A day in the life of Marcus: Fotography is Phun

Where in, I discover the joy photoing

Potted Pepper in B/W

The original snap shot

Painted in Colours

I play around with the other tools for a little

 S'potted

 is my favorite

Backlogs

Dec 15th 2010

This is the season when people gather in the streets their gossip turns to holiday cheer between puffs of smoke or icy breath. Snow falls lazily and steady. Hinuet, as the native peoples of the north like to say, drifting, settles white over dingy cityscape. Winter has come. And with it, the hurley-burley of anticipation. Schools prepare for break as students prepare for examinations. Mothers and Fathers search shelves and kiosks for gifts. Children, red-nosed cold troumping through the school grounds; a flurry of activity - snowballs flung and flinging. Soon, the calendars will flip forward to a new year and people will forget the merriment of the season. With gifts gotten and snow fallen Winter will continue cold and bittersweet. Eventually Spring will come slowly like a great tilting weight. All the while utterances in frozen breath dangle - puffy clouds of curses on the cold and snow and wind. Sooner still Winter's chiding forgot as Summer is made out of Spring. Unbearable heat and noise and the price of petrol these days! Can you believe it's going to rain? The kids will play in the hot, weedy air blistful. Those of us, charged with age, squirm and sweat in the languishing days of August. Suddenly the wind refreshes too much; it harks of chill. Stalks of corn grow amber in the setting sun.

Where does the time go? Looking back can we see the deeds of Winter last? No great impact do the seasons have to us remembered - none not righted by work of men. Then, do the seasons' passing impress upon us at all? What works of grandeur did Summer leave last Fall?

There is a tree nearby. See it now: a tall, burly thing. Its trunk is ashen - almost dark not quite brown. Its branches are fingers stabbing open palms at gray cloud and sky - all its leafs long since fallen. In the snow it hides before your eyes - colored muted night. Unremarkable thing. Be still and watch close now: from simple seed to tree and sapling inbetween; Tiny leafs prod up through Spring's soft mud. A weed at first then a yearling. Now it is shooting high a great bouffant of verdant green - cool shadows in Summer sun. Foliage colored brightly orange and yellow-brown paint the winds of Autumn. Now, grown and weathered, steeped in snow this tree still creeps its longing branches out and higher. Or perhaps it slumbers hinuet all around.

whoa.
What a week!

Here in Iowa, we saw our first (however ungratuitous) snow of the season - a dusting of powder-white dandruff gathering in swirls. Grey sky and biting cold.

A day in the life of Marcus

Hello, good readers.

the long break is over and like a ...something I return to... something that something somethings reluctantly.
...Remember, practice makes perfect - or, at the very least, competence. I took a lot of videos and pictures with some cameras. It's a lot to screen through and edit. So I know I promised, but that stuff will take some time yet. Thanksgiving came and went leaving most Americans stuffed, somewhat ironically, with stuffed bird and holiday spirit. I traveled to my Dad's new home in Ohio for a brief sojourn with the family. Our schedule was somewhat inconsistant. Having time to arrive on Monday night and just enough time to leave Thursday morning. After driving all day Thursday on Friday, at work I had time for some reflection.

I am an adult now. Not just in age or temperament or sentencing. But in a fundamental way. The things I want are trumped by the things I need. I have a sense of personal accountablity (which, previously, was limited to my own actions) that includes the effects of working or not working. I am in charge of all that goes on at WOI during my shift and my paying or not paying taxes effects people and people look to me for social cues and people have very real expectations of me to meet (or not) and very real consequences for those expectations.

As part of growing up (and older) is suddenly caring about society and politics.

But thats a different story...

Something new

I'm looking from something new to do.
Lately, I've been praticing recording things in my life. Specifically I got a camera. in looking for something to use it for, I became interested in seeing what I do - how I am reflected through the camera.
I'd hoped to find interest in other actions, the things around me. I still plan to.
Maybe it's vain, but I think it's a good project to start with.

Look for a post tomorrow - a prelude to recording

A sudden thought on Hipsters

I'm not sure why, but I my thoughts were suddenly beset upon by sociology of those peskily labeled "Hipsters." I guess it's pase to talk about it, even trivial. Well, I did anyway. Or started, rather. You see, what follows is a tale of terrifying journey into a world of magic, mystery a- oh, excuse me, I'm stuck at Halloween. Mine was awesome. I trust yours as well. I went to Omaha zoo dressed like a wolf.  Anyway, below is a terrifying journey into my thoughts about the movement.

Above all else, things that are rare and hard to find, are valuable and obtained not easily.
Further, that which people presive as real have the effect of being real.
for example, if a group perceives knowledge as valuable, then that group will think that knowledge is hard to gain. This is only true if you perceive the first course as real.

I suspect that these two clauses are fundimentally at the core of anti-hipsterism. Undoubtedly started by hipsters, Anti-hipsterism is the systematic breaking down and margializing of the 'hipster'. The hipster trend comes from people who see aspects of their own culture mixed, quite abundantly, with others and the effect that mixing has on social redefining. Fashion has been a mainstay of counter-hipsterism. The critique and despisement of "thier" fashion is notable. "hipsters" borrow alot from other movements. Punk influances attire, Grudge can be seen in elements of behavior. A presived peevishness can be attributed from hip/hop. clearly the outward idolization of individualism relates very strongly with 80s/90s Yuppie.

---

I think this is where Hipsters draw the most flack from other social cultures. Especially with those they mimic the most. Punk, or Counter-culture, is often considered with Hipster. Much debate follows the notion of Punk being a livid social culture. Today, Punk carries a certain fatigue in character - a shared idea amoung the communities that Punk, real punk solid and true, has Moved On. To paraphrase NOFX, Punk rock became too safe - it has been Plasticized. Broken down by the odd machina of capitalist economics and sold bit by bit back to society. Capitalism trives in niche market - as a movement grows and morphs into  a social culture, it becomes marketed but the consuming habits of it's group. To be come significant in society, it is marked with it's own social codes and expectations. For the Counter-Culture movement, this was a complete rejection of the dominant norms and (to a lesser degree) values. The exact manifestion of Punk is unimportant, suffice to say that it requires a multi-generational idealogy constructed by shared influence.

A social culture tells us about a population's work. For Marx, work/labor was paramount. Labor, work = value. Hipsters deny work - for the image is rooted in a laissez faire attitude. To act to something strongly invites critique, to some degree. Hispster culture expects the individual to deride that they feel as trival by acting towards it in grandiose style. This is seen most prevenletly is "making an ironic statement." (though, it should be noted that no Hipster would advertise their specific reasons.)

A day in the life of Marcus

Oct. 28 2010

Today I participated in a psychological study!
For this particular study involved an EEG. for those not in the know, EEG stands for electroencephalogram. Not being proficient in greek (or is it latin?) I looked it up and was surprised to find it means exactly what I expected: A tool that records and measures the electrical activity in the brain through carefully placed electrodes.
Despite how it looks, the EEG cap is, in fact, not very comfortable. In order for the electrodes to detect the minute, split-second actions of your synapses, a specialized goo is placed between the electrode and where it contacts your head. After having my head thoroughly slathered with dielectric grease, I got to sit in front of a computer monitor and be recorded as I "played" some "games." I mean to use ironic quotes, because the "games" consisted of counting  and "played" refers to typing one of four keys. But thats not important.

I hardly felt much during the test, though at times I felt ...lightheaded? no, like when you get a whole bunch of hair cut off after having a shaggy do for awhile. A lightness around my scalp but offset by the presence of the cap. It was how imagined it would feel to have your mind read. A numb probe at the threshold of your perception like an evasive thought playing hide-n-seek in your mind.

Later, after the tests, the researcher took me to a place where I could shampoo the gel out. A nice young lady. thick brown curls peeking out from her red knit Cyclone hat.  She wants to study Biological Psychology which she attempted to explain to me in too short a time in too brief a conversation. While we walked and talked I felt the presence of the gel more. To me, I felt like my cognitive abilities, my thoughts where more subdued than usual. A short, if you will. Perhaps it is my active imagination, but I think that gel was interfering with my thinking. I cleaned my head and walked home (actually I biked, but walking sounds better). Once cleared of goo, I felt normalized.

