Viscosity is generally the first leg of pubic development. After that, the class wars usually start. Typically, Mary throws the first punch, then Ed launches a paper satellite. Adam invariably starts trying to pound Truth into people whilst Yolanda flinches. Joey lunges, stopping himself mid-air like an Adobe Acrobat. Meanwhile, the primrose version of Self crumples as Ra, the god, just hangs there, suspended, stupefied. I used my dumb finder earlier then discovered I was still lost, much to my chagrin.

Viscosity also gives one impetus to simulate woodland creatures. For example, the nascent hyenas, lounging in a synthetic compound of jugular mishaps, cry with one united breath, “Look, Madge! We’re basking in it!” And then there’s that most unhappy occurrence of excrement in the jet stream that led to a meltdown in the nation’s mid-section. Blindsided, the elephant heralded a forthcoming age of Jell-O mongering. Outside the polling place, a zebra caught my eye. I took it home and felt bloated the next day. I did not eat for a fortnight thereafter. When the next election came ‘round, I encountered a giraffe outside of the polling place – a learned and gregarious giraffe. We talked of the missile crisis, chalupas, exercise fads, a Buster Keaton resurgence, the merits and otherwise of the Pissed-on Phonics craze, bling, a small section of the Louisiana Purchase (a vivisection to be precise), linguistic noodles, giant pandas, the zeitgeist and its relevance to hindsight, and the preponderance of penis-shaped objects. In fact, we bantered so long that we awoke the next morning much to our surprise outside the polling place – still. It’s a wonder we weren’t robbed, mutilated, or otherwise ostensibly violated.

To be sure, viscosity is curvy. Not all linemen are offensive, but trouble lurks within the closet. Ignatius roars, “BEHEMOTH!” Meanwhile, tenants cringe, hiding ‘neath counters and bookshelves, all the while clinging nervously to their slipshod monkey wrenches. Julia maintains a strong disbelief in viscosity whilst Cynthia channels in the corner, yelling, “SPIRITS, COME! DON’T EVADE ME, YOU ASSES! I AM CALLING OUT TO YOU. WHY DON’T YOU COME?”

Viscosity marks Time. Time marches on the front lawn. The protesters are all prosecuted, one by one. The prosecutors are then violated. Then remove the tray from the oven and set it afire. Now you’re ready to entertain with more than a dishrag!

When all else passes away, Earth included, Viscosity will remain. Viscosity is at the fore. Viscosity will see you through. Viscosity will.


New Twitter Approach

What if you had to use Twitter to simply provide an update of your status? No opinions on the ‘news’ of the day. No links to other media.  No didactic renderings of philosophical thoughts. No commentary on religious and spiritual conundrums.  Just actual things happening to you personally, pertaining to you.

Well, that has been my new approach for Twitter in 2013. I am decluttering my mind, focusing on what I am personally able to report about me, myself, and I.

Selfish? Hardly. Factual? Yes. 

I am not entirely ignoring the world around me. But 2012 brought a sort of fatigue for all things contentious. I realized that getting sucked into the news, the twittersphere, the media hypnotism which frames the crisis du jour and the whatever it is we’re all supposed to be harking to is counterproductive to my own creativity.

So if self-preservation is selfish, I guess there’s some of that. But mostly it’s a weariness of the self-serving agendas, the cons, the manipulations, the real lack of substance to anything being peddled as content.

It’s a wasteland out there. News, TV, movies… all have fallen into a miasma of what might be the most appealing thing to the most people who are being forced into one of a few molds.

This blog post, for example, has been market-tested. It is targeted to those 30-40 somethings who see themselves as aware of current affairs but outside the mainstream. They are rebels but follow the rules. They work a job but their career is life itself. They have a family, but like to have time a carved-out for esoteric hobbies, such as large-scale origami or vintage refrigerator racing or competitive haiku. They live in small towns but shop in the city. They deposit with the big banks but micro-invest in efforts such as Small-Scale Methane Farming or Elastic Recycling or Non-Compressed Vegetation Re-Growth and Rehabilitation. All of these are hot, bleeding-edge, though-leader type of technologies . And this blog will capitalize on those types of… blase-blase ergo yadda-yadda mea culpa viacom viagra may be immersed in water shark-bait malleable trussle knobbed fortune’s club foot.

