Not sure yet why the frame rate dropped to shit but the major and minor chords coming in over the Audiobus port are being correctly recognized.
Knotting Tools
For those unfamiliar with decorative knotting, the first thing you find yourself doing when starting to get into it is obsessing over your knotting tools. From stitching together a custom tool roll within which to store the tools…
Camp Chair Bag
Totally forgot about the bag I made to stick the camping chair inside. Composed primarily of a big a$$ Turk's Head knot with a plait of some kind serving as the strap.
The Maddow Chord
Anyone wondering with which chord pattern Rachel Maddow was primarily speaking during last night's broadcast may now consider their curiosity quenched. The chord pattern with which she seems to enjoy projecting her prose would clearly be that of 9♮11(♭13).
Perpetual Groove
While looking through old photos I came across these assets for an application I did a while ago. I thought it might be fun to write a guide on how one might go about throwing a whole lot of work at something and never actually finish it. The name I gave this application was Perpetual Groove, and the first thing on the agenda is to go nuts creating an icon for it.
Where meaning goes to die
Where smiles lie
Where mild manners pander to appease
An obfuscated aura
Hides well malignancy
A spirit merely spoken of
Fills not with love
But with hot air and emptiness
A vagabond of vacancy
A spirit lived distends
To hold the breadth of life
In this place it is all talk
Walk and talk
Walk and talk
The efficacy with which
Emptiness fills space astounds
Pestilence personified
A hallowed face and hollow heart
Think not that perceptive clarity
Belies similitude
If ever I had meaning
It has died
Could I purse my lips to smile
It would lie
My spirit quivers
With complacency
But, are not my manners mild?The better version of a song I found from 2008 that abruptly cuts out with 40 seconds remaining (which I trimmed out) but the whole thing is generic so nothing missed really
Electronic Pipe
A look at the electronic pipe I made for vaping nicotine
A 16 bar chord progression that I came up with for testing the neural network I trained to recognize musical chords. For some reason I like the way it resolves when looped.
With a fancy new pipe stand to use, the drawer organizer I had sliced into a remote control tray was looking brutish …
So I made a new one out of Wenge and Bloodwood
Of course … if you have a round pipe you are gonna need a pipe stand
A chair I reupholstered cause I had sh$t to avoid and I f$&king love knots.
A look at the urn I made for Shanti.
A rotary look at the urn I made for Dugan
On Ending Minority Rule
Minority rule over WE THE PEOPLE comes to an end in 2021. Everyone strap the f$&k in. Everyone mask the f$&k up. We’ve got a long way to go and a short time to get there. But goddammit, this Northside Hospital baby can f$&king feel it in his bones.
This is the moment. This is the mother… f$&king… moment. The moment when the momentum shifts, when the forming of a more perfect union, a true multicultural democracy for the land of the free, becomes measurably closer to inevitable than it is to unfathomable.
On Political Analysis
Any postgame analysis must account for the current ecosystem by which we download information in this nation. The one which bifurcated our society into two distinct bubbles. I could just as easily have gone with echo chambers, analogically speaking, but there is something mesmeric about bubbles that better suits my mood. So let’s have a closer look at what lies within these bewitching bubbles.
On Tipping Points
What I thought was a tipping point for movements of equality, I have come to recognize as a tipping point for minority rule over this nation.
Our demography has shifted past that point which triggers the old white regime to brazenly subvert American democracy in one last ditch effort at clinging to the power it has held for so many centuries.
This is not sustainable. Our nation must be safeguarded against minority rule.
The shape of this effort, of the magnitude of this challenge, and the inevitability of a positive outcome … all such shapes remain obscured as the shadows of too many moving parts mingle and mate like shadow dancers projected upon the wall of Plato’s cave.
On Sparking Dumpster Fires
The general consensus across the Twittersphere with regard to Trump supporters goes like this: they are morons … Hillary was correct to call them deplorables … these are the dregs of our society.
Whole lotta truth here. The problem falling by the wayside for a myriad of reasons is that the percentage of people for which this provides an accurate description and the percentage of people that fall under the label “Trump supporter” are divergent.
What we must understand … and work to eliminate … is the why. For some f$&king reason … too many f$&king people are squaring their perceived reality with an acceptance that our societal dregs have blossomed into 49% of our populace. I am still not sure how they are squaring the ease with which millions in this nation have found it totally f$&king plausible for there to be a shadowy, high power cabal drinking up babies in pursuit of immortality.
A sorted affair, like the little girl's hair
A libation on information
When you can trust nothing you'll believe anything
Conscious or conscientious? Which? Either?
Break like summer sun through cloudy sky
Or milky puss through broken styWary should we be
That our eyes don't paint the leaves
Here there be monsters
The likes of which I've never seen
Shimmy up and down the stalk
So I may tell you what you've seenWe breathe, we breed, we need to explain
Awake we frighten fosterlings
Adjudicate accessibility
Drown out objectivity
Bleating axioms angrily
To taint with torpid movement the last of man's humanity
The earthworm eats the shit we leave and
Gives it back for us to seed
Who ingests our karmic waste
The kids may play like a snow day
Constructing existential effigies
But, the fires won't go out and now
It's getting difficult to breatheAn empty pocket sailor
Drifting along the currents of cohabitation
Tattered sails hang hidden
To all save crying eyes
Alone from earth to sky
An inverted intentation
Wearing a strapless soul and
Paper boots with starving roots
Howling silence at the satellite city
Lupine speech with a laudable lisp
Transient taste
And aches to be kissed
Crumbling mortar means weakening walls
Within his house of cards
The Jack of Clubs can’t hold long
Without the Queen of Hearts
Solitary confinement
Rooted by stars with iron bars
The fear of growing barren
Has him sticking love in jarsLet us embark upon a midnight dream
Of post-war metaphysical strength
A gap in the trodden mind
That bequeaths relief from time
A witness to the quickness with which
Father trunk can shake his leaves
With cankered flesh and molten minds
A barren branch of rotted pine
Like a faulty-bearing prisoner
we dieImprisoned by our own existence
And liberated only by our dreams
A pigeon on the tightrope
Trying to fly with ingrown wings
Surpassing but a baby's whim
A meager keg of cream
Nothing is scared from within our loans
Nothing sacred in our voice
Dream your dreams
And dream of dreaming dreamsInfallible peasants, armed and obese
Neither a factor for growing the seed
Trite and trivial, stringing their toes
Relics for abstinence, fools in the flow
Eden or Amityville, time tells all truth
Prior to fortification they prosed
Inside through blood streams, vitamins screamed
David, the layman, led marches, formed teams
During the squabbles the rejects ran dry
Reaching for speech to follow and chide
Eminent soldiers showed little breath
Aging anxiety creates fear of death
Merely a tool to tame the faint hearted
So are the religions these old laymen startedSleep, she lies in fairy tales for me
Creates gaps in Stalin's misty dream
Of barring leaves from trees
To court the gaps in veins
That leave a sullen pilot light,
A spark like twilight,
To shine for meThe lines are wired
The breeze is felt like velvet eruptions
Finally, a break in the patterns of light
And a ghost in the reflection
You find out that your death and your face have connections
The lines in your face seem to glow from the misological soap
As the summer comes
And the weeds and the grass elopeSomething ties this face together
Olive oil turns leaves to feathers
Christ runs worldly crime and hate
Inside this field with iron gates
Even after teething abates and
Tithing prostrates a rise in weight
Your false words have fallen short and late