...until this evening. You see, I made the mistake of scheduling this participation on the same day as my Psych Exam. Fortunately, the two events were, like, 10 hours apart so... no worries. I only mention this because during my exam I felt a familiar pang. The jab of electrodes. This time hot like a fresh bruise. These pangs weren't accompanied with that numb, airy feeling. No. Now separated from the grease, the ghostly electrodes pushed tangibly against my cranium. It was very distracting.

thanks for reading
-W. Marcus Miranti

Sunday morning

here I am Writing this blog I sit in early morning hour.
The station echoes with it's endless broadcast.
It is mute with noise.

SeeSaw

what goes up and down and up and down and up and down and up?

That's, right, my blog posts.
If you guessed a teeter totter, you get partial credit.

I really wanted to scribble a tall tale. I started, and that was great; but I've pick this habit of editing and revising while working and that is slowing me down greatly. As such, I've been working off and on and off this story for, like a week now. Anyway, I left the older, unedited unfinished version up. For those interested, I posted the finalized story here.

Thank you, for your patience. I've been struggling with focus recently more than normal. Planning is hard. even harder is acting.

A Tale So Possible It's True

I have been melancholy of late. In an effort of affect my blues, I'd like to speak today of something close to my heart. wine.

Yes, wine. It may surprise you, but my familiarity with the beverage dates to my earliest adventures. I am credited with saving an entire year's vintage from ruination as a youth. In actuality, it was my prodigious steed who saved that year's wine. she was a beautiful creature. the color of ash and spotted snow-white, like the granite topped mountains of New England. She was just old enough to saddle and I was just aged enough to ride. It was a sparkling spring in the American colonies. Talk of taxes and governance pursed everyone's lips. But not us. Concord and I rode blissfully up and down mountainous passes, too youth too care for politics, too naive to think about rebellion.  Mr. Delacroix, to whom I was employed, a rotund man cheerfully mustachioed was the premier viner of New France (I'm told, today it's called Vermont). 

A brawny voice boomed over the rows of vines, "Foutre! The day, she is beautiful! Abruti, boy where are you?" Mr. Delcrioux's English warbled heavily with french slurs, "Le vin, we must check the wine!" 

I, as I was most often at dawn, was in the barn collecting eggs from the chickens when I heard  Delacroix shouts. I saddled Concord and, with the eggs in hand rode to meet him near the cellar. 

"He's always like this in the spring." I reasurred Concord as I dismounted.

The viner wobbled about the the cellar with a taster of tokay in one hand and a sloshing glass of his prized chardonnay in the other. his night gown swirled about his short legs. I tiptoed down the cold, stone stairs. He whirled about and i gave a starteld cry. Delacroix's excited face was wreathed in an wild corna of thick, black hair. The egg basket tumbled from my hands.

"Merde boy! don't frighten a man like that!" he cried, "le cervau d'un sandwich au fromage! eggs in the cellar? to the house with you." Delacroix sipped the tokay. "you have that horse of yours with?" he smiled. "hurry, quick for some breakfest, I have an important task for you, mon grand."

I found Delacroix on the porch after a quick meal of croissant and preserve. Delacriox sent me on errand to Newport. I was to find a group of exotic traders and give them a sealed letter and directions to the farm. giddily, we set our sights to Newport.

The trip to was hardly adventureous. But to an eager lad and best freind in hoof, it was a trail forged beyond tale. I spun tall fables and epic poems of my heroic consqest through the hills of New France. the bards would caterwaul my deeds was they did for ledgends past. 'Lo!' they would sing 'hear now the tale of the boy- no the man -  who carried the message for Delacroix Vinery!' High above, my daydreams soars in a cloudless sky. Beneath bows spurting youthful leafs Concord's trot drew a hyonotic beat. The midday sun painted green the rocky path.

We reached Newport late in the day without incident. The tavern was easy to find, it's lanterns already lit in the reddening light of dust. 

...

"to die, to sleep, perchance to dream"


Hamlet stayed his hand.
I did not.
so quick. so terrifyingly quick.
cold, tired, then numb, then nothing.
a finite gasp of in a finite world filled with finite things so unchangible
drifted away in a final thought
I know not what. like a birthday wish, it shall never shared. 

I have a pet rat. Her name is Panchu. She is ill and will probably not recover. It may seem strange to many people, that one might care for a rat but to me, she means the world. I have watched her aged this year. slowly, running less and less. Age is a bitter thing, it seems. Her bright eyes still look up with curiousity, anger to the cats, joy to me. Her wheel turns less and less each night. A mornful creeking reminder of the finite nature of all. now silent. Today was bath day. Panchu is a clean rat. she can wash herself normally, but sometimes it's nice to be held, to be scrubbed, to smell new, to be reminded of love - of what being cared for feels like.
  Bath day. I am reminded of certain  death and burial rituals that include washing the fallen.
She is so small. So wightless. so weak. I run a sink. warm. I submerge my fingers and comb her fine fur. She doesn't mind. even holds my index  for a moment. Panchu never had great love for being in water, though she can swim (fast, too usaully to the nearest escape.).  In my hands she touches the warmth. I am prepared for her to rush up my arm. with careful touch, I rub baby shampoo into her brilliant, white coat. She seems weary - a melancholy we share. Johnson and Johnson lathers nicely.  Two halloweens ago she clamored with engery. barely staying still long enough for a lather - let alone a second rinse.
  So tired.
I dried her without complaint. Once she would've pruned her fur untill it shined and immaculately white. Always running the dirtied paws over her ash coloured ears. I am told the colour difference on her head is common in hooded rats. There is nothing common about Panchu. Born with fur like snow, she loved to explore. Before we lived in Ames we lived in a place called Petsel pl apt 2. each morning she'd orchestrate a new escape from her cage. One such morning she found a a box full curious things. It was a box where I'd put some art supplies. Most charcoal and craypas. Naturally, she wondered inside where her paws became so soiled and dyed with dark inks and dust that when she cleaned them it stained her white head black.
  Outside dry, red leafs fall.

almost October.
crispy, fallen leafs
bright yellow and brown
Hugged warm in red fleese
jackets and blue sky
cluttered sidewalks
fill with harvest
spirits lift high in
glasses and song
the whisking wind stirs
empty branches stab
nights, wild, cold, and sweet 
a dusting of frost
reminds us again
almost October

I am watching brilliant SyFy channel Alice and Wonderland remake, Alice.

Because I cannot think of any else to scribe, in the next hour I shall transcribe my life.

Watching Alice. It is a SyFy original series remake of Alice and Wonderland by Lewis Carrol.
It is delightful.
I am sitting, legs crossed on the couch. A computer rests on the knees of Ruby. She watches intensely. Alice creeps about a low-light room. She looking for someone. op. It's a dreamsequence; she awakes to find herself in a forest.
Ruby is beautiful when she's concentrating.

Twitter
Faecbook!
Threadless.
new deals, I have 35$ in gift moneyes. Aw, they still don't have any new tees I love. however, this is interesting...
I ask Ruby if we she join the Tee-of the Month club from Threadless.
I think she agrees.
The cats slumber. Pepper stops by.  she is a shadow, silently sleek she drips through the house

-scene missing-

I awake. the coffee-rug hugs me. it is soft in the darkness. not as soft as bed and sheet. I attempt to lift ruby.
Slumber sapped strength... Instead rouse her with a kiss.
To Bed
to bed.

Cross Roads

1:38am sep 16 2010

Why keep a Blog?

I suppose I do it to maintain a frail connection to writing. To language. I loved language and literature. I enjoy analytical reading and discussing symbols and themes. writing too.

What happened?

I graduated. Nobody was interested in literary critiques or theory. I saw no jobs at the BA level -none, that is, that tailored to my interest. proof readers. I'm terrible at detail work. editing/publishing. I wanted something more academic. Teaching. I discovered that no place wanted some one with four-years of interdisiplary study with out teaching accreditation.

