30 October 2009

ironic, dontcha think?

my horoscope says that i can't trust the voices in my head. oh, sweet irony, you make me chuckle.

Goe, really does think.

30 September 2009

woohoo! Slaugherhouse revisited!

there's this about what exactly is meant by the following phrase

"No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States" from the fourteenth amendment.

the supreme court said that that phrase is meaningless in 1873 or so.

that it's being taken seriously again is important.

Goe, happy about this.

26 August 2009

Dreaming of Charlie

She stumbled towards her grandparents house. Cars were usually parked in a corner of the yard but a glance over her shoulder showed nothing there. She stopped and looked again at the house, which appeared to have been expanded to either side. Familiar concrete steps led up to the front door but the additions were at ground level, below the one-story house itself. She hadn't been here since her grandparents died and wasn't sure who could have made those changes. Anybody could have. She wasn't even sure who owned the house anymore.
She began moving again, now in a more steady stroll. Soldiers were standing outside smoking, she hadn't noticed them before. As she climbed the steps, they gave her the feigned smiles of terrified men. She smiled back instinctively and wondered why they were there. She opened the door and entered. The living room had also been redone. It now had a walkway looping all the way around the upper floor with a finely carved railing that clashed with the plaster walls. It both seemed to fit and not, but she couldn't put her finger on why. Soldiers were gathered around a table at the center of the room looking at documents. They weren't happy men and their conversation stopped as she had entered.
“Oh, it's you,” said Charlie, dressed as an army officer. “We were hoping for more.”
“What's going on?” she asked.
He shook his head and led her to a bedroom door that opened to reveal not a bedroom, but stairs leading upwards. He waited for her to clear several steps before following. When they reached the upper floor, he again took the lead long enough to open another door, this time to what would have been right above her grandparents bedroom. She entered and stepped to the left. He followed and moved to the right. The room was almost as large as she remembered the small house having been once. Soldiers stood in the corners, staring at their own feet. They were wearing what appeared to be some sort of middle ages armor, made of plastics instead of iron, and all had rifles pointed downwards at the stone floor.
In the center of the room, spanning some ten feet across, was a hole, lined with a stone wall like that of an old-fashioned well. Charlie shouted something incomprehensible and all of the soldiers moved to the wall, lifting their rifles just enough to clear the wall before pointing down into the darkness. Charlie, now wearing armor and carrying a weapon, had a spot at the wall, and she stepped forward to see what he and the others were doing here.
A fluttering noise came up from the blackness and dark shapes began rising. They looked like giant bats and the soldiers began firing Although some of the shapes rose slower, none fell back into the darkness. After a few seconds, the shapes began to clear the opening and circle the room behind them. Afraid to look behind her, she saw them circling the room behind the soldiers, who circled the wall in turn. They formed an almost solid column now, a few feet across at the center of the hole and rising to the ceiling where they spread out to the walls.
The soldiers stopped firing and she looked at the one next to her. Instead of reloading, he leaned forward and looked down at the rising shapes. The rising column grew rapidly in width, but despite the seemingly endless flow, the creatures were not visibly increasing their numbers in the room. She looked at the column and wondered where they were all going when everything went black.

“I was dreaming of you,” Karen said to Charlie when she saw him for lunch.
“Was it a good dream?” he asked, picking at his fries.
“Not really. I would tell Dave about it but he'd just get jealous.” She tilted her head in an overly dramatic way to let him know she was thinking of something he wasn't supposed to understand. “I never dream about him. Why is that, do you think?”
“Maybe your subconscious doesn't love him like you do. Maybe it's still got a thing for your ex-husband?”
“I don't dream about him either, anymore. It's almost always people from work.”
“How is work?”
“Boring. No more layoffs at least. They want us to make a story out of some artists stealing each others work, like people can't have similar ideas or even different ideas with the same result.”
“Or maybe neither the ideas or the result is original. You could always go for the snark angle: which is the greater crime? Stealing the concept, stealing the creation, or destroying the culture by passing crap off as art?”
“It's not crap.” she said, grabbing one of his fries and stabbing at the ketchup with it. “Just because you don't understand it doesn't make it crap.”
“I didn't say that I don't understand it. I did say that it's crap, but it's unoriginal crap. Things that are unoriginal are usually pretty easy to figure out and the original stuff almost always has some zen sort of 'could mean anything you want it to' approach to it. And please stop trying to kill my ketchup.”
She look at him at she chewed the weaponized french fry. Not a lot bothered Charlie but she had bruised his ego enough with the implication of ignorance that he was starting to sulk.
“I'm sorry.”
“It's okay,” he said in a tone of voice that boldly hinted the opposite, “The ketchup had it coming. It was looking at me funny earlier.”
“I'm going on an art walk tomorrow to see the whatever it is that is supposed to be stolen. You can come if you want. I'd like that.”
“I think I might like it too.”
Charlie carefully smoothed out the ketchup with a remaining fry, unaware that Karen was staring with tilted head.

