the chill of pools in space

The blogs between the last two dates are located in a file called atnoon8+.pdf on the site www.daresay.com

"It’s weird ... I went to this bar with my wife after a sail around the lake, half lit on cheap boat wine, for a friendly pint or two, and the entire place was filled with women, watching the last episode of a prime time TV show." The idea of a bar filled with women, is enough to carjack any man’s attention, which on some level pisses me off, and hooks me, as you’ve undoubtedly already decided. SO I sit there thoughtfully dog-like, tongue out for treats, hiding my animal pants. Yea. The show was called The Bachelor. Ever heard of it? Sure, but never seen it. What guy would? Except I guess, it’s a wet dream fantasy, ignoring the fact you marry one in the end. So it was down to two, this hot-assed bitch, and this nice girl, who was stellar in the head. The typical choice, looks or brains, seldom both in the same body, anyway, it was Superbowl Sunday in there, the chicks working through every strategic move, every hair toss, and hesitation, the way she applied her blush, and what not. Oh, if was her, I wouldn’t have done that! Like the whole team was following behind them, cringing at every fumble and cheering at every step towards victory. Dude, that’s a ruckus for you ... the playing field of the sexes! The information betrayed something profound. I asked his wife, is that true? She gets protective. Well, sort of. But it was cute ... we were simply observing the farce of it. Like reality TV shows, the blending of farce and nonfiction, until it hurts, and now, even fewer people know the difference. All parody finds its basis in fact.
Don’t start your day with the paper, I told him. Why not? It’s relaxing. On what account? You’ll read about incompetence, war, and political carelessness. How the president listens to the pope’s parting message, is moved, then erodes our rights further, rapes the earth, murders civilians etc, in the name of the god he serves. You’re due for a fix of meteorites narrowly missing the earth, which coincides with the doomsday prophesy of numerous prominent calendars, you’ll imagine how everyone will run up debt, and destroy the world’s economy, go bezerk and shoot each other, how the Chinese are rioting now, because the Japanese handled wartime apologies badly, as if they are scott free, dexterously decimating Tibet. You’ll pull section after section of America going down the gurgling drain, molecule by molecule, led by a complete imbecile half the country elected because ... he stupidly followed the same narrow-minded course they did, and’ he’s like us ... except he isn’t, and isn’t that the farce. Very relaxing. An alcoholic megalomaniac rich kid con man coke fiend forges ahead with a damaged inept set of puppeteers, themselves puppets of something sublime most people are terrified coconspirators of, trashing the world in the process. Very calming, indeed. We are currently failing the test of our age, to be honest and include the unthinking masses in a long range shift of priorities they’re getting high1, and watching TV to avoid.

The melding of machines and people, from airplanes to submarines to aircraft carriers, is a truly ancient art. An enforced lack of [personal] space initiates a hive mentality, where individuals in a system identify with the immediate surroundings of intimate, personal and workspace blurred, to effectively blur their worlds into one unified form, which limits itself, or transcends its boundaries. This is animistic in the sense of machines becoming living forms, inhabited by living viscera, itself working in highly interconnected manners, as a complex array of machinery would. There exists a tenuous balance of stresses, not unlike what the current world exacts on large herd organisms, in which an efficacy of those who monitor the balance become tightropes themselves, as in the Sultana, steaming from Vicksburg’s carnage at war’s end ... Ala-kaboom! April 27, 1865 in the worst maritime disaster ever, the eco-structure of machine and tender in error result in boilers blown. Redundancy becomes critical to functioning, as individual failures affect wholes ... we can’t sonar people as whales do—proctor a sort of physical telepathy, which can read the health of any organism at distance. Nearly-different marine species rejoice upon learning of rival pods’ kills. "You’re so cuckoo." She affectionately tells me. How do you fit all those thoughts in your head? I throw out things like tax dates, and names, and just for the record, I don’t. It’s a wild runoff from a 24-7 storm whose bow waves are a ship a larger storm tosses and turns.