Why not freewrite? journalism, or fictional work?

Attempts at creative writing were abysmal. I found too quickly that I had no subject for which I had passion. perhaps I'm too high-minded, but I could not bring my self to write articles about thing for which I did not care. As it turns out, I am a stubborn wordcrafter too. I could start. But I never allowed myself to generate enough material to work with before I tried to revise it. Ultimately, I became discouraged. I convinced my self I was a terrible writer - a self-fulling prophecy compounded by my refusal to practice or even seek out side inspiration.

Is that why you returned to College?

I guess. I felt, after two years floundering and living off my parents' money, that i was most productive in the influence of an academic setting.

Did you want get a Masters in English?

yes, no. I wasn't sure what focus - what drive I had to justify further education. I didn't want to fall into the trap of continuing schooling for the lack of an other interest. I wanted to want to be in school.*shrugs* Truth is, I didn't try. I submitted one application -late- to University of Iowa. but mostly I was scared. scared to try. just like with my writings i was scared to put all that emotional effort - a significant portion of my being- to the judgment of the masses. My own fragile ego and insufficient self-esteem predicted my doom, my failure. In part, failure to find a job translated into failure to be accepted. So I took an easy way.
Another degree?
yes. I reenrolled as an undergraduate. at a school known for it's exceedingly low expectations. (but you didn't hear that from me).

You said you were scared. Is that the reason you choose Iowa State University?

No. By now I feel much more confident I my abilities. Actually, I found myself living in Ames because I was living with my love, Ruby. It was too late to apply for a postgrad position, you see. Nor did I find the opportunities at ISU that compelling.  Further, Ruby keeps talking about moving to Germany. I figured I could stay in Iowa for a year (two at most) and while I look for a nice Masters program, I could brush up the ol' GPA. and, hey, why not explore some other interests while I'm at it?

And how do you feel now?

Red, Red Wine

Stay close to me
I am fine.
Lemme clear my my mind.

communication
difficult.
Like a kitten in a box

I find it hard to get out

Introduction

I'm not sure how many reader are familiar with The Bright Orange Thread.

Anyway, I have a new addition to my household. A delightful, super fuzzy kitten.  He has taken the moniker, Mugen (Officially Mugen-kun).

The first hurdle this little guy must cross is the ever vigilant eye of Big Sister - Pepper, I mean.  She is less then ecstatic about this little visitor. At first, she did what a cat does when her home is invaded by a stranger. At first, he was sequestered in a different room so that all she could do is growl and hiss that the door. Gradually (not that gradually, actually it was in two days) she would sit, pearched, and stare at him. Slowly, he worked his charms on her.

Now they are the best of pals and spend time playing and frolicking [photo not found].

the word of the day: Imponderables

Aug 22 2010
I have class tomorrow.

Good day!

firstly, the good news.
The rives peaked at 19.88ft and 18.13ft yestermorning just under record for the Skunk and Squaw respectively (20.93 and 18.54).  Inversely, the lowest the river(s) have very been recorded was 1.60ft for the skunk and .38ft for the squaw. I'm certain a drought would be worse.
Unfortunately, the local water tower and the water treatment plant are still offline. (i guess the water tower emptied itself out of fear when the flood hit) So I've only hydrostatic pressure for fausets and the city strongly recommends boiling water for consumption. Only thing is that Friday predicts more rain. I took a meterology class in highschool which i draw on now. The Barimetric pressure seems to be stable but humidity and tempature continue to steadily climb. I don't know what more rain could bring.

Flood day

People running frantically around town, in desperate search for a river crossing. Cars. It's all cars now. Very little foot traffic. the pedestians find it easy to effect a fording. Their reliance is on their cars. Combustion powered, reinforced suspention, variable speed transmission with no-slip traction control that automaticly adjusts wheel speed to maintain optimal control. all shyed from water-bound bridges.

Ok, it's less a failure of technology or people's interface, rather the authorities closed roots to civilian traffic just the same. Ames, my current home town, underwent a deluge. Rain, Rain ever several days. Rain on the road, rain on the river, rain all over the place.  The river spilled it's banks and ran ashore. I dominated the landscape (waterscape) today. It continues to rise. And for the sake of safety authority ristricked access to the major downtowny areas.

I wasn't able to snap dramatic pictures like this one. Most of the pictures from the local paper are quite dramatic. They depict only the most affected areas. But what else should one suspect. All the dry places, people and homes are not the worry or interest. Ames has two rivers that collide into one, just north a few, short block from the above picture. Squaw Creek runs into the west Skunk river where they become the north Skunk River as they run through Des Moines. 

As a rule, one should be wary of build at the confluence of rivers.

But the real issue here is the failure of Ames Munisiple. Waste water is running into the water treatment plant. The Ames Power plant is centrally located in the middle of town.

there.
If it goes underwater, we'll most likely lose power.
Or not.
As American has this thing called a power grid. Where electricities are linked in series such that if one fails or needs to be brought off line the area can maintain power. or something like that. I wouldn't say "failure" either, I'm sure a day or two will see water treatment reactivated. Since i can boil water with or without electricity, I won't worry about me. The Only misfortune of this event I've suffered is not being able to play with the kittens at the local animal shelter.

I don't think i've ever seen someone portage a bike before

'till tomorrow.
-marcus
 

It can change your presective and alter feelings. It affects us in ways both subtle and overt and never how we expect. Chronically unbound, it's potency is immeasurable and constant. Memory. Images - events, people, places-  forever burned in the cortexes of our minds never. Though it dims with age, time sweetens moments like fruit to be plucked and savored. Some moments, too sweet, rot with the tread of time, leaving it's bearer to pine for better times. moments passed more saccharin than possible, the fruit so syrup sweetened it turns sour and can only dream of what can never return. Memories should be savored like a wine - a little bit with each sip. The best memories are a complex of emotion and people. Even bitter memories can smile with notes of pear and strawberry.

Of 神 and Wakȟáŋ Tȟáŋka

Religion.
It seems an ever present force in your culture. It attaches social constructs to otherwise "blank slates." It can introduce rational behavior in a panicked community or disavow rational, logical thought and discussion. It is often (incorrectly) believed that that reason and faith can not coexist. When I say "faith" I mean the complete confidence in person, plan, morality... insert noun. Reason does not deny skepticism nor does it sanctify it either. In turbidatude, one might say that faith in reason is a religion just as faith in Christ is also a religion.

I've never been surprised how a simple statement  can cause such animosity. It's like saying Israelis and Palestinians could be the same peoples.

I've always saved a place in my heart for the ancient religions. The common ones these days, seem to bent on maintaining social status, moral surpremacy, political influence and epistemological prowess.

In an effort to better explore and understand my culture - the human culture- I am enbarking on a search for knowledge. I want to explore older, more traditional style belief systems. Systems like the Lakota Way and Shinto. Both are commonly thought of as Religion but lack many formal aspects that plague so many other Faiths. Namely, they are reminents of Faiths of peoples almost forgot but remained doggedly.

For Shinto, it's core elements are entwined in Japanese culture. It provided (and still might) a basis for Buddhism and Confucianism. The Lakota Way is made of the traditions and history one Native American tribe, the Lakota, who manged to preserve a part of their people. Both utilize dance, song and word-of-mouth story telling in ceremony and practice. More interestingly, both are known for a distinct lack of unified doctrine, and have a abundant absence of scripture.

Not to say neither Shinto nor Lakota  don't use "holy books," rather they are not bond by tome. Of course, modern and contemporary works, thoughts and [mis]understandings are freely available.

-yours in learning, Marcus

Something new

The Foundation and Earth.

I started this book believing it to be the first of Asimov's Foundation series. According to the Author's memoirs Wikipedia, each book of the series can be read chronologically, individually or by publishing date. In fact, if It's Been a Good Life by Jan Asimov is to be believed, The Foundation and Earth was Isaac's finis for the series. Thus, I am forced to conclude it was the last book of the Foundation(s) he wrote willingly. Anyway, I wanted to talk about it because it was the only thing I've been thinking about recently that doesn't turn my head to knots. Have read only half of it this review might seem premature. But the book's been on the shelves since before I was an immodest thought shared by two teen in Illinois.

