Well, I'm home. We're home. We survived the midwest and meeting the family. More on that later. I have stories and video to crunch. But all I wanted to do this morning was sit in a box, and I did. It was just as fun as when I was a kid. All familiar with the smell of cardboard and possibilities. Now, I just need to find several refrigerator boxes. Know where I can find some?
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Earlier tonight I came across a sidewalk with embedded color changing squares. I had to stop and shoot some video. Here's my first clip. The lighted pathway was at the entrance to the KC Art Institute - where I studied for a short time. (Yes, I thought I wanted to be an artist.)
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Here's a little video I put together on making jello shots for Barcamp. This was the first time I tried making these college favorites.
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Well, Barcamp LA #2 is over. It was this weekend. It was a lot of work - but it totally paid off. People often wonder why I got involved. What was my motivation. I ask myself the same reason. How do I pick what I get involved with and what I spend my time doing? This post isn't supposed to be that post, so instead of waxing introspective, I'll just say, I had a great time, met lots of new people, saw lots of friends and generally had a great time once I relaxed. I especially liked building my own digital camera for $35 and Jenka's Branding of Authenticity sessions. And who could forget werewolf lead by danah boyd? Apparently my intuitive skills were sharp (especially after the jello shots) and I outed two of the werewolves one after the other until I convinced the other villagers to kill me so I could get back to the party.
Mack Reed did a great job live blogging it and Carmen de Jesus has a great recap.
My only question? Where were the vloggers?! One night crashers.
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Well, here it is. The second barcamp los angeles is happening tomorrow and tonight I'm making jello shots.
I don't know what it is like to have a one-track business plan these days. Today I worked on 5 different projects: writing for 2 blogs, checking user stats, checking my own stats, calls and discussions for product management possibilities, finally joining the gym, all the last minute barcamp coordination, making a video of my house to show to prospective buyers, washing my car, stressing over all the stuff I didn't get done this week (or today) and I think that's it - for now.
But anyway, back to the point. Tomorrow is Barcamp, part 2. And the geek dinner is on Tuesday and after all that is done, I am taking a break from coordinating for a while and going to eat turkey in the cold midwest and then I don't have anything planned until the end of the year and I already know what my 2007 resolution is going to be because I kicked so much ass this year. How'dya like that runon sentence?
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I was half dozing in my tent under the influence of Burning Man when I heard my voice speak. "We need some journey here" a pause "the kind with Steve Perry." Although I spoke these workds, they were not mine.
I wasn't much into Journey when they had stadium concert fame, but I couldn't hide behind depeche mode, minor threat and pink floyd the whole 80's. So imagine my conflicting delight I felt when "Don't Stop Believing" started playing on our art car. There were 50 of us, silent at first and then singing along at the top of our lungs.
There's nothing like come classic rock in a techno dance dream.
Since then, Journey has been growing on me. Last night I was in Trader Joes when "Don't Stop Believing" came on. The usual hubbub in the store was silenced and there was reverential silence. I almost expected to see lighters alofted. I looked around at my fellow shoppers, more than one was singing along under his breath. And I remembered the feeling from the playa with my best friends singing along with Steve Perry and not mentioning the dreams we have - individually and as a group.
It was still playing as I walked out the door. I've still got the feeling.
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Another familiar application blast from the past. It's cool to see this being developed, and I wonder if I know the developers working on it.
It's got collaborative and chat functionality. So, what is google up to after all...
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I awoke this morning to bright sunshine. I rolled over and hid my face in the covers. Two hours later my feet padded down the stairs. I opened the patio door and my nose was greeted by the sweet hot smell of the desert. My heart jumped - the santa ana winds are back!
I sat outside in the shade and enjoyed the wind and heat. My mind traveled back to the tan, rust, striated mountain ranges I know so well, east of the inhabited LA basin. In an instant I'm standing on a pile of boulders on the top range. I can see a full 360 and all around mountains, basins, washes... no roads. No houses, no inhabitants, no water. My hair is longer and the wind is whipping it around my face. I love it up here. The sun, the wind, the openness, emptiness, space and lack of human mark (save the power lines and landing strips).
I miss the desert. When the santa ana winds come blowing through LA - bringing their China Mievelle dreams - it is like my favorite grandmother visiting. It's a little reminder of home and that I must plan a quiet visit soon.
