The way I roll; downhill hill with a stiff wind. Crosspost in Normal entries

First comes the Haredawg related business, well, journal business, which you shouldn’t care about and yet you do for some reason. This is not a criticism, it’s the foundation of journaling in a public forum, and, I submit, has become the foundation of the entertainment industry (e.g. reality motherfucking TV); noses in other people’s business. I have my nose in yours, and, unlike reality motherfucking TV, our shit might be real and unedited. Mine is, for the most part, the entertainment value, if there is to be said any at all, is in perspective and not in the events itself. There are entire years of this journal that could be summed up, plot wise, “I walked the dogs. I went to the (a) store. I wrote stuff.”

The haredawg business is as follows, I got some shit to make my room look more like a room. It’s kind of cool. One of my big problems is this ugly ass half a light fixture, which, now that I’ve painted the dead body stains off the ceiling (oh, shit, I could tell you the conversation my daughter and I had in front of people who thought we were funning, but then I’d have to go private). I painted the incongruous ugly-ass half shiny/half rusted metal part of the half a fixture ceiling white. It has still been bugging me and I’ve frightened myself with how much time I spend looking at whole light fixtures online, and was actually on my way to Home depot and had to force myself to go to Wal-Mart instead. Don’t ask why, you would not like the answer. If I had gone to home depot I would have bought a fixture, but why Wal-Mart instead of home or Detroit, NY, Georgia, Wyoming, Oregon --- you don’t want to know. Ok, that goes into a tangent, this paragraph is a tangent; two things I actually discussed with my mom this morning over coffee, our own little ritual.

1. I have a really high IQ, before I call out a number, I think for the first time ever, I want you to know how very embarrassed that I haven’t done shit with it, and, even worse, I can conceptualize at extremely high functioning, but putting into practice I’m a step away from drooling and telling tom cruise “definitely, thirty six, definitely”. My IQ is 149, from shrinks to the internet, an unwavering 149. I am unemployed and live in my parent’s attic and write about how I’m trying to make the attic nice.

2. The most neurotic thing I have, I mean the one thing that gets me every time and sends me into paroxysms of melancholia, and not the melodramatic blogging type of melancholia but bone deep everything I love is dead or corrupted kind of melancholia, is waking up with the TV on. I could explain why, perhaps, or at least why I think that is, but for the purposes of this tangent I just need it to be known it’s true, every single time, even if I’m waking up in flagrante delicti with a soft warm mouth of a woman I love or at least lusted after before falling asleep coaxing me into a state very much the opposite of melancholia. If there’s a sitcom on it’s even worse, I mean real tears kind of worse.

Ok, that tangent said --- I jerry rigged the fixture. Had I gone to home depot I would have electrocuted myself and though that’d make for some good journaling, it’d be post humus I’m sure, as, unlike a real power grid which, in the states, runs 110 (that’s more of a mean. It runs 100 to 120, but we call it 110v, and the European standard, which we use to run major appliances, is 220, meaning anything from 200 to 240v. It doesn’t matter except that it needs to standardized somehow) East Lansing and particularly this house might have a raw ten thousand volts running through the ivy or concrete, or whatever. In the bad old days wires were insulated with cloth. I wiped some dust off the bulb sockets (which would need to be removed to change the half a fixture) and not only did some cloth turn to dust at my touch, but both wires are brown. One should be red and the other black, for positive and ground, and yes, I do have sharpies. My affairs are not in order and I’m an agnostic. I’m not ready to die.

The staple gun isn’t strong enough to go into the concrete ceiling. So, I have a little adapter changing a light bulb into a 110 socket and an extension cord running across a small expanse of ceiling, with a few staples in a bit and out a bit near those adhesive hooks for hanging small pictures. How is this aiding in the aesthetics, well, it’s not exactly. My 149 IQ is happy I’m not dead and it’s less fucked up than it could be, and I can live with the low profile extension cord on the ceiling (once I take up a little slack. It’s the hanging down against the bookcase stacked with an odd assortment of Western Civ books (at least thirty boxes of books were in the middle of the floor when I got here, my daughter and I moved them in to the small attic. Since then I have moved at least another thirty large extra hefty/steel colored garbage bags of books in there. Ballast and insulation, don’t get me started. There are still way too many and no space left to put them.).

My 149 IQ solution? Go to Amazon and buy a tapestry. Why Amazon after my paint bitching? I’m a prime member, I get free two day shipping and discounts and shit. After all that shit, here’s the upshot of haredawg related business slash kvetching (for those of you playing at home, that’s; What is business/kvetching? Applause Decline of Haredawgian Aesthetic for two hundred please.) is this little piece of online consumerism. The first few hundred items on Amazon under the key-word Tapestry are some serious dope smoking hippie shit, and, yeah, that’s sort of what I had in mind, but this shit is the wrong kind of dope smoking hippie shit; it’s like 3D black-light dancing bears (grateful Dead) or tie dyed paisley, or other shit, if not already subtly cynical enough, becomes a whole other level of mocking the consumer. What I was looking for was those sort of earth dyed Indian (dot not feather) mandalas.

Shit another tangential paragraph and one y’all probably know anyhow. Both dot and feather Indians, or any tribe or caste, like bright colors, the earth tones are for rich white people who actually have money and buy shit, and they are earth tones because white people think those are more authentic. I knew this guy in Anchorage who carved polar bears, little ones for knick knack collections, out of soap stone, which sold for some ridiculous amount at this little store a buddy ran as “authentic local artisan made” which was true enough, but the story of how integrated into Inuit culture these were was horseshit. The “Inuit” selling them, was a crow from the rez in Montana, and, more to the point, there is not soap stone in Alaska and nomadic tribes aren’t real big on knick knacks, though, like any other peoples, they did carve toys for kids, just not out of materials they didn’t have, like, in Alaska, soap stone.

I’m not sure what I got exactly, I was confused. I could look at the order but that’s like cheating. I either got Gustav Klimt’s Tree of Life (I don’t think Klimt did that, I think they bordered some primitive looking tree of life with cut outs of Klimt’s famous “the Lovers”) or the closest thing I could find to a plain old mandala which is, after all, an archetypal symbol. I’m going to hide most of my ugly, albeit safe) wiring, and the ugly, albeit in a beautiful bookcase, western civ books, with a mandala and/or a cut and paste Klimt tapestry.

Ok, the other piece of business, which, again, isn’t really business. I don’t know what the deal is about being hush hush, but yes I am on prosebox, no, they’ll have to pry the cold dead OD from my, hopefully, warm living fist, I mean I’m not leaving, and, prosebox and OD are not rivals, prosebox is the OD lifeboat. No need for secrecy, though, it’s possible, the lifeboat only holds so many people, I mean I think dude is probably running it off a home server. I’m not suggesting anyone panic or migrate, though you are certainly welcome to do both, I’m doing neither, and I say this fully intending to crosspost.

Um, I also fucked up and didn’t leave prompts for the next flash Friday. I do things a little different. I will do it, soonish.

And I’m spent.