The writing is style curious. It is a far bit different then the heavy, descriptive language of King or Gaimen. it was none of the dingy narrative so prevalent in Poe's short stories. In fact much of the progression it done through dialogue. The characters are brilliantly opposing; I find myself lost in their debates.

Golan Trevize is a very relatable character, at lest for me. He almost always speaks with questions. the story fallows him most closely (third person limited perspective). So far Asimov has stuck to this model, very occasionally shifting perspective to engage dramatic irony.

I don't often like to learn about an author's ideas behind a book prior to reading it, but i felt in writing this post, i ought to do some investigating. That said, I'd love to explore the socio-political context of this particular book. It talks about Gaia, a super organism that is posed to enjoin all of humanity against Trevize's stubborn individualism. so far, he continually agrees that Gaia is the best course for humanity's evolution. But he is constantly in conflict with his disision as he argues again and again for Indiviualism, what Gaia calls Isolates. The whole thing seems a macrocosm for True Democracy versus Ideal Communism.

I give it a Must Read.

It's a little bulky, but not overly so. It's not flowery or romantic. It's not gritty, gutty realism. but it is fun and short and easy to read and understand.

A study

Human psychology in targeted sales.

Training the seller.
there is more to the industry of sales then just getting someone to payout hard-earned cash monies on your product.

What I've found most interesting in the short time I've been involved with targeted sales is that it not just about the consumer getting excited, it's about selling to the seller as well.

it's all too interesting but i've been having trouble formulating a thesus or even how to corilate this data that i wanna discuss.

Meeby something more interesting tomarrow.

Looking for something with which to inform the world....

adventures

 A chair. A great big chair.

for 60 dollars our across-the-street neighbors were trying to rid themselves of the awful affliction of seating.

I'm fairly sure they were deperate to sell the thing -acrused as it was- that i could've walked away with it at 30$. My plan was to offer 20 and work no greater then 40$. But then i remembered i don't need a chair. And, indeed, 20$ could be greatly used in other aspects of my life.

After mowing the lawn in early afternoon-sun, I hopped bikeward (because nothing is as refreshing after a grueling sweatin the hot, hot sun as a long bike  ride in the hot, hot sun). I headed to my favorite comic book store this morrow. Albeit Mayham is the only comic book shop this side of Des Moines, but it's stores are still vast. I picked up three comics. Deadpool Corps, Chip, and Sense & Sensibility the comic. who knew? I saw it and i knew it must be purchased. It's not terrible. By which i mean, it's exactly as terrible as the original Jane Austin. So if you like that... I just wonder what other classics will be reprinted in comic form. Persuasion, perhaps? House of the Seven Gables? They've done Frankenstein and Dracula hundreds of times why not Rappacinni's Daughter or Herland? particularly Dickens' works would fit nicely as he was initially a serial author. (though i don't think i could stand reading Bleak House or A Christmas Carol even if it was illustrated.)

Chip is a junevile comic about a 2 inch gargoyle that seeks out different ways to become scarier. In this issue (the second issue i've purchased) he investigates a "haunted" house to ask the spirits how to be fierce. I love the premise of this comic. It is terribly juvenile but cute. I'm not sure how to elabrate on this. So I won't.

Moving on, I enjoyed Deadpool. I'm not sure this in the best work, but it's promising. Plus entertaining. basicly, Deadpool is a super "hero" who is inane, clever, and just slight batty. The particular series i picked up involves Deadpools from all over the "mulitverse." It includes a zombified dismembered floating head of of Deadpool. He is called Headpool. There is also Dogpool and Ladypool. I'm waiting for Hulkpool. anyway for ~3$ each it's not a bad way to spend some time.

further along I found myself at Ames British Foods. A favorate place of mine. Specifically, Mark, the owner, loves beers and ciders. I love the Henney's Cider his shop offers. 16 poorer I had two point two pints of Cider and a box of strawberry bicukets (delicious). All and all, 25$ of expenderture was certainly worth not having a new chair. Plus the sweat and sunburn!

until next time,
-Marcus

P.S. I shaved my head today. It is incredible. I'd show the world (my blog-readers) but my camera is absent. Forgotten - nay - adventuring without me. I have a scanner. I've never tried to use a scanner as a camera before and I don't intent to now. But I'll show you my biscuits instead. 

And it comes with a story! but you don't get to see that part.

Fleas

I guess i really am a flea-bitten hippie now. It started harmlessly enough, Pepper went too long without Frontlone treatment. So we treated her when these horrible insects appeared. They, of course, like all sentient creatures in dire situations, were forced to find a new home: me. I found anit-bug/anti-flea stuff - mycodex- and sprayed the house. It promises "to break the flea life cycle and controls reinfestation for up to 210 days." This was three or five days ago. Today, I believe, it couldn't get worse. Flea bits are hundred times worse then mosquitoes, thistle, maybe worse then ivies of varying toxicity.

I did find a remedy (kinda). While hydrocortisone based products reduce itching and irritation by immunosuppression, products like Afterbite™, mostly Ammonia, reduces itchiness presumably by lowing the skin PH. I come to this conclusion because baking soda (CHNaO₃) is a fantastic treatment for wasp stings. Anywho, I was reading a book about curative baths and they suggested a tincture of black tea to ease the skin. Ok it's not really a tincture, but a tea bath - a slightly brownish tannin heavy solution of bathwater. I tried both types of baths. Yesterday the baking soda and today the tea. It's definitely weird to have your bath water smell like delicious breakfast tea. I was supposed to use 2oz of dry tea leaves but i only had one tea bag left and no scale. So accuracy is out the window in these experiments. Also, I neglected to record or mark a bath-water level.

The baking soda bath definitely made me feel slightly better.If only for 45 minutes. The tea bath was much more relaxing. I also noticed with grim satisfaction many (5) drowned fleas. Tomorrow I guess I'll have to come up with some more aggressive solutions.

I hate parasites. especially ones I notice or leave incriminating evidence of their leechiness. Sure, i might no need all my blood; but i certainly don't need hundreds of horrible bites always arranged in groups. if i were a more creative man i'd come up with a decoder for reading the crytic messages the fleas are leaving in their bite patterns.

I think the worst of it is that neither Pepper nor Ruby seem to be suffering as much as I.  She's very intent on not scratching and Pepper, well, she's a cat. You can never really tell if she cares or notices the bugs. I've been thinking if I'm going to live with body lice I should eat them when I find them. It only seems appropriate. Vengeance, really, an eye for an eye and the like. Bite me, bugger, I'll bite you right back.

I've always romanticized about being a pirate. I guess this is a step towards living the dream. Yet without a ship or a crew I'm only a roof-over-my-head away from being a creative homeless guy. I just hope

until better daze, Marcus

Yikes! a whole day slept away? I could do worse

I was planning on writing about Ruby's glorious return from Germany. Spain's will-be triumph. I was going to talk about our home after leaving for Michigan and returning to find Fleas over running it. My research of current Sci-Fi trends: Mostly across between The Foundation (book); Star Trek TNG (TV); and Freelancer (game). Speaking of distractions, why does the hospital close at 4:30?

Anyway, all of that aside, I've found plenty to keep me a float. None of it worth while - worth reading about, I mean. typical day-today affairs - rationing rum and retarring the ship and the like, Arg. Actually I've had to struggle to find the time to write, which is curious as usually I do everything i can to keep my self from the enjoyable (yet despicable) task. Today I used the hour waiting for an oil change and 24 pt inspection at the dealer to organize some thoughts.

I know this isn't the most interesting of posts. as i intent to mostly speak of myself. But i feel a strange dualism. On one hand I'm utterly depressed about my positions in life and have no meaningful plan to correct this malign. On the other hand. I feel good. mostly Positive and mostly willing  to face the darkening days (daze) ahead. sometimes it's ok to focus on the self and one's own self interests. (i sure hope so)

In an unrelated notion, Congrats to all those who've found their footing in this sea.