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I met Iva Lou in 8th grade pre-algebra class. We became fast friends after she loaned me her copy of Singularity. She was much smarter than I in the realm of mathematics, but that didn't matter. Her mom worked for the city council. They lived off a country road in North Kansas City. I loved the ribbon roads we'd transverse from one house to the other. She showed me the magical overpass light arch. We stayed friends even when I moved back to Iowa, although sporadically. We hung out again one summer after my first year of college. Just kicking around NKC. Not much to do.
The summer ended almost tragically when we were in a car accident. I was driving, making a left turn. The other driver ran a red light and hit the side of my car, the impact spinning it around several times and up onto a median. Iva was sitting in the passenger's side. She had a huge cup of soda from a gas station between her legs. On impact, the soda exploded over the inside of the car. The first thing I did, after we stopped spinning was to turn off the radio. Then I noticed the liquid all over the interior of the car. I thought it was blood. I looked over at Iva. She was alive and awake. But her seat was crushed. After a few moments, when we counted the minutes on the clock, we spoke. She was somewhat ok (as much as you can be after a major impact that totaled the car). It was soda not blood.
Long story short. We both ended up at the emergency room and were discharged at the end of the night. I left the scene with a small bruise on the interior of my left knee, and the memory of that night emblazoned in my mind.
This is just the tip of the iceberg to this story. It gets much stranger than the common reality I dare write here.
The summer continued. Iva recovered, but our friendship never really did. In the subsequent years we continued sporadic communication, until I moved to San Francisco and we lost contact completely. Sometimes I think of her. Of that night. Of the first day we met. Of our similar and yet different viewpoints and experiences. And I wonder where she is. If she moved to Utah. If she found love and satisfaction and a happy life.
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Last week, I crushed my left thumb in a compound metal door frame at a Boston Hotel. In an infinite second I watched my thumb turn white and lost all feeling in it before my synapses fired PAIN and I arrested the crushing. My bold, I can live through anything will, told me I could still make it to my business meeting in 10 minutes, not even late. But then the throbbing kicked in, and I started getting cold and realized I was going into a bit of shock. I could not power through and ignore the major pain just inflicted on my body. I had to take care of it. And help my body take care of it.
I called the Hotel and had them get a doctor. They brought up a silver champagne ice bucket filled with ice. (Oh the irony.) And pain even lashed out at my other fingers when submerged in icy cold water. I was all I could do to lay still on the bed, quietly meditating, keeping the pain at bay. I had never broken a bone, and the pain was intense, so I wondered if this would be my first time. The doctor arrived. He tested my joints which barely moved, but moved with my yelping in pain - no broken bone this time. The pain was caused from the pressure of the fluid (blood) trapped under my nail. To think that such pain radiated from something so trite, so simple. And the remedy, sounded gruesome, but promised immediate relief.
I watched as he held an unbent paper clip over a lighter. It was red hot. And then I turned away. He was pressing it through my nail. The pain of fire was added to the pain of pressure and then, the release. Cool, liquid flowed. I squirmed as the doctor pressed down on the nail to squeeze out the remaining fluid. Add yet another type of pain to the morning's tour. But when he was finished, I felt 500% better and all that was to show for my labors was a simple band-aid.
In the course of a week (and several more self-surgeries) I watched my thumb heal. It was painful for many days after the accident. And then yesterday I removed the band-aid for good. There is still the blood path (more like ocean), but the bruises on my tissue are almost gone. I have started using it. And I don't cringe in pain when it is accidentally bumped.
Such a dramatic different. In one second, my thumb was crushed and I lost the ability to use it. In the following week, my body has been healing it at a rapid rate. In that one moment, I wanted to die for the depth of the pain. And in the following week, I am at awe of my body. Fragile and resilient. Broken and healed.
And it's this, my body, the ability to fix my cells, to take care of my pain that is most awesome. Awesome, because it's something that is a natural activity for my body. And I don't have to do anything to reap the benefits, except take care of it. And it's going to happen, regardless of my awareness of it happening.
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Soon, soon.
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It's time again for another episode of Heathervescent's wall of sound. Yes, I will be playing music that puts you out of this world for 3 hours - Wednesday night. Since I am in Boston, I'll be broadcasting from my cushy hotel room near Fanueal Hall. Maybe I'll eat a Boston Cream Pie on air. I'll most certainly have some Boston Baked Beans. Who knows? You'll have to tune in to find out. I'll be playing my standard pacific coast time set - 8pm to 11pm (which is 11pm to 2am Boston time) - Hey, who says I have to be rested for these business meetings?
Anyway, tune in here!