The first gallery had a cat. The art displayed consisted of a glazed sculpture of the cat, a number of photographs of the cat, and t-shirts with photographs of the cat.
“I think the message in this art is that these people like cats.” said Charlie.
“Yeah, do you think they'd let me pet it?”
“Maybe, it's supposed to be a world famous cat.”
“Well, it is. They sell a lot of pictures on the internet.”
“I'm sure a lot of sex toys are also sold online, but that doesn't make Granny's World Famous Dildo's into art.”
Karen threw her head back and laughed. “I still want to pet the cat.”

The second gallery had sculpted dioramas of ceramic bodied figures with wire limbs hunting and gathering amid the ruins of a city built of lego blocks.
“So did they steal the idea of bad sculpture?” said Charlie, pointing at foot-high figures involved in a ceremony on library steps.
“It's not bad. Sculpting things is really hard.”
“Something being hard increases the likelihood of someone doing it wrong and the results being bad. The mosaic lizards in northeast are good, this is bad.”
“Whatever. Just because you're not good at something doesn't make them bad at it.”
“Doesn't make them good at it either.”
“Whatever, dude. That little guy there looks kind of like you.” Karen pointed at a priest figure.
“I thought I was taller.”
“Do you have any idea what people see when they look at you?”
“No. Not a clue.”
“They see that guy, but taller.”
Charlie looked at the figure for a moment. “Maybe they have a cat that we haven't spotted yet?”

The third gallery had drawings hung on the walls of people in concentration camps, but instead of dark and dreary conditions, corporate logos and vending machines abounded.
“I don't see any bad sculpture here.”
“Dude, seriously, have you ever tried to make something out of clay? It's really freakin' hard.”
“They're doing something they suck at and think they do it well. They should know what they can and can't physically do. It doesn't matter if I can or can't do it, what matters is what they can, or in this case, can't do.”
“Then how would anybody ever get better?”
\ “By playing to their strengths. If you can draw, draw, if you can make things out of clay, make things out of clay. Don't do what you're bad at. I can't make things out of clay so I don't.”
“You also don't date.”
“Not 'exactly'! If you want to be good at something, you have to try. And you do need to get out more.”
“I'm out now. And I don't see a cat.”
“No, no kitty here.”
“It can't be stray fur. You can't steal fur. Cats give it away for free.”
“Whatever dude.”
“Any clue as to what they're mad at each other for stealing?”
“No, the guy we sent down to do the interviews found out that they're worried it'll hurt their prices if the works aren't original.”
“I thought controversy made things more expensive.”
Karen didn't answer. She traced the outline of one of the prisoners with her finger, head tilted to one side.

At the fourth gallery, statues made of broken bottles fused together formed a football team.
“You can see through these and I don't see a cat anywhere.”
“I don't think it's about a cat,” said Karen, slowly circling a crouched player.
“How come none of these artists are starving. Aren't they supposed to be starving?”
“I don't know. Maybe they sell a lot of their work?”
“If they sold a lot, wouldn't they be sell-outs and not artists? Isn't that how it works?”
“No,” whispered Karen, reading the placard of a player holding a ball over his head. “Don't be so silly.”
“Are you sure? I thought that it wasn't really art unless it was suffered for.”
“No,” said Karen, gently tapping the nose of another player. “Art is art, the suffering just makes it interesting, and as for selling out, it's just toe-may-toe poe-taw-toe.”
“Now you're the one being silly.”
“I may be silly, but I think I figured it out,” replied Karen, tapping Charlie gently on the nose.

At the fifth gallery, body parts mounted to the walls gave the illusion of people passing through those walls, while holding up other things.
“Is it something symbolic? Like nature's inhumanity towards man?” asked Charlie, studying a towel draped over a waiter's arm mounted on the wall.
“I don't think so, I'd have to check with some guys at the office to find out for sure, but it is kind of weird.”
“What's weird is that they want seven hundred dollars for this arm and couldn't find a towel with a higher thread count.”
“Maybe they didn't want anything too fancy schmancy?” asked Karen, standing by a bodyless head that faced upwards, with candles sitting where there should have been eyes.
“I could understand the not-fancy, but the schmansy is a must for what will undoubtedly become the pink flamingo of the future.”
“That's kind of harsh.”
“Yes, much like this towel, which is not smooth, gentle, or fluffy.”
“A towel critic now, are we?”
“Yes, but only in the evenings. It doesn't come with dental so I'm keeping the day job for now.”