Tomorrow's post will be shipwright'd to full sail.

not forgotten.... just lost

I completely forgot that i had meant to post some of my projects.
Next time. (perhaps tonight, though i doubt it.).

For those not in the loop, Ruby, Long-time friend and spice of my life, returns from Germany today. In antisipation i've been cleaning and picking up and being a general windstorm of action. I even did laundry (not a strong suit). get it? suit? anyway. we've conversed slightly online but I'm looking forward to her stories.

In the meantime, I'm going to drop of this application and hang out with Donovan in Des Moines.

what do you think? would you hire me?

I s'pose i need to make a blog post. I was actually looking forward to it. But I'm tired and i promised my self i would finish my Writing exercizes for the post man on the marrow. And i'm getting swore.

Promised updates soon

these days

To start, I'd like to thank all the people who let me know that I am cared for.

Like a wayward vessel upon an unforgiving sea, I was tossed about. In my truculent turmoil, I may have mentioned, like a captain far gone on rum, feelings about my relationship(s) that, now in sobriety, I realize now to be ridiculous. But it reveals in me an underlining self doubt. Because of this overly-adventurous-June, my thoughts have dwelled on Ruby and Me much longer then normal. Ruby is far, far less shallow then i gave her credit for in my previous post. She loves me, I am sure, as much as I love her. And our love is no fickle thing. ( understand that is not how i felt in the moment). Ruby is a bundle of passion. She taught me the function of emotions likes I've never thought could be expressed. In her absence, well, like being lost in the southern hemisphere, I could not chart the stars above. 

I've thrown out (stowed, actually) those useless charts and struck out with renewed vigor. I rallied my remnant crew. we have faced a great ship-of-war and lost. We've been tossed around and dead-set with disease. Rickets and scurvy have sapped our spirits; yet, to travel on is a must. for that simple act to endure is to seek freedom. to continue on despite all opposition.

To survive is not enough. In this weekend i visited many friends. I bore witness to the lives these people, all brilliant and intelligent minds, had carved. Some seeking -something- they could not yet define. Others unable to dream greatly for burdens of surviving blinded them to potential. I can no longer be a part of the latter. I see know why, almost automatically, I worked. Because i did lose something: Ambition. My dream deferred (i hope i can use that term without sounding disingenuous) by my own hand. Yet, at the same actions I began (unconsciously) to alter my coarse.These strange waters in which i sail made have brought more than misfortune; they brought new, unexplored challenges. islands of unknown riches and people. New foes to share the thrill of piracy.

All adds to the color of my canvass.

Again, I must give special thanks to Jizzy (Jessica "Jizzy" Smith) for convincing me to seek out shipmates. Even now i see a light piercing the black horizon; star. Deneb. Hoist the sails, we make for the southern line. To every night a dawn.

I know it is cliche, but I feel it appropriate. After all, cliches gained notoriety for no insignificant reason.

-Marcus

Le Sigh

This week, for me, has been terrible. I got a staff infection and my face swelled up like a basketball. My computer's mother's turned into charcoal over night. I got fired from Ge-Angelo's. I could go on discussing my woes. So I will.

But whatever issues that occur here, on this blog, are relatively minor compared to the troubles across the world. I simply need a place to vent my frustrations. This wasn't what i had in mind when i started blogging. It's hard to resist the pull to talk about the trifles in one's own life. even as i write this i think about Ruby in Germany baring witness to the slow demise of her Oma. (Oma is German for Grandmother) Oma is a strong hearted person. A stroke has stolen her movement and age sapped her physical strength yet still she trudges on in her life with all the pertinaciousness of a waterbuffalo through impassible swamp. what's more, she does it with good humor and optimism. If we could all be so fortunate.

Back to me, then

I finally lost my job at Ge-Angelo's.

The thing that bothers me the most, I think, about being fired is just the way it happened. I was professional in everything i did. I have kitchen experience. I know how a kitchen needs to run. I wasn't eating on the line like other chefs. I wasn't licking my fingers while plating deserts. I understood the importance of presentation. I washed my hands between each task. I tried to communicate to people, but I'm just not used to yelling. We never had to yell at eachother at Monica's. I'm short, so it's hard to reach the items on the upper shelves where everything i need to do my job seems to be stacked. I tried to get along with the other chefs. I just could not make connections with people. Frankly I felt unliked; I don't think anyone respected me.

I was fired because this the third time Ryan had to talk to me. this time it was about dishes. I cleaned dishes at Monica's and I cleaned dishes at Bagel Beanry and I clean dishes at home. I know how to clean dishes. Hannes and Nick were helping me put dishes away 'cause we got swarmed. They had a responsibility, too, to make sure they were clear of spots and grime before being put away. If there were dirty dishes being put away they were also apart of it. . According to Ryan all the fucking dishes were dirty.I guess because i the designated Dish Monkey it falls to me. I dunno. They weren't dirty when they came out of the sanitizer. Maybe that's broken, Ryan.

Some part of me says I shoulda argued with him. That I shoulda pointed out all the possible problems mentioned above. But i just stood there and listened to him I denied some parts of what he said but I didn't give any strong argument against it. It was the same as the other two times. There were reasons why.

It's hard. You know, you get swamped and it's hard to come up with coherent thought in the moment.

What if I did? What could I gain? Save a job I don't like working for a guy who doesn't like me, always looking for the next chance to fire my ass, no chance for promotion, little opportunity for a raise and no job satisfaction?

At least it would've been a pay check.

I dunno. what bothers me is now i have to look for another job and i don't know if i can use this guy as a reference.

It's just that i feel like every time I try to do something everything goes bad. I went yesterday to get my college stuff in order and i get fired. the day before i cleaned my place and i got a staff infection. My face is swelled up like a basketball. I can't think with out hurting. I tried to transcribe some work from my notebook to my computer for Revisioning and my motherboard turned into charcoal. I'm afraid that if i clean my car the engine's gonna explode.

I can't seem to get away. I wanna tell somebody off. Yell my feelings. I can look 'em in the eye and think it but the words just aren't there.

I miss Ruby. She could put this into perspective.

I fear that she deserves better than me. I feel like I can't provide a lifestyle for her. She deserves more than a shitty place in a shitty town paid for by a shitty part-time job. Someone to be with who can fight for himself. Even if it's about something he doesn't think is that important. Just stand up. Don't take being told your terrible at what you do!

Fuck Ryan! I'm a great chef. I'm an amazing sauteer. I love tossing some pasta or some vegetables. Flavoring things! I love creating dishes that satisfy and challenge the pallet. It doesn't always work out great. hey, cooking is about experimentation. But when it does, yumm!

You know, the first month i worked there i tried to do everything by their (Ryan's) letter, by his law. That didn't work. I got reprimanded for working that way because there is not priority. And he keeps his recipes secrete! How can I make something on the fly if i don't know the ingredients? So then i tried being creative. do it the way i would do it if it were my place. I utilized the skills I developed from previous work experiences. I got reprimanded for that. it wasn't the method he wanted even if the results were the same. So then i said fuckit. I'm just gonna show up and do it and not care and not make it something personal. I got fired for that!

I just don't know anymore.

ima gonna throw this down first

I started today in Des Moines. I saw Ruby off to Germany. She is of on her own adventureyou can check her her Blog @ http://brightorangethread.blogspot.com/

I am going to miss her. But in her absence, I've decided. No, Decreed that I WILL BE PRODUCTIVE!

on the way to home i began a list. A list to organize my daily schedule. I wrote the list as soon as i was home.

Then i decided to drink.
Nothing else got done.
But i did have fun being shit-faced with the cat.

Tomorrow, productivity!

back to monday

all yesterday i sat, staring at this empty blog space trying to think of something to share. I s'pose it's harder to be interesting when things are ...good. So i'll talk about someone else for a change.

Pepperchan almost caught herself a rabbit yesterday.

