A note to an idiot.
21.44.42 - Mark
To the fucktard on the trail today
you know who you are
with your two kids and your bike
and and your clear cut road rage
I'm sorry you felt that I cut you off
when I passed your bike
but sometimes it happens-
I did try to steer clear
I didn't hear any cruses
nor heard any brakes
but the trail itself
is only a few feet wide
With no injuries or foals
you sought your revenge
you positioned your bike
at the trails official end
You laid in wait
had your kids in tow
all making your strike
look like a regular break
You let me Dad pass
how nice of you
but before I followed
you made your move
I saw it in you eyes
before you moved your bike
what the fuck were you thinking
trying to get me to fly off my bike!
You're lucky I stopped
or I would have sued -
I'd have gone into the creek or maybe some posts
or worse of all t-boned you or you kids.
I would have taken the bird
maybe even a stern word
but inducing a wreak?
What does that solve?
(Writing this was a hell of a lot more relaxing than the usual long winded rant.)
Prose decoded: I'm traveling a decent speed on my bike when I pass another rider and his kids towards the end of a local and popular bike trail. I ride around a parking lot at end of trail to get an extra 1/8mile or so (its rounds out the mileage) by the time I get back to the trail, the guy and his kids are taking a break. My Dad, whose riding a few dozen yards ahead of me passes just fine. I get within 15 feet of this asshat and he starts moving himself and his bike deliberately into my path, almost entirely blocking the trail entrance. My options are: 1) Slam on the brakes and pray I don't T-bone the asshole and his bike, 2) slam on the brakes and try not to run over his kids, 3) veer off to my right and take a 7 foot fall into a very shallow creek or 4) veer off to the left and run into a nasty vehicle barrier. If I hadn't been watching out for the kids, and saw him moving into my path, I'd be typing this with a bad case of road rash and some nasty cuts. I managed to brake and evade, but his "justification" for his insane game of chicken? "How do you like being cut off?" It almost would have been worth it to.
05.34.51 - Mark
I don't know why I find myself writing when I'm a bit insomniatic, but I do. Maybe it's because that's when there's the least difference between reality and everything else. Anyways, enjoy.
"Do you dream much?"
"Not everyone remembers them"
"You are. Isn't that enough"
"I didn't say I was remembering my dreams"
"No, but that's why you brought it up. Tell me about it"
"Dreams are too personal"
"Some. Sexual fantasies and world domnation dreams are. But those aren't the ones you want to talk about"
"This isn't about my id"
"Exactly. So is your ego questioning reality or does your superego was to talk about rebelling against social norms?"
"So whats the other reality?"
"TV shows, mostly. Occassionally a realistic situation"
"Sure you're not just watching too much late night?"
"Yeah. I can't remember sound when I wake up"
"If it was just TV, I'd remember some of the sounds. When I dream it, its like its muted"
"So in your other reality, you're deaf? I'd stick to this world pal."
"I didn't say I didn't hear. I can remember the gist of a dreamt conversation, and remember pieces of the audio enviroment. Just not the sound."
"And you'll remember the sound of this conversation, of this room?"
"I'm not sure - I don't know"
"Maybe you're going deaf in this reality."
"No, I hear fine, but I'm not sure I can consciously remember sound. When I think of a friend I can't remember their voice"
"When I talk to you on the phone, you know it's me"
"That's not remembering, that's recognizing. When I think of another person talking, its all in my voice. Their speach patterns, phrases and vocabulary, but my voice. No other voices in my head"
"Congradulations, you're not schizophrenic"
"So you can remember voices perfectly - in your head, without prompting?"
"A conversation with your grandmother"
"OK, I can't. What's your point."
"You can still remember the point of a conversation with her."
"We can't remember the sound."
"You think this is a dream?"
"More or less. We can't remember sound here. We can't remember it in what we think are our dreams."
"Do you realize how crazy that sounds?"
"In a way. I just want to know what's real."
"Don't we all?"
"I don't know"
"Neither do I."
Confessions of a waking mind
10.49.50 - Mark
Its dark. Thats good, it hurts waking up in a really bright room, then again its going to sting like hell in here once I have the body turn the light on. Do I really want up? I'm still a bit tired. What time is it? 9:36? Stupid clock doesn't say AM or PM. It was late when the conscious mind finally fell asleep. Three, maybe 4 AM. PM wouldn't be out of the question.
