The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers. (delascabezas) wrote,
The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers.
delascabezas

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A busy evening. Hung out at grimbil's place. Got his remote access up, got a web and ftp server running, gor shoutcast working (after a certain amount of hassle). Discovered that bill does not, in fact, have the sound card he thinks he has.

Sorry that I missed darts in Westchester. I will rain check.

Discovered that cablemodems can act as an internal DHCP server. Learned that stolen copies of the latest Harry Potter book can be purchased for 20$ on the sidewalk. Might try to see 28 days in Manhattan Friday.

Learned that riding the late, but not last train out leaves you with all the grouches - the dumped, the stood up, the late workers, the folks who got sick at the pub. The folks who move at odd hours because they have to, not because to carry thier debauchery any further would be to spend the night or walk home. It is not a pleasant experience.

I plowed through the rest of Motherless Brooklyn.
. It has left me uneasily wondering if perhaps I don't have a touch of tourettes along with my other mental abberations (foremost being insomnia and dyslexia).

Apparently to a 6'1" black man who sleeps at train stations, I look like Steven Segal.

I learned that the homeless man to whom I gave three dollars last week, and who mistook me for an actor i detest, is nammed Geoffery. I gave him 5$ tonight. He lied about what I gave him the money for last time. If I see him again, I am not sure what I will do. I feel sory for him - a profound sadness that cannot truly be encapslated in the frail shell of words. At the same time I have a vauge distrust of him. Is he playing me the fool? It certainly has been done before... my good nature works more often against me than for me, over the course of the last 20-odd years of paying attention.

I have so much loming at work on deadline...the rest of the week, 9-5, is going to suck royally.

My thoughts are definitely like kites tonight. They are flying close together, and have tangled strings, but as long as the winds are blowing, they will stay aloft.

It is going to be a hell of a knot in the morning.

I am constantly reviled by, and amazed by the world I find myself living in. The more I see of the undersides of New York City, the more I realize that it is jsut as fabricated an existance as the one I detested in Holy Cross. Less exclusive perhaps, and the myriads of fascets and layers makes it much harder to see the edges, but it is a bubble.

As tim is fond of quoting, "my version of reality is much more entertaining then the one the rest of humanity ascribes to."

Perhaps it goes deeper than that - perhaps there is a collective consciousness of creative realities - not The Matrix, but a comingled shell of subconscious hopes and desires, mixed with the filth and struggle of day to day necessity.

Peraps the bubbles I hate so much, in society, are the way collective groups of people deal with the filth, and the either empty desites, or the ultimate failure of thier achivement.

What do the people who achieve thier desires move on to do? I mean, what comes after Everest? Mars? Everest backwards?

I think you would be hard pressed to find a moonwalking shirpa, much less moonwalking yaks.

Shadows on the wind
Leave me wondering "How Come?"
"Sleep." answeres the breeze.
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