A juvenal bunny hopping playfully among clover and violets. He pauses once in every skip to sniff the air and nibble some grass. A warm breeze rolls through the grass. A dark shape emerges so slowly; slipping like a shadow towards it's unsuspecting prey. She stops. He stops. no longer does the air feel quite so warm. An odd chill. He looks up to see if a cloud has past overhead. In the clear sky the afternoon sun hangs above the leafy branches of a walnut tree but a shadow on the ground. Grass forgotten he slowly, ever so slowly for to do otherwise was to invite the specter closer, he looks across the grass. Still too young, too small to see over the long tufts of green. For an instant, even the wind holds it's breath.She is inches from him now. A paw's swipe. Run. He bonds away. She leaps to where he was. Flying dirt, pebbles and grass she takes chase. it is over in seconds. though every movement every action is like a choreographed dance. A kabuto. They waltz through tall grass, zig-zagging clover and around the tree until, finally, when his heart pounds ferociously in his chest, she gives up chase. He is in the middle of a field. Too far from cover to be safe. She paces ten - no six- hops away. A wooden pile of logs invites safety. He breaks for it. She tags playfully behind, tail wagging with delight. She neither closes the distance nor advances until he disappears. When he is gone from sight she retreats; sprinting home to tell her extraordinary tale.

what's new is old again

I suppose today wasn't as terrible as it could've been.  I arrived to work late and sweaty; prefect for working with 500 degree ovens.I lost the five dollars i put in my pocket for dinner on the long ride from home to work. I was slightly late, just in time to tackle the hundered and ten dishes left from the previous night (i guess Ge-angelo's was busy last night). I don't even like eating off dishes. We had a fair night so i got to stay an hour late to clean up too. In addition, My teeth have been hurting, a more constiant reminder of my need for medical care. Fortunately, thats an easy fix as i've recently acquired insurance.

I sucked it in and confronted Ruby today as well. point blank I asked her if she loved me. I thought and raved all day and come up with a question i needed answered. I deserve to love someone who loves me back, I said. I am a strong, caplible person with a heart and needs and I need to know what this is. I didn't tell her (at first) that I still loved her. She answered quite slowly. She Answered in the affermitive. I love you, said Ruby. I'm worried, though, she continued, that it is a love of convenience.  Ok that wasn't exactly what she said. But she didn't need to. I can't remember the words to the letter, but basically Ruby feels conserned that we're together not due to Love but ease.

I'm not one who believes in Absolutes. There is a certain definiteness in saying "i love you." A suggestion that it is a love eternal. But how can we say that with assuredness? We are temporal creatures. we think, judge, love, hate, fight, hug all while advancing steadily through time. eventually we (as individuals) will cease to be able to live temporally. we die. no one can say what happens next (i'll cross that bridge when it arrives). Nothing is Absolute, including Love. I don't believe in Absolute Love - in fairytale love that lasts forever. I don't think there is exactly one person -a soul mate- for each other person on this plant. Love doesn't come in couplets (not always, at any rate). Love must be shared, dynamic. Love changes over time; waxes and wanes; it can grow or fade away. You can love some one today one way and love them still ten years later completely differently. don't dispare, though, Love is not fickle. Not mine. I don't know if this is True Love either. I know that when i look at her, my chi, my heart, my being feels relaxed - confident even giddy. (ironically, i think, one of the reasons she is unnerved as open to her every thought and action... i digress)

I won't pretend to know depths of Ruby's mind. She is beautifully complex. I suspect, however, that no small part of her anxiety is, in part, my Bisexuality. She fears (i believe) that because she is the first woman i've been involved with with any seriousness. that I'm only with her because it's easy.

Nothing i do is ever easy. more seriously, Ruby, if your reading, if i wanted easy i would've stayed at my job in Iowa City smoking pot when i wasn't working and never thinking outside the next party. I knew that wasn't the person i wanted to be. I'm seeking to change - to grow.

I don't know what's in the future. but i know i'm glad that you'll be with me, Ruby.

I Love You

Second Date

Good morning. Well, i think it's a good morning, at any rate. Today i'm practicing Blogging in the morning. In theroy everything will be future tense (or present tense) instead of past tense.

Anyway, in the continuing saga of Romance, Ruby wants to go to the waterpark here in Ames. An impromptu second date, I suppose. We'll see. since the rain stopped it's been packed ear-to-shoulder.We shall see.

An unrelated note, Blogging is a curious anima. I woke up at 10 this morning. truthfully, I lay awake unable to move from bed. Staring at the ceiling for hours until Pepper persuaded my that better things waited for me. I ate a quick meal of milk and rice-cearal. I wrote a note to the world belaying my issues, my thoughts and such. I thought it posted. In fact i forgot. So here I am now, struggling to regain that emotion. No. Instead hollow expesition. Esspecially considering we've missed the opening for the waterpark. she stood me up? I could never think too ill of Ruby. I'm sure her crumby job demanded her time. Moreover, I've taken to editing older entries. always adding REVISION to the tag line. But it seems a cheat; to change one's words. Alter emotion and expression. No novel i've known has published without editing, revision, rewriting. So why does it bother me so? Facebook allows us to delete comments made, connection with others, activities... what have you. Meeby I feel concerned about how false a vale it seems. like hitting F6 and F9 when you fuckup. You can't take back what's been said face-to-face. But the tools are in place here, online, to do just that. How can we hold honest discourse when i can alter my opinion post-humorously? For example this is the third entry i've entered after losing the content the first two times.

It's not been a good day.

first date (again)

This morning i did something new. rather something i've not done in years. I took a bike ride. It was amazing. Specaular even. I rode along a deer-trail that snaked the Skunk River. Plus three hours exploring Ames on the back of  two wheels. It gave me some time to think. it also wore my unexercised ass out. So I'll give you the condensed version.

Basicly i sat down with Ruby and professed the awkwardness of our perdiciment. I still had strong feelings about her. I beleive she still feels connected to me as well. I suggested that it might help if we restarted our relationship. A reboot. This evening we went to a movie. A first date that ended with a kiss and a promise of another.

I don't know what all this means. Or if we still have a future. I am not a confindent person. I don't have a strong voice. When i speak i'm often (and easily) over spoken which hurts my esteem. I'm distracted easily and more easily diswaded and disheartened. I seem to causuly accept the misfortunes in my life rather then. face them in order to over come them. I intend to work on these (and other, negitive) aspects of myself.

A honestness is about us. one that lets us tell without fear worries and conserns we have for eachother. Distance seems to help. Though she is feet -no inches- away, I still miss her.

I'll prolly edit this post tomorrow when i Re-awaken. I hope to start posting more in the mornings rather then at night.

thanks for reading.
and the continued discretion of Ruby's and my choices of our life.

Time

Today. long-time girlfriend and i have separated. She suggested it timidly. Explaining the thoughts that gnawed in the back of her mind. I listened. I took in her words without remorse or affliction. In the end we agreed that we each felt like two half persons.  I felt, too, that I needed to grow as an individual. It was agreed upon that it was imperative for us to separate in order for us to proceed with our development individually.

I care a great deal for Ruby. As a friend. As a lover. As a person. But did I debate her? beg against her deepest thoughts? ranted? raved? confessed my heart over and over? no. I simply let it come with silent patience like a man watching a gathering storm. should I have? Would it change her beliefs? or mine?

Empathy is not my strong suit. I feel (ha) like i should be broken up about this break-up. Perhaps in the back of my mind I know it is a trial. Or in the not-so-far back of my mind as we are still living together (did i mention it was a trial separation?). I also feel terrible for not feeling poorly about it all. Ruby seems to be more of the mind set of one-who's-newly-single.

In order for one to grow, I've always believed one must face tribulations life.

I know many of you readers (if not, all) are mutual friends of ours. Ruby has requested not to inform others (yet) - she wishes to avoid any (outside) drama. so please do not make a big deal of this and please do not inform the public.

