Semiotic Ghost

An evening of dancing in a cramped club called Dante’s (trying to pull off hellish chique) was not my idea of a good time. Sure, I’m all for getting shit-faced, but I prefer to do it sitting down far away from other people’s sweat. My amore, however, loves “clubbing,” so I bucked up and paid the cabbie to get us across the river Styx.

Once we arrived at Dante’s (already a few drinks ahead) we ordered more drinks and started dancing (yes, I danced). I actually had a fantastic time. I felt so comfortable, because I was with the person I love. I let myself slip into the music. The crowd around me just became a part of the beat. I even ended up on the stage in front of the DJ booth.

I never thought that I would enjoy hell so much. By the time we reached the ninth level of drunkenness, the lights came on and the cab was waiting outside to ferry us back.

Addendum: Waking up in the bathtub at 7 am is far too sobering.

Filed under: Transmissions
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Listen Fucker! I hope no one has died. In conclusion, happy birthday.

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The last six months of my life have been nothing but constant change. Piece by piece I’ve flipped my life upside down: new job, new relationships, new apartment, new car, new piercings, new tattoos, new hair, fucking new everything. While I’ve enjoyed and obviously precipitated all of these changes, I can’t help feeling dizzy and ungrounded. I’ve been craving these changes, but I need stability too. I need a base to return to after all of my crazy adventures, a place where I can rest, relax, and feel loved.

I finally found that love. I’ve been flying and flipping through the air and somehow I stuck the landing. I’ve never been happier. This is the one change that’s going to stick.

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I like altoids. Altoids like me. Aside from enjoying the curiously strong minty goodness, I’m also entertained by their print ads, except for the ones that I’ve seen lately. The recent ads that I’ve seen defy physics and annoy the shit out of me. As anyone who’s ever touched an altoids tin knows, the text on the lid is positioned so that you can read it as you open the tin, so when open the text is upside down. However, in the ads these recent ads the tin is open, but the text is right side up. Not right. I understand that they want the text to be readable in the ad, but it’s just wrong. As soon as I get this issue addressed, I’ll move onto less pressing concerns like world hunger.

Filed under: Fulminations
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I love naming things. Perhaps I have a bit of an “Adam complex.” I want to have kids just so I can name them. I spend far too much time coming up with fantastic names for my potential spawn.

The latest is Alias. Then I could call him/her (asexual names rock) Ali for short or maybe Ass. And, oh, the irony when they have to fill out forms that ask if they have any aliases.

Better still, I could just go with Anonymous. Then, my child would have claim to all of those wonderful anonymous works. Then again, they might just get loads of hate mail and beatings for leaving mean anonymous comments.

I guess they’ll just be “Untitled” for now.

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It’s too fucking perfect. Every thought and eccentricity that I have, all of my random desires even, are mirrored in this person. She can’t be real. I’m certain now that I’m schizophrenic. I’ve invented the perfect friend and lover in my mind. Who needs reality?

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It’s an idle Tuesday night. A late night movie with my girlfriend and her friend sounds like a fantastic escape from work. A couple drinks at the bar while waiting for the show to start makes the evening even more enjoyable. We down the last of our drinks and slip into the theatre, expecting to ride our buzzes out through the two and a half hour show. They sell beer at the concessions; what’s one more beer? We’re officially drunk. The popcorn isn’t helping at all. Fuck, why not get another beer. Fucking fuck, the concessions is closed. Wait. They give us one more round. Godbless them. Shit, those didn’t last long at all. A little drama and some smooth talking scores us more beer from the cafe that we smuggle into the theatre in coffee cups (lids and all). Godbless the bartender. The popcorn really isn’t helping. We get more beer. The suspensefull drama is now a comedy. Yes, we were those noisy assholes across the aisle from you. Fuck off, we’re drunk. The movie’s over. We wander out. My girlfriend says she’s going to puke in the bushes. We laugh at her. We go outside. We’re laughing and smoking, not sure where to take our drunkenness. Midsentence she pukes all over the sidewalk right in front of the theatre. Brilliant. We stumble down to the coffee house where she pukes in between drinks of coffee and water. Godbless public restrooms. Fuck you Wednesday morning.

Filed under: Patterns
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I saw Kristeen Young, an amazing singer/songwriter/pianist from St. Louis, the other night. Amazing. At one point the music was so overwhelmingly beautiful and intense that my face was actually flushed. Nevermind the drunk assholes who were standing in front of me.

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Lists have always bothered me. They always feel daunting and oppressive. A list, even if it isn’t numbered, implies a hierarchy of importance. While lists certainly have their usefulness (tasks and to-do’s), I don’t think that they work well for thought and I don’t even like using them for tasks. Maybe that’s why some people think I’m disorganized. I have a different way of thinking, though.

Instead of linear lists, my mind operates in circles. In the middle is a core that processes all the information (thoughts, things to remember, things to do, etc.). This information is processed as it passes through a receptor bar. Each item is placed on an appropriate orbit based on a ratio of importance to processing frequency. In other words, the more important thoughts and items are placed on the inner circles so that they are constantly “on my mind” while the outside rings are only brought up occasionally.

Drawing number 1. (Click to enlarge.)

Occasionally, just like a real universe, my mind experiences meteor showers and supernovas. Meteor showers represent a barrage of shit. Supernovas on the other hand occur when something extraordinary happens in my life. Supernovas completely fuck normal thought. Things get knocked off orbit and the receptor bar is rendered useless since the processor is receiving overwhelming amounts of direct input. Love is a supernova.

Drawing number 2. (Click to enlarge.)

Filed under: Patterns,Transmissions
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