monkeyplus1

Using the SCOWL word lists, I’ve written some code that randomly generates three-word phrases, and hand-picked some interesting ones. Maybe I’ll get some interesting search-engine referrals:

Mortality Contrived Darkness
Baking Divorce Handler
Ethnic Cap Needle
Deed Audio Freeway
Grouping Pedantic Interference
Analyst Bubble Kings
Etymology Blast Castle
Journalist Enforced Symphony
Shout Pie Hatred
Deserting Shocks Degradation

Vulnerable Sentient Hearts
Mock Sabotage Pudding
Reinstate Stepping Rhythm
Smoked Suspension Electorate
Novice Literary Cult
Tragedy Scrapping Essence
Faculty Rigid Assessment
Puzzled Flagging Continuum
Tome Rainbow Carriage

the following are from some of the more rare words:

Romancemonger Impoisoner Seafolks
Waxchandlery Toumnah Supercatastrophe
Monociliated Anay Pappiferous
Adradial Extrapolar Butterlike
Hardbought Oversettled Osculatories
Protoxidize Thelyplasty Masculonucleus
Chenfish Chickenberry Chloramide
Lemogra Awelessnesses Decuplet
Cappiest Subconsular Unjuicy

Two weekends into recording AOM tracks with Des.  This is Des’ black-metal project, in which I’m contributing semi-musical noise / drone, etc.

There’s been some surprisingly good stuff to come from out, though I’m skeptical how much of it will see the light of day for three reasons.

One, the “Logic” recording software, which Des forked out big bucks to legally own, has killed at least four tracks, failing with a “disk too slow” error. Probably not Logic’s fault, there has to be some process consuming a lot of disk I/O while we’re trying to record. Not my computer to mess with, though - plus it’s running a new OS I’m not familiar with.

Two, failing to arm tracks while recording. Simple human error. This has only happened once, and fortunately, we were able to re-record the track, which sounded to me like a keeper, until …

Three, Des intentionally killing tracks. Probably a matter of his taste versus mine, and the assertion that it is his project after all. One time I was so happy with a track I’d done, as he kept playing the drums I just let my part go, which was a guitar-driven feedback loop. He finishes the drum track, gets up and reviews the recorded track, skips over the bulk, listens a bit to the end drone, says at least that part was kind of decent, and then without comment deletes my entire track. I was heartbroken, like meeting and falling in love with a girl who is leaving town the next day (happened to me once before).

—

This fucking winter is killing me. Seasonal affective bullshit. I have every reason to be happy, but just under the surface is a frightening amount of darkness. Some of it is black-hole introspection, lingering memories of bad shit, remorse for having been a fuckup at times, guilt for being a complete asshole at other times, etc, and some of it is scathing animosity, violently, bitterly angry at some people. It’s been giving me nightmares, too. I was awake last night from 3am to 4:30am, thinking about stuff that happened over a decade ago.

The last time I was so morose during the winter, a full-spectrum light did the trick. Time to go buy a new one.

yeah, good times. Aside from the seasonal funk, things are actually good. Learning to play the drums, forcing the ring and pinky finger muscles in my left hand to properly hold the frets on my bass.

happy new year, 2k8’s gonna be a good one.

Noticed I capitalized the D.

Here’s short little piece I like to call “Doodoo” Brown  goes Down (mp3)

I’ve been out of sorts all week. Fighting burnout at work, while at the same time, getting a tremendous amount of work done. And, I’ve been sure to give myself time to unwind and relax before picking up the kids from school.

On Tuesday, we went to skate the half-pipe my neighbor built in his back yard. Although I wish I was learning this twenty years ago, that’s not going to stop me from trying now. That soreness is just catching up to me today, two days later. I’m slowly getting used to where my center of gravity goes when the skateboard starts up each side of the ramp.

Yet somehow, for all the things going well, except for a disagreement with the wife, the three pounds of dogfood in my skull seem a bit scrambled, unfocused. It would be easy to blame this on my recent conversations with my secret oracle, trying to understand its jibber-jabber, but it has been supremely interesting food for thought.

I went swimming yesterday before going home, mostly floating on my back and lazily kicking my way up and down the lane. That weightless feeling does weird things, fills me with a sparkling kind of happiness, leaves me smiling to myself. Kind of like that dragon that likes to squirm its way out of my spine and lick on my brains. Kundalini style, ya know? Slurp, slurp, gush? No? I drew a picture for you.

If I were in the habit of naming my pictures, I’d call this one “happily disarmed”. See me dropping my guns?

Maybe that was what broke the recent spate of nightmarish dreams I’ve been having. Last night, I dreamed of doing acrobatics in an F-4 Phantom II, which is an enormous, hulking Cold-War and Vietnam-era fighter jet. If you’ve ever seen one up close, you’d find it hard to believe that they could even get off the ground, let alone go twice the speed of sound or do acrobatics!

Until I was about 12 years old, my parents lived almost underneath the path of jets landing at Bergstrom Air Force Base right outside Austin, Texas (the base was closed in the 1990s, and rennovated, and now serves as Austin’s commercial airport). When the F-4s flew overhead, you might as well pause any conversation, you weren’t going to hear a thing, even when they weren’t using their afterburners.

In my dreams, I was also a great musician. Fantastic, even. There was some band playing, and I took a sip of some Hennessy, sat down at a keyboard, and just blasted off into space, improvising something amazing. I was shit hot!

I even woke up with a smile on my face, and not just because of better dreams. As I was dozing off last night, I had a flash of inspiration on what to do for my next “mix tape”.

It’s all hush-hush. I know something that Gritty doesn’t, and that is the more you talk about what you’re GOING to do, the less likely it is you’re actually going to do it. stay tuned.

Tomorrow is my birthday, but the celebration starts tonight, and ends on Sunday night.