-marcus

words of wisdom

Looking for someplace to masturbate. -Ancient proverb meaning "spiritually lost"

His life is dripping away like wine from the bottle. Where does the dream go when his is awakened? to stubble surly on a wheel. Over and over. A rat with no place to go. The bottle returns full again to it he does. Presently at peace. by and by empty once more.
once more, bartender, once more.

three daze

Too often, I think, do these post start with 'I.' With the woes of the world, it grows increasingly difficult to convince myself that my own problems are of worth writing. A good friend of mine, who is mostly likely reading this, has returned to places far away to meet problems face-to-puffing-face. I admire him greatly. He has a great many things i never had: troubles. I know that I've lived a sweet life. (still do.) But should i be needed to be called on for the necessities he must face, i doubt i could rise to the occasion. My strength lie in leisure (i'm not so sure i should say 'strength'). Then with other, further reaching troubles of the uncared masses besiege me. From the morning news of death, tragedy and disaster, of poor of sick of sorrow. The maladies family overcry what little i have to complain. the fact that i have things alone to complain about should not be over looked when considering the absolute loss of those who would throw themselves C4 first into death's unforgiving grayness (perhaps at the cause of some-such or another; though i think they've lost so much they see little recourse).

Last week I found myself unable to move from the bed in mornings. Paralyzed perhaps. Where before, eagerly i leapt from slumber to see each new day, recently I only wish to return to my dreamless purgatory. But last Sunday was different. I forced heavy limbs and moved to greet morning light (a pay check in need of cashing was of no little aid). I awoke with the birds and met the day. In impulse I whisked Ruby to a theme-park (Adventureland) where our bottled stress uncorked with cries of eager delight and fear as i faced mine: Rollercoasters.

Yes, dear reader, I've long had a knee weakening fear of metal tracks twisting and winding clamorously, tearing even, through an amusement-park. We started slow: the merry-go-round, ferris wheel, some big pirate themed swing-a-majig, the inverter, then my first big challenge: the space shot. Basically a chair attached to a massive pneumatic piston that flung the passengers a bunch of stories skyward with a nasty hiss of air. it is not heights or speed or motion that bother me about 'rides'. rather the unnatural, awkward method they arrive to get you there. When you're driving or on your bike or climbing trees you're incomplete control of your motion. at least to some extent you can choose to continue or stop (though cases arrive where you are committed to an action, say an abnormally large hill or lost hand-hold).

In reality, the effects of simulated motion are not nearly as jarring as they would appear. In fact it was quite liberating - invigorating if you will. I loved it.  We rode everything once then returned to some choice favorites through the day. I suggest The Outlaw at Adventureland. It has no inversions or loops, but steep curves and tall, tight, twisting hills blended within it's compact structure make it an intense ride.

but the day didn't truly take to whimsical flight until a sudden shower lifted our sun-dampened spirits. Actually, it drove most off the fun and into shelter or fleeing from the park. But we would not be deterred. truth is, everything is better in a summer rain. from coasters to swings. Also, the park's patrons dried up to keep wait times down. With camera at hand many moments were captured of this triumphant day though many more can only be shared in memory.

Future Plans

I've been speaking of myself a lot lately but not of my actions. I'm focused on my immediate future currently. I haven't made any long term goals. Not really, to publish a book, write some articles, become more involved in academic discussions in a serious way.  I have a college degree in English. That gives me the tools (both creative and analytical) to write, intelligently, about what ever I wish. Which is great, but I haven't found a subject that grips my attention. So, I'm going back to college. I enrolled as an undergraduate at the local college (ISU in Ames). I plan the study something and write about it. I will write what I study.

In the mean time, a great clamor has arose around me. I obtained a bright new (to me) desk and work table. My roomie and I are in the mist of their arrival's aftermath. papers and decor festoon the floors and hallways. the ever-present threat of dishes and laundry loom in the corners bringing shadows to productivity. Ants in growing number seek the spoils of mess. A battle against too worn closes rages with the sweat of summer days. So much to do and pretend to do.

Of which, the most important lies in the continued scrawling of a late-night reader. while usual state of affairs pushed me to post in the latenight/earlymorning hours, I seek to snuff my candle's vigil for sunlit tales. Additionally, I intent to reignite the stories of Mr. Wordy. with any luck and no small sudor a third of what is planned with come to success. Perhaps even plans them selves will be made.

On me

 For now, i have an income. I suppose that's something to be proud of because, recentally, there was threat against my current employment. But all this has got me thinking of things. Things I own, would like to own and my own self.

As I write this I am drunk. Drunk as hell. So take me with liberty when i say I've never been had much attachment fir possessions. I grew up with Buddhist thought. I was given a car by me parents for which has given me much aid and support. yet, it is not in owning the car but the experience of it that I value most.  Recently, however, I've been pulled into enjoying ownership of things. Things around me. Not so much that I care more about the objects. No, rather that people I care about - a person I want around me- has need for items in her life. Specifically, plants. Plants to surround and beautify the area. (one could do worse then have want for beauty and growth.) My upbringings have taunt me the eight-fold path and the four noble truths. of which include the despisement of objectification. I should not want objects not desire  for - make an object out of- a living thing.

Why? I now ask. Why? Don't i deserve something? Don't I deserve things -reward- for my toils? The love and hardships my closest companion express are to create, to grow, to expand and enjoy the fruits of her (or his) hard work. I can't see how that could be a bad thing.

Perhaps I've strayed from the beliefs of my upbringing. Where before I cared not but for others I think of myself, of my own gain and loss.  Where once there was contentment there is, now, distension. I want. I desire. I need. I postulate having and not having. I addition to my growing selfishness is the feeling of ambition. I want recognition for my works. I'm no longer content to do. To work enough to drink and play is no longer enough. I want to express my deepest thoughts and cry My Desires to the sky.

For  those readers not known, the Eight Fold Path is a Buddhist teaching of life. they seek to teach Wisdom, Ethics and philosophy. All towards the attainment of the four noble truths: (which, as follows, should sound familiar to used to evangelical Christianism.) First: there is suffering and it is unavoidable. Second, the origin of your pain is beyond your ability to fix. third, you can cease your pain. The way to stop your pain is to follow the eight fold path. It is hard to turn away from what is/was taught to you. I don't know if it is for better or worse (not a plug for the gawd awful comic)  but i am turning from it. I am embracing ambition, desire and need. I want. I seek and I will attain.

   -Marcus Miranti, Freedman

I was fired today.

Well, I think I was fired. Actually, not really fired, a probational warning. A prelude to unemployedness, if you will. It felt like a slap in the face, though. The event highlighted for me my ill fit for Ge-Angelo's kitchen. I don't work hard enough; not for some guy for some place I don't truly care about. Not hard enough for him at any rate. Not hard for myself either. I'll work an hour at scrawling before turning to distractions. Piss away the day with meaningless tasks to show nothing for at the day's end. I call myself a writer yet haven't produced a single finished piece of written work. Not really finished. Any writing I do do is All-About-Me. I'm a selfish writer and an under working novelist. If I could fired myself I suppose I would too. The lazy bum.

It's clear that it is time to move on. To return to Education's grace and proceed down another path. But to Where? Why and What? Will I change just because the work has too?

a hiatus

Hiatus is not the correct term. continuing to not start is more accurate. I started a fictional blog on Tumblr.com. I like the idea of two seperate entites for different reasons -posts. One for thoughts, one for more "professional"-style writings.
However, html tools of Tumblr are terrible. So, I'm rethinking my plan.

New.s

So much has happened recently. I'm not sure where to start. first, I got thrown out of a state park. then, I meet a whole new group of people I call "Addies." I got to hang with some old friends and meet some new ones. I enrolled at ISU. (hurray educations)  I got a scanner I'm totally stoked about. Finally, just may, in general has been a fantastic adventure.

