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| Update | 6:52pm tuesday, 30th june |
Hey there. It’s been very busy here in Standland. I think I will be gone for at least another month, but I didn’t want to leave everyone hanging. I am back from doing the day job to working on my AI project full time, and I am hoping that I will be able to have a prototype done very soon. But I have been a month away from finishing for about a year now, so take that with a grain of salt. It’s been great going, though; very little to complain about. I guess it’s like the group name of that song, “Missing” (you know, “And I miss you / Like the deserts miss the rain”). Remember that one? The group’s name was Everything But the Girl. And that’s what it is, basically, in my life. Everything else is just hunky dory. Hopefully less crazy come the following month. Dream on, brothers and sisters!
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| Tank Man | 8:27pm wednesday, 3rd june |
I noticed that I get visitors from China, so I am posting that it is currently today in China (June 4) which is the anniversary of the Tiananmen Square massacre. 
Click on this to get a larger version. From what I have read, Tank Man, pictured here, is not common knowledge in that land. And I really think it should be, so here you go.
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| Breaker | 4:40am saturday, 30th may |
I think things are going to get a little crazy for me right about now. So I am taking one of my famous breaks from writing, at least on this site. I should only be gone for a month or so, unless things get really out of hand. I have achieved some level of competence in my research, I think, and I am going to go at it with full force. My day job is at the brink of completing, and I will have time to devote the total of my attention on my artificial intelligence project, which is well into its 7th year of work. So, wish me luck, wish me well, for I wish these for you, all who visit these spheres that I lay out. I am sure I will be back forthwith, with updates on what, from this vantage point, is about to transpire. With hope, I leave you at this time. Cheers.
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| There | 1:42am tuesday, 26th may |
There is no strength in the words we say unless we live by them.
There is no power to love except that which we put into it.
There is no divine edict that excuses you from being a human being.
There is no time outside of now, and even dreams understand this.
There is no desire strong enough to achieve anything except that we make the effort.
There is no wealth to he who has sold his soul.
There is no life without a secret blessing — look for it.
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| Excerpts | 1:20am friday, 22nd may |
These are excerpts from my private log, ordered by date:
The way of love is such that we prefer not the wrong to happen, but when it does, to make all things better than if it had all gone perfectly. [6/8/04]
Love is the nothing that is everything. [9/4/05]
We of the Kingdom of Heaven know this, that it is we live in yesterday. [8/22/06]
All things are one, all people are one, when all you do is love. [6/10/07]
You will go where angels tread. [9/22/07]
Do what we can, with what we have, at the moment. [11/14/07]
The simplest explanation: something broke. What followed were pieces of chaos. [6/10/08]
The purpose for what you worked was real, not the imagined evil of the paranoia. [9/28/08]
The angels said, “Philip K. Dick was here. And he left a message. ‘Boo!’” [5/1/09]
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| Many | 12:33am monday, 18th may |
I am the collective dream of billions of neurons. I am the ecology of these countless cells that each know their own purpose and time, lest they be called a cancer. Yet I am curiously one, strangely alone in the song of the night. Do these parts of me remember the things I have gone through? The scars seem to say yes, but I feel mostly as if there is someone inside me who has gone through the trials with only the help of God above. I am many, if I think on it, many that know not why they go this way, why they do this, and that. And I think that perhaps I am like this, too, that there is some body which I am a part of, and I know not what the central “I” within it all has done, not really. I only bear some of the scars.
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| Possibility | 1:04am thursday, 14th may |
Does it actually make sense? That if I think of the possibility of a thing, that it exists somehow in the ether, and make such a thing a potential reality? Is there some non-locality of probability? Or is this perhaps to go wherein the madness lies? It is a fact that one of Leibniz or Newton invented calculus, but nearly at the same time, and that Darwin finally published his masterpiece upon reading someone else’s version of “survival of the fittest”, as it were. As if there were something in the atmosphere that certain people looking in the correct (imaginary/abstract) location picked up on. Ideas that for whatever reason, their time had come. Is there such a place in the anima mundi? That once a page is turned in the book where God has written all His best equations, the one who happens to copy it down first is the canonical author, and it is merely a matter of chance who it might be? Whom the angels favor, to tilt his head that certain angle, and glance the light of infinity....
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| stories | 12:12am sunday, 10th may |
(i wandered through the stories to see)
love is deeper than a well
standing at the center of the world
love is a quiet
unmistakably small in a city’s din
without love
would we fall through forever fade
if there were no love
we’d be endless in an aimless dream
(whereupon i find myself beginning)
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| tell | 1:08am wednesday, 6th may |
so much of what i want to say
i forget to say
to recall it when i am alone
the blank page my only friend
dreaming in secret
don’t we all?
to reveal to strangers
what we cannot tell our own selves
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| Update | 2:04am saturday, 2nd may |
I can’t seem to get off the cold medicine. I was good before this last week, for about 3 weeks I was totally clean, but yet another cold reared its ugly head as temperatures dramatically changed yet again here in New York City. This past week, in fact, I took a break from working on my AI, and on tuesday I had an epiphany that may become related, but it was a good one in any event, about how the elements are emergent properties of the electron shells’ interaction with each other as atoms. I guess the only thing else to report is that I have been trying to get back in touch with the old ex-girlfriend, but have had no success in her writing me back from the emails I’ve sent. And what else? Life is sweet, even when it is sour. Like that candy.
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| the painting | 3:44am tuesday, 28th april |
the painting shouts with light
heaven bleeding blue
choirs in soundless chords held me
skin of blistering desire
fathomless depths were beneath the canvas
and the paintbrush catches fire
extinguished by the eyes of innocents
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