The sixth gallery had paintings of animals dressing, living, and mingling with humans.
“This looks like something from Richard Scary,” said Charlie.
“I remember those. I used to spend hours pouring over them when I was little.”
“Me too. I would try to make up stories for each and every person.”
“I do that in food courts. People watching is a lot of fun.” said Karen, tapping her finger on nothing in front of a painting of three people, a goat, a badget, and an alien waiting at a bus stop in the rain. “Bus stops just aren't as fun. You can't look around at others so much without them seeing and thinking that you're creepy.”
“Maybe they don't think you're creepy. Maybe they're flattered by the attention? And why are those people in the back staring at me?”
“Because you're creepy.”
“No. You really don't have any idea how anybody sees you, do you?”
“No. Not really. You've asked me that twice now, is there a reason?”
“You're the reason,” answered Karen, pointing at the painting.

Goe, thought it would be longer when he started it.

16 August 2009

Richard Marx

He won't give up until he's satisfied.

1) he doesn't listen to the rolling stones and doesn't know that he can't get no satisfaction, no no no, hey hey hey, that's what they say.

2) he's really being satisfied but keeps claiming this to extort more from people forced to listen to him sing.

3) he has no attention span and forgets that he is unsatisfied after a few minutes of singing and goes to the next song.

Goe, going with a combo of 1 and 3

27 July 2009

Flock of Seagulls

"I ran" - Flock of Seagulls.

they're seagulls. why didn't they fly, especially since their stopping point was "so far away"?

Goe, puzzled.

05 July 2009

Mural Alley

From Summer 2009

From Summer 2009

Goe, lives in an interesting place.

04 July 2009


found an odd alley, pictures tomorrow.

Goe, is sick.

13 June 2009

an author

i stopped by a store to see what they had in the way of supercheap software and they had an author sitting at a table near women's clothing to sign books. nobody in line. never heard of him myself. very strange place...

Goe, works for a company that adamantly believes there are 1.37 quarts per gallon.

09 June 2009


From Summer 2009

They are coming soon which means...

This town apparently doesn't have them yet.

It's excited about having them soon.

People have the time to use proper english on their signs here, most places would have gone with "nachos soon" or "nachos coming soon".

Goe, getting up for the day.

08 June 2009

ice cream truck

one just went by. was playing 'rudolph the red nosed reindeer' in 80+ degree weather.

Goe, disturbed by this.

05 June 2009

a mural

From Summer 2009

kinda of hard to see. so here's a closer shot.

From Summer 2009

Goe, been getting around.

29 May 2009


thyme is by far the easiest herb to grow of the ones i've tried. sage, though, would seem to be the most worthwhile because i prefer its scent.

Goe, gardening.

18 May 2009

hot out

and for some reason, kitty believes that lying on top of me is the best way to keep cool. stupid cat. can't cure the stupid, can't fight the cute.

Goe, doomed.

12 May 2009

West of House

West of House
You are standing in an open field west of a white house, with a boarded front door.
There is a small mailbox here.

Goe, not likely to be eaten by a grue.

09 May 2009


biked about ten miles. took a few pictures. got burned. good day.

From Album2

Beware the Loch Ness Goose, also known as Goosie.

Goe, knows the evil sun burns us because it wants the precious.

07 May 2009

06 May 2009

Storyblogging Festival

Stories, courtesy of Mr. Crankshaw.

Goe, not in it this time.

05 May 2009

powell and the republican party

from here

"Powell also criticized other GOP leaders, for bowing too much to the right."

is there any issue at all on which the republican party is not to the left of where it was 20, 8, or even 2 years ago?

Goe, drawing a blank there.

no bailout for newspapers

says a non-paper news source

have the useful idiots outlived their purpose to the party?

Goe, getting over a bad cold.

Roe V Wade

this is my opinion.

nothing has changed the roe v wade decision. agree with it or not, nobody has changed laws to override it, no court has overridden it, and nobody is going to do either anytime in the foreseeable future.

abortion is only brought up in a political context by people hoping that any emotional reaction to the subject will keep people from noticing a lack of well-reasoned arguments for positions on other issues.

Goe, not giving his opinion on roe v wade itself because it's not important to anything.

02 May 2009

Most companies have bad management

Munger added that "the stupidity in the management practices of the rest of the corporate world" will likely benefit Berkshire in the future.

- Yahoo News

Goe, thanking captain obvious.

30 April 2009

Very Funny

Another wonderful collection of Random Crap that constitutes the living part of many people's lives.

Goe, missing all the fun.

25 April 2009

product idea

Do-It-Yourself Prince Charming Kit

1000 toad eggs.

Goe, thinks it might sell.

24 March 2009


Henry leaned back on the couch. There was a show on television that he remembered liking once. He couldn't remember why, now, as it merged with the background noise. Traffic in the street, his wife on the phone with her sister, the dog barking. The dog barking was important, although he couldn't remember why. It wasn't his dog. His wife said she had gotten the dog because she felt watched every time she was in the backyard. A busy street ran by the front of the house, with strange people going to odd places for God-only-knows what reasons, but that didn't bother her. It was the undeveloped, uninhabited, shrew-infested tract of land behind the house that bothered her. It was her dog, and she should let it in.