Sunday.
 I traveled several hours to Mt Vernon (affectionately: MV) to attend the Sponge Wedding of Kristine Foster (OOO! Shiny) and Lizz "Keps" Kepsel. Anyway, after a wondrous drive through rolling hills where long, tuffed grass frolicked, wind-wavened like ocean waters, I rolled into the Pal around 2:30 and set up camp. It was oppressively hot. So humid that even blood-sucking insects were too tired to feast. Natey found me dropping payment for the well attended campsite (Although why they charge i haven't a clue. From almost every fire ring drifted lazy smoke of forgotten embers. The Wedding went fabulously and the reception got underway.  We started on the great quantity of drink provided. I, too, thought it pertinent to pack pilsner, though, as i found, it was excess. which made the next events harder. When the shelter's reservation ended (about 5 o'clock) Park Ranger Joe-Mama showed up, demanded we vacate. But not before we dumped all our booze for his sadistic pleasure. the bastard. Our Precious precious booze and cut our party short. we had minors (of which i was unaware) so for not getting ticket and fined i s'pose that is fair. NO. Fuck that! It wasn't fair at all! I'm 24! I have a right to carry beer in a cooler in a park that allows alcoholic beverages. I wish I was less compliant.

Later.
because being kicked out of a state park wasn't enough adventure for an evening, I found myself in Iowa City meandering the Ped-Mall. The rows of pedestrian only streets (well, two lined such to form a 'T') fell willingly under the shade of broad leafed trees. I found a spot under one and sipped a delightful sangria provided by Mundo's Saloon. I read The Time Machine in the orange setting sun. all the while sending out thread for further use of my time. I pasted up Jordan (sorry) and Darcy (also sorry) to return to Cornell College campus. I've not been to Cornell in a ages. the specific reasons for my enforced absence is too long to delve into now (though, with some persuasion, I could be encouraged to regale the populous). more to the point, I found Alro along the way to hang out with a group of folks who will be known to me henceforth as "Addies." Much as entire generations have been cataloged with language (e.g. Hippies, Metalheads, ect.) I've labeled another sect.

Addies.
groups of people characterized by others by their corrosive behavior, favor to excess, and constant use of inebriates. I usually shy from heedless categorizations of subcultures. Recently, I've seen the function of label (as abstract and closed-minded they might be). Addies are born of extremity - but this isn't about them. (actually it is, but i want to wait to talk about this class of person). I would dwell longer of this subculture. In living moment to moment is truly liberating in this: there is a bliss in not caring about the next.

At night.
I sat, bent head listening to the spiny clatter of boxes from 2am delivery. It was the elementary school. from it's rooftop, under waning stars we smoked and now we waited. cold dew soaked my clothes. my ears pounded with each new, muttering step of our  blockade. I, for my part, took our siege to use. I wrote to the stars. to my plight. to all i cared to address. Once the milk was unloaded, a sudden shuttering alerted us to freedom. Thought we were unable to loss one of the party members from the chilled roof top, I left a cashe of  blankets for her safety. Though, as i suspected, she was in more than capable hands and was later retrieved.

Home.
I returned exausted and defeated. the loss of 12 hours and 24 units of beer sapped all my enthusiasm. Thankfully, Arlo a great friend of mine accompanied me a short way. The day was bright and the flowers seemed to smile and dance on the springtime breeze. I thanked my benefactors for their aid and comfort and supply but I shall not the company again of Addies. Not for a while. The sun set before me in great orange sky as I pulled into the rock drive of home. there i rested in the arms of equally tired Ruby, who waited patiently my return.

I am selfish

It is true. I don't think much of others. Though, i do care a great deal of others; mostly I think of others only when they are around me. perhaps it's a bad thing, i don't know. I wasn't always selfish. Once I never thought of my own needs, of my own wants or desires. 

A new Year!

My own personal new year's has come and gone. I celebrated the passing of my 23rd year in fitting style and ushered in the dawn of my 24th in true dissobertude. 

as the merriment abates I prepared for a grand party this weekend. And with it enact sweeping changes in my life. A resolution towards another three hundred some odd days. Firstly, I've separated Fiction work and Non-Fiksun work. Mr. Wordy has a new side. (by which i mean site). At tumblr.com I'll post stories of the fictional world. Blogger will be events and stories of my life. I choose Tumblr because an intellectual great has started a Pizza Blog. It is a sociological foray into food and community. he'll be reviewing experiences at a different locations of notable 'za.

In other news, i've learned that i can make several posts in a day.

Drink and be merry!
-marcus

What a Week!

It has been a wild week of emotional and physical rolling coastering (but, sadly, not literal).

It was mother's day Sunday. And Graduation for ISU on Friday. Between the two, the restaurant was packed. on Saturday we sat 260 tables. many of 6 person parties. An adventurous evening in the kitchen. I was in at 10am (Geangelo's opens at 4pm) for prep work. 11 on Friday by the time i got home. I s'pose the pay will be worth it. though, unlike Monica's, I get no compensation for how well we do each night. (not exactly an instinctive to work hard). I don't put myself out like i did at Monica's - I just don't enjoy the environment, the food, or pretty much anything about the place. I need the money. So for now I'm trapped. At least the cooking part is delightful. I'm learning alot and I've disposable income such that i don't hafta leach off my parents. It's curious, being employed, that is. I've begun carrying cash. I love Cash. I love having cash because i hate Credit. I hate using credit and debit cards. I hate the insanity of economics. As a side note, I think -nein- believe that automated stock trading is abusive to our apparently delicate economy. It's all too much, this economic idea of instant, invisible trade. I'm beginning to hate it all. Hang on a moment, 'cause I'm working towards something here.

  A woman in need of help came across my path. By desperate sharpie on gritty green poster board i knew she asked for help. I gave her a fiver. for yesterday nights grew cold. a midsummer frost. Her hands were cold - thawing chicken. She said any money could buy her a meal -food she said. That day. Tomorrow? Would i have a Fiver tomorrow? Will she?
  Money can't help. Only delay the inevitable. She needs a home, steady income, confidence, some place to warm frozen chicken flesh.
  Later, as i stared into a pizza. Cheese melted just right. laden with cut green peppers, spicy ham, tantalizing mushrooms and thick savory sauce. Steam, flavorful steam drifted from it - mouth watering. My stomach gnarled -growling- in my belly. I thought of her cold hands reaching - clutching- my fiver.
  $10.20 for a pie, .99¢ for a drink. A buck fifty in gas to avoid sleeting rain (same price as bus fare). Twenties and fifties lined my wallet with today's pay.

/Wordinfo.info/

Wordinfo.info is a marvelous search engine parts of words. Like if you wanna know what /-ly/ meant, how it effected the word, what part of the word (prefix/suffix/...) is it, and it's language origins. You could. It's a particularly greet constructing words. I created: Disgaffic: pertaining to or relating to disgaffic, a disorder of being graphically impaired.

I started writting this two days ago, and thought i'd posted it. But that is simply untrue. As such, most of my beleived to be posted post is unavailable (i forgot). Nevertheless, I am really surprised by Wordinfo. other domains of the dot info (something.info) a exist. however not many. I suggest topics.info from Info.com (a pretty good metesreach engine too) for some information. I already

 However good the code is for Wordinfo.info, it is not terribly user friendly. unless you, like me, have a specific interest in word and word parts,  or are used to staring at dictionaries, it is not engaging. It is horribly bleak.

that is all
-Marcus

FCBD

Free Comic Book Day was a blast!
I got all sorts of neat trinkie junk. Wolverine showed me the newest heroclixes and I got to read the newest adventures of Mouseguard and Fraggle rock. of course marvel was in fullest gear with a new release of avengers Iron Man and Thor tag-teaming. Iron Man and Spiderman also debuted new stories lines.

Seeing as I didn't mad-gab every available free book in the store, I call only recall poorly what other comics were available. Artifacts (which wasn't terribly interesting though did show some gratuitous leg shots of it's sexy heroine), Fractured Fables looked curious, Radical also previewed a series of new stories of the dead and dark, and the Simpsons as well in papered form (go comic-book guy).

All in all it was a fanatisic début to the world of graphic novels. For me, I did find myself a new venture. Chip, the story of a 4inch gargoyle who wishes to prove that, despite being short and cute, he can be fierce and scary. a struggle i can relate to. I'm also increasingly interested in Deadpool.

Ruby was not quite as enthused by FCBD as I