We apologize for the technical difficulties. We have spun into a psuedo-post-modern vortex of random surrealism. But that’s really nothing new.

New Year Time

Time is expansive.  So much so that we chop it up into parts to more easily digest.  Mostly, we base this on observable phenomenon – the cycles of the sun or the moon. Our current calendar system has been in place since 1582.  Of course, without that calendar, how would we know that?

A calendar helps us keep time and we keep time in order to help us keep order in our own lives.  The Byzantines put our current calendar year between 7521 and 7522.  But there are dozens of calendar systems, reference points for the lives of the 7.062 Billion people on the planet.  The French Revolutionary Calendar makes this year 223 of the ‘Era of Liberty’.  But ‘liberty’ means many things to many people.

Time is elastic.  A moment spent with a loved one can last the rest of our lives.  Some hours can go by staring at a TV screen without one memory being made.  Yet there is a tendency in our culture to make a fetish of time – to obsess over the time it take to accomplish things, to make time the most important aspect of an event.  To operate like clockwork.  To become machine-like.

Our perception of time is more important than time itself.  Time, turns out, is a fiction we create to measure our lives.  The ‘end of time’ would mean we have given up measuring, given up taking in the moments, given up the reference points that give us the common language we need to make plans, to meet up, to celebrate and restart.

The way we mark time is a tool, a common reference point that happens to coincide with the way our planet circles the sun, the way the planet rotates providing us with seasons and days.  Yet when we find ourselves losing track of time, we tend to be enjoying ourselves more, to be consumed by activity, by fun.  Time, it turns out, is a paradox.  We must be intimately aware of time in order to forget about it.

In this year 2013, I hope to use time as a tool – to meet up with friends, to organize my life, to accomplish the things I want to get done.   But not get bogged down by time, not to mark the days for their own sake.  I plan to use time as a tool to enjoy each day.  That is my resolution.

Thanksgiving in the 21st Century

Pilgrims emerge from their dwellings, bringing their barter items of plastic cards to prepare for the festival of the dead tree.  An afterthought to a large meal. Turkey, pork, peas, instant mashed potatoes.  It’s the same every year.  A tradition. Winding up the cleaning up of yards full of fallen leaves to stuff bellies and march into shopping areas for that crucial sale that will make or break the bank.

It’s Thanksgiving in the 21st Century, but not really.  Nothing really different.  We’re not floating on anti-grav boots while dirigible barges float into the neighborhood with commercial wares.   We’re not taking moon trips to take part in year-end earth-viewing.

No, we’re really just treading water.  Letting bandits and bullies take what they want.  Hoping they won’t take too much and leave a few morsels for us. Pretending there isn’t enough to go around because we’re too afraid to let loose.  Turning on the boob tube (now with 1,000+ channels) soaking in whatever it is the handful of major media companies wish to flypost our minds with.  We find our niche.  We find the drug we like and we are transfixed.  We hang on to our brand that aligns with our lifestyle.

Don’t like the ‘lamestream’ media?  Switch to Fox News?  Don’t like conservative propaganda?  Switch to MSNBC’s brand of ‘progressive’ propaganda.  Don’t like overt propaganda?  Switch to a movie or a show.  Find your friendly frequency.  Find what makes you most comfortable.  Dig it.  Dig in.

Whatever you do, try to avoid any actual human interaction.  Go online.  Chat.  Text.  Become a cyberpunk.  Become a hacker.  But please don’t dwell on anything too long.  It’s time for your medicine.  Take a pill.  Take a drink.  Eat a burger. Have fun!  As long as you don’t talk to anyone directly.