I don't remember the alarm going off. Did he set an alarm? Yes, for around noon - wasn't much to do today. Did I turn it off? We've turned it off without remembering before. Musle memmory can be a dangerous thing. It has been a while since that's happened, but not out of the question. It's too quiet to be PM. No tv, no one walking around upstairs.
Did I sleep though Friday? That's happened before, crashing for 24 hours or more. Really uncommon, that usually takes a couple nights of crappy sleep - strings of 60 to 90 minute naps. Even on the long haul sleeps we wake up a couple times, at least enough to vaguely remember doing so. Not likely, but maybe this is one of those times?
I really don't want to turn on that light. He'll gain full control, if we do. Maybe there's something else. Eyes are blurry, must have slept with the contacts in again. Oh well, they're doing the job. There's a bit of light cracking in onto the far wall. That's pretty uncommon, at least when we usually wake up. The angle of light means it is, without a doubt, morning.
Now the question is which morning. I still can't remember an alarm. I tell the body to roll over and grab the iPod he uses as an alarm. Nice thing about the video iPods is multiple alarms. Lately we've been setting one for late morning, and another for early afternoon. If the desk clock is right, its too early for them to have gone off today - whatever today is. The body's right hand is pressing down on the click wheel now. Again. Fuck.
Nothing comes up. Is the battery dead? Did it play though Friday? Damn it. We didn't have a lot to do on Friday, but there were a couple things. Decision time, we can wake up a little more and find out what day it really is, or we can go back to sleep. This is taking too much effort. The perils of sleeping in a basement room I suppose. The body is still on its side. Oh well. I have the hand look for and connect the iPod's charging cable, I think. It fails. I have the body turn on the lamp. Ouch.
Stupid light stings like hell for a few seconds, even with an arm and a pillow partially shielding them you still need to wait for the pupils to adjust. Once they do I have the body look over the edge of the bed for the right power cable, then clear it from the small rats nest of wires on the floor. A few seconds later and we have it connected to the iPod. It's waking up, I'm waiting. It's up, we check the time and date. It is Friday, so I've only had 6 hours of sleep.
He's almost too conscious to go back to sleep now, at least easily. Too much stimulus and moving around. Besides, then I'd need to go though all this again in a couple hours. Screw it. We turn off the alarms before rolling back into the bed and letting the conscious mind gradually take over for the day. He'll get up and moving soon. we've already started screaming for a caffeine fix.
Office Space Moments
09.21.41 - Mark
(I'm bored, and writing this ate up a good 20 minutes. It may or may not be fictionalized)
Right now I'm sitting in a very uncomfortable, bulk discount special office chair, propping my heavy eyelids open wide enough to stare at the flickering screen of the state purchased computer whose inhospitable Windows enviroment is barely allowing me to get work done in a horrible - but its the best I have - text editing application.
My mind is awake, at least more awake than my body feels. It's not paying attention to the task at hand, nor does it need to. Instead it is idleing in the background, watching, listining, waiting for this allocated block of boredom to end.
As I read over the lines of code I've written over the past few minutes, hours, days the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above me and the fans of the computers idiots left running over the weekend are assulting my ears.
The only other noise in the room comes from occasional outbursts from the two other drones sitting in the room, themselves banging away at some aspect of this project. When they choose to speek, its useless and undesirable chatter.
There's some talk related to this little project of ours, but most of the noise is small talk - weather and the like. One is boring me with news from some mundane confrence he attended last week.
The other is discussing his latest in a sting of get rich quick schemes, unlike some of his other plots, which might stand a chance of being executable, this one has all the thought and merit of a dot com's back of a napkin business plan. Come to think of it, that might be more than he has. As best as I can tell it's some sort of specialized web design group. He's excited because the group bought and installed a pre-designed website over the weekend. I try not to snicker at the irony.
I should be doing "work" right now, but its done. At least on this project. The code I've been staring out not only works, its superfluous. Some trivial little item that will more than likely go unnoticed except as some line item mentioned in the time sheets I have yet to fill out.
There's another project in the wings, but I don't have any of the materials I need to get started on it. It doesn't bug me and I won't be activally seeking it out. I'll just sit here, banging away at the keyboard, looking good and busy, a misserable little drone sitting in some uncomfortable office chair...