Henry sat up straight as he remembered assuring her that he would let the dog in if she was still talking to her sister. He could still hear her talking. The dog had fallen silent, but she hadn't noticed, so Henry was still in the clear.

In slow, lumbering motions, Henry rose to his feet and moved to the kitchen. He could barely hear his wife upstairs as he passed through the archway and realized why she had wanted that assurance. Their bedroom was at the front of the house and she could hear almost nothing from the kitchen or backyard. Reaching the back door, he opened it and put his head out.

There was no dog.

There were several lilac bushes in the center of the yard, and a small fir tree growing at the corner of the shed. The shed itself was to the side of the yard, coming within a few feet of the high wooden fence that lined the property. Henry looked from bush to shed to bush to tree and saw no dog. Henry called out the dog's name, but as he listened to the answering silence he realized that it was silence, trees and grass rustling in the evening breeze but bereft of the noises of animals. Not even a cricket.

Henry looked to the light affixed to the front of the shed door and saw no mosquitoes or gnats. Moths were gathered nowhere. Henry gaped and studied the yard for any sign of life. He stared at the plants; the small dips, rolls, and rises that left his yard perpetually uneven; and the shed. He saw nothing but plants, shadows, and shed.

The lilac bushes each cast three shadows, one from the light on the shed, one from the kitchen light, and one from the light next to Henry's head at the back door. The shed should have cast the same three shadows, but only the one from its own light stretched into Henry's field of vision, the others blocked by the shed itself. The pine tree, at the back corner of the shed, was immersed in shadow.

Henry stepped back in and grabbed the flashlight he used to scare off intrusive possums. With a flick, he turned it on and shone it towards the pine tree. Shadow. Waving the flashlight around, he could discern a vague yet indescribable shape to the shadow but saw nothing to cast it. A motion caught in the corner of his eye caused him to turn the flashlight to the front of the shed.

The light at the front of the shed created a pool of light directly underneath it, and in the pool there was a shadow not cast on the ground but hanging in the air. The flashlight painted a silhouette of this second thing against the fence and Henry saw that it was like nothing he had ever seen or heard of. Something he would have not thought possible. Something that seemed, at last, to have noticed him.

His wife did not hear Henry's screams, nor did the neighbors hear hers

Goe, writing again.

18 March 2009

Characters Fictionalized

USA network has a thing called "character project" where they try to document interesting people. as part of this, they hired photographers to take pictures of such people, as one ad claims, being themselves. the ad also shows these "characters" posing for the cameras. so they're not really being themselves, they're pretending to be themselves.

Goe, not so fond of insincerity in his reality, only in witty fiction.

02 March 2009


From Sculpture

Cheshire Sphinx is as done as my skill level permits. /shrug. wish i was better, but i'm not and i doubt that it's worth the years of practicing it would take to be good enough to make it seem legit in any context.

Goe, still has more original ideas than most people.

28 February 2009

Third Day

From Sculpture

Cheshire Sphinx doesn't look like itself yet. unfortunately, due to my low skill level, it may not get much closer. time will tell.

Goe, unsure.

27 February 2009

25 February 2009

had an idea

From Sculpture

The Goal.

From Sculpture

The Beginning

From Sculpture

The End of the Beginning

Goe, trying to learn new things.

24 February 2009

Amendment XIV

Amendment XIV is getting a second look from lawyers.

I seem to recall trying to make this case before somewheres...

Goe, running low on food again, time for shopping.

09 February 2009


I resumed my unpacking from my recent move and whilst being distracted by my lego's, it occurred to me how we can improve our national defense by visual intimidation of our enemies. the key is spikes. spikes on everything. an abrahms tank may have a 120mm smoothbore cannon capable of blowing up a lot of stuff, but an abrahms tank with big spikes on the front, and maybe a bayonet on the cannon, is a lot scarier if it's coming at you. now picture spikes on a hmmwv, an aircraft carrier, or a b-52. scarier.

Goe, because they SHOULD be afraid of us.

07 February 2009


went to darcelle's because a friend wanted to go (it was her birthday) and it was dead in there. maybe because it was a weekday, maybe because drag shows are fairly bland in a city where the mayor can be a pedophile. that even 'in-your-face' showiness can grow dingy with time is depressing.

Goe, thinking too much.

31 January 2009


a film that is way over-marketed.

i'm tired of seeing commercials for it.

very tired.

Goe, going to work in an hour or so.

02 January 2009


From flood

Flooding on Johnson Creek, that's the Flavel bridge from the 92nd bridge.

From flood

Springwater Trail @ SE 101st.

Goe, was mistaken in worrying about the fresh snowfall.