism but rather a code of conduct. Live the lie and do everything you can to ensure that others don't recognize you for what you are-- an absolute fraud. Some people lie to themselves about their career, others about their sex lives, family values, moral ground or any other faculty they may lack. If they only knew how carefree an honest life can be...

Unfortunately I never will either...

---

You attract more flies with shit than you do with piss

---

Learning networks... You feed them conditions and they supply outcomes. Some results are acceptable others are not. After a sufficient amouth of samples, each fed through the network, reverse propagation occurs to adjust the weights of the nodes based upon the acceptable results. The pattern of wieghts forms a model of the concept being represented and measured by the sample. This model could be the guide for reproducing a similar concept (similar to the sample). Could this be used to create an algorithm for perpetual originality? This could be used to find order amongst seeming chaos. You could use the learning networks to test if an algorithm produces perpetual originality. Have the algorithm produce a sample of output, run the sample through a learning network and the network shouldn't be able to find a trend since all the items in the sample are unique.

---

Non Deterministic Polynomial. Any abstract algorithm that yields an absolute result would be a theory of everything, a schematic of god's mind, the blueprints of perpetual motion, the solution to all the world's problems, a weapon to destroy the universe and the secret to life.

One of my first trips with Missy was the time her roommate's boyfriend had a birthday party in Manooka. His house was large and luxurious yet sparcely furnished. Despite the hickliness of his family they were awarded with the American Dream. His father was in construction in an area that was growing houses in droves. It was never a better time to wield a hammer to nail.

Missy and I were invited to the party as were the other locals and the birthday boy, Scott's, friends. There was a stark contrast between the country folk and the college kids. They were busy wreaking havoc in a frenzy while we were being entertained by their antics. Scott must have been nervous from the interation of the two groups since he was fidgety and easily distracted during conversations.

Contrary to his fears the two groups got along well for a while. I helped the hicks break a tree down using man power alone and burn it in a bon fire. After gaining recognition with my idea to break large branches using the fork in the trunk, the level of inclusion was increased for the college folk. Some took a shine to me for my rustic brilliance, but that didn't ease the fears of Scott.

He became rather embarassed when one of his friends began wrestling his father, who was content on the sidelines of the brewing chaos. The father was in his 50's but put up a great struggle. He grimaced and grunted in pain while the boy about 30 years his junior twisted and contorted his body in ways that should only be done by gymnasts. The young wrestler didn't heed the protests of the mother and Scott was forced to break up the hold personally.

Not long after, all the elderly relatives and friends (those over 30) left, possibly from fear. This absence allowed the hicks to bust out their cocaine. In spite of, or due to, his shame, Scott joined the others in taking a hit upon his parent's long marble kitchen counter top. Temperatures flared and several spats almost broke out, but Missy refused to leave the party at the behest of her roommate who was frantically trying to continue the fraud that things were going well.

The college kids retreated to the safety of the house while the hicks brought the outdoors closer to hell. Scott came in and with his coked up confidence challenged me to pool. I was drunk and accepted the challenge despite the risks. I beat him three times in a row, with each successive game more a blowout than the last. He was upset and broke his pool cue. Before he could attempt to start a fight with me his girlfriend stole him away.

We ended up sleeping there. Missy and I shared the floor together in an empty room. I woke up the next morning with a hang over and an enormous desire to leave and never return.