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I can't help it. I'm a moth to a flame. I am in love with the earth and it's
bare elements. I was going to write that Fire is my favorite, but it's not. I
love the ocean, the wind and getting the earth in every pore. However fire
brings out something wild in me. It is a drug and brings me - takes me - to
another place. A place where I feel the need to build up the fire and then
release it. Sometimes that comes by mere tending the fire, coaxing flames from
hot coals. Other times it's dumping pallet upon pallet into an already roasting
flame. More often than naught, it includes exploding certain flammables. If you
ever hear me yell, "Fire in the Hole" you will want to get away from the fire as
fast as possible. Recently I've been branching out to other metals that burn
bright. A friend recently presented me with at 2 ft brick of magnesium.
This past weekend, out in the desert with about 50 of my best friends, I put that brick into a hot fire. About 30 to 45 minutes later, we saw green pools of light (through the welding glasses). 15 minutes later, the fire was ablaze. The photographs that were subsequently taken did not need a flash.
Then someone had the great idea to pour water on the fire. So we started making water balloons. Someone handed me a water bottle and an idea flashed into my fire soaked brain. I remembered how fire spitters blow fuel out of their mouth to create flames. I have always wanted to do that, but have yet to learn. But here I was, water bottle in hand, with the primary objective of putting water on the magnesium! What better way to spray the fire?
Photo by
Ranger Rugburn. Note the people shielding their faces in the background. And
yes, I am wearing a white ball gown. And no, no flash was used to take this
photo. Thanks to Jetfuel for the, well, fuel.
ps. Mom, don't worry, I
didn't get burned. But I do kind of feel like G-d now. ;)
pps. ha ha Rob Brezsny!
AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): Lightning strikes somewhere on the earth
6,000 times every minute. A single bolt may carry a million volts and
reach a temperature of 50,000 degrees Fahrenheit. If this elemental force
could be tamed and utilized, it would provide enough energy to raise a
cruise ship six feet in the air. While you won't be able to literally harness a
lightning bolt in the coming week, Aquarius, you could accomplish the
metaphorical equivalent. At least temporarily, you have an uncanny talent
for mobilizing tremendous power that's normally too hot to handle.
Halloween costume suggestion: a relaxed, smiling lightning bolt.
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It's Halloween and of course my blog is full of Aeon Flux costume search hits. I
know, you guys want to see me in Aeon Flux pictures and the girls want patterns.
Well let me help you out.
1. Pictures.
2. On the costume
Reality Check
First we must realize that Aeon Flux is drawn. She
does not exist in 3D space. She is a style. A persona. A character. A
caricature. A possibility. A dream come animated reality. So girls, first off,
give up on being an Aeon like before. Aeon is well... aeon and constantly flux.
That is the point.
Know yourself
What can you pull off? Do you need a wig? Breast
implants? Do you have 6 pack abs? If not, so what? Pick the look you want. Aeon
has many. You don't have to be a stripper to be Aeon.
The Costume
It's not just about liquid latex. Or vinyl. You don't
have to suffer to be Aeon. I had my costume made out of black crushed velvet. I
wanted one that I could wear without showing everything (and staying warm), so I
picked the high neck and full arm. Don't feel like you have to exact - it's
about expressing and being the essence - not a clone.
One more note: get professional help. I had a seamstress/pattern-maker make my costume and it was well worth the $200!
The Hair
Let's get real. Aeon's hair twists are crazier than
Princess Leah's donuts. Don't think you can get those? Well don't worry. I've
seen people go the wig route, but those always look too big and bulky. Here's
what I've done. If you have a graduated bob style it brushed forward. Don't
worry about the curls yet. Get a wig or some hair. Form it into long curled hair
pieces. These will attach to your head around the ear or the ends of your hair,
depending on how strong they are.
Take a 3 to 5 inch piece of hair, spray it with some strong hair spray or other setting glue like substance, wrap it around a can and let it set. Have some slightly sticky hair gel or pomade to "attach" the hairpiece. Style the rest of your hair and put your make up on. Then start with the hairpiece attachment. It might take a few tries and different hair products so be sure to practice before the big night.
The Attitude
Aeon is a double agent. She's a confident trickster
with her own agenda. She'll kick your ass and has a deus ex machina in her boot.
That doesn't stop her from getting killed over and over. These seemingly
conflicting characteristics make aeon Aeon.
Boots
Boots are key to give the allusion of height and length. Even
if you are 6ft get yourself some platform stilettos. Frederick's of Hollywood
has some good mail order ones. Or if you live in LA go down to Hollywood Blvd
and hit up the stripper stores. If you're not in Los Angeles, a stripper store
should have a good selection.
Final Accessories: Fishnets, Laser Gun and a Podbelt
Under the
boots I suggest fishnets. If you go the more revealing costume route, you might
want to get an fishnet body suit with full arms and wear gloves and neck
choker.
I also suggest a podbelt from my good friend Isa.
And girls remember. Guys only think they want you to show it all. Leave a little to the imagination and get a good laser gun.
Have fun!
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"the art of the possible"
I had never thought of it as an art. It also reminded me of Uther Doul's possibility machines. And my fascination with the concept.
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I left the party and hiked up a wide wash to the base of a small mountain. At the furthermost tip a pile of crumbling rock surveys the view. I rest here, like a hawk, the west wind screaming down my chest. I feel it pierce every fiber. The sun is hot, the wind wild, but I am not cold.
Directly in front of me is our motley camp. A collection of vehicles, tents, shade structures and fire-making devices. It is a tiny speck on the edge of the dry lake. Ominous rocky mountains surround, secure and hide the place, the huge space. Scrub grows in the wide washes, until nothing grows demarking the edge of the lake. Off-white smooth flat for miles.
I find a wide crack between the rocks. There is both sun and shade. Cool rock and hot stone. I set down my pack and lean back, face the wind and look out onto the landscape.
I love the desert. Its rough mountains raising out of rocky washes. I love the angle landscape and the tricks it plays with my mind. Twisting my perception into another reality - a new possibility. The wind has silenced me and yet caresses my body. I am a small being in a vast desert. A pair of eyes looking out from a crack in the rock.
My mind wanders as I turn my view east. The mountains open onto a vast plain that is not playa. Do not make the mistake and think it is level. The desert is full of anglepoise plains that do nothing but twist your perception upside down. I see myself as a tiny self-contained being, wedged between rocks. Similar to this neural net Mez writes about. I've just finished reading Hyperion again, so Brawne's story is fresh in my mind. And the possibilities of enhanced brains with tiny nanotechnology nets that settle in our brainspaces. Kind of like my nestle between these two rocks.
.
.
.
.
.
There are no words for the ideas that pour out of the silence of the desert. Only the audacity to make them real in some future reality.
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"I thought I knew how to love. Don Juan said, 'How could you? They
never taught you about love. They taught you how to seduce, to envy,
to hate. You don't even love yourself- otherwise you wouldn't have
put your body through such barbarities. You don't have the guts to
love like a sorcerer. Could you love forever, beyond death? Without
the slightest reinforcement-nothing in return? Could you love without
investment, for the piss of it? You'll never know what it's like to
love like that, relentlessly. Do you really want to die without
knowing?'"
- Bruce Wagner
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I'm never going to have a house for all time. More than ten years ago I looked at a house in upstate NY. An old Victorian thing with formal rooms, big columns in front, redwood planks buried behind plaster and lathe, a row of lilac bushes in full bloom their purple and purple fragrance bobbing in the spring breeze. That was a house for all time.
I've always dreamt of a huge house, rooms filled with eclectic furniture. Always ready to come home to. A place to keep my various projects. My monkey and horse and magic oak tree out front. (Yes, ok, I was seriously influenced by Pippi Longstocking.) A place called home. That would never change, nor go away, even when I might.
I've found many a home, bought it, moved in, made it beautiful, lived in it a relatively short time, and inevitably moved on. Passing the home onto another set of hands in better condition than when I acquired it. I'm doing it again.
A little over a year ago, I bought a house with a friend We found a house and bought it and lived together. We delighted having tricked time and held parties deep into the future.
But the future is a tricky subject. And life often gives you turns and twists. They say the future is much like the present, only longer. But that is not exactly true. The future does not go on inevitably, it ends. My friend was called away and I got a boyfriend whose first words (after I told him I lived in the future) were a trickster's taunt on putting the future behind us. I knew he would tear me from the future, eventually. Well, eventually is no longer the future, it's today.
And soon, the future will be the past. It will be one short chapter in the life of heathervescent. I can quip, well, I've been to the future, I lived in the future, I used to own the future, the future is now in my past. And when the future, is no longer a concept of time unfurling in front of you, and merely a construct of an object in the past, then what?
Will I be destined to merely live in the present? Or will some other possibility present itself. . .
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I was making a list - an assessment of my life a few days ago. I felt like I had lost the spark of activity, although I'm in the midst of many activities. I wondered what my goals in life were, what I was doing and where I was going. I had one goal for 2006 and I hit that in May. So now what?
As I made my list, I asked myself the question: "Am I satisfied?"
Being satisfied doesn't mean that I have completed all my projects or that they are necessarily successful; it means am I happy and satisfied with my life. And I was - am.
This is a shocking realization for me. I've never thought about or actively observed myself being satisfied. It's always been about improving, learning more, or different things or actively reaching for the farthest point on the horizon and working to hit it.
But I'm sitting here, on this plateau, or mountain top, or wide desert valley, and I know I can hit any horizon point I dare look at. But I like it here. I've worked hard to get here. And there are plenty of things to do. But I think I can stop shooting for the moon for a while. Because, I'm finally standing on it. And I just found the plans to build a landing module.
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Tonight is Geek Dinner #6. Tonight it's downtown at Barbara's. Also at the same time, a friend is celebrating his birthday at the same place. Why oh, why do I do so much...
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If mass media is media reaching a large audience (perhaps the largest audience) then what is the opposite? The theatrical performance for one for Bron on Triton? Performance for an audience of 1?
I've found myself doing a fair amount of performance or activities for audiences recently. I don't do these events to hit a mass market or get a large audience. In traditional measurements of success, popularity = success = idea validation.
But not so, necessarily.
I didn't expect Hollaback Thriller to become a traveling troupe of zombie cheerleader/bananas. But we're doing our third show this week.
Then there's my radio show. I rarely have more than 15 listeners. (I know, I can see their IP addresses.) I'm fine with that. I don't do the show to have the most listeners. Hell, it's an INTERNET radio station with no distribution to satellite or radio towers. I had a bigger audience when I did 5 second breaks at 3am in Iowa. But instead of playing the programming, now I play what I want. (Which I think is the most innovative new music out there, thank you very much gybo.org.)
I don't expect my expressions to be fit for more than a crumb-sized audience. I don't do it for the audience. I do it for the idea. To express the idea. The idea doesn't care about the audience. It wants expression. And so, I'll do my best, with even an audience of 1.
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I know this ad is for a pharmaceutical company, but beyond that, I echo the sentiment. Have you abandoned your dreams? Do you know what they are? Are you living them? Why not? (And why hasn't a pharmaceutical company created a drug to stop being afraid of living your life and start risking it to live the life you dream of?)
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A real blast from the past here:
"Young hothead suggests it one time, then in subsequent practice said
hothead makes suggestions and abruptly leaves; we decide to pursue
hothead's suggestions in her absence as a sort of not doing. We found
out she's essential to the group."
It's interesting to find this again after all these years. And to see the essence in the absence... again.
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So LA Decom was this weekend. I had never attended a decom before because I really see no reason to try to re-live the burning man lifestyle in real life. I'm not one of these people that tries to turn burning man into this year long lifestyle.
But some friends got talked into doing some interesting things and I agreed to organize Theory Radio broadcasting live in addition to reprising Hollaback Thriller on stage. Decom was really like the playa. And not in a good way. It took 4 hours to get everything set up and then the Internet connectivity didn't work. (We planned to broadcast the event so we needed the connectivity.)
Then we switched over to wireless and got going. About 20 minutes later the huge sound system set up across the street from us started blasting music so loud that my colleague and I had to yell at each other to have a conversation even though we were standing next to each other. Then there was the drama of moving everything. More connectivity issues. It was like living in a third world country.
Then when we're on stage ready to perform Hollaback Thriller the music never started. (Apparently the CD could not be read.) It didn't help that I experienced the day on I had 3 1/2 hours of sleep and little food.
Once they opened the door, the freaks came in. I don't really want to look at women's asses hanging out of your tight bikini boy shorts, and if I want to see a pole routine, I know where to go, thank you very much.
There were some good times. It was fun to make weird hot dogs for the hot dog glory hole, experience puppet karaoke, make fun of people on the radio and give people whipped cream "in the mouth". But you know what? I don't think it was worth it. I realized I really do have candy raver rage. I don't like fake fur. And I really don't want to see your naked ass, apron man.
I'm glad burning man exists, but the power in it, is that it's not everyday. Or even twice a year. Or maybe, I'm just a bit more private in my yearly expression. I don't know.
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So we're broadcasting live from LA Decom today, so tune in. Depending on whether we have an internet connection. Go to www.theoryradio.org. Thanks!
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I remember the first computer I ever used. I was in 4th grade and there was Apple2 tucked away on a rolling cart in the corner. Occasionally we would get computer privileges if we wanted. Even then, I always wanted to be on it. But once on the computer, there wasn't much to do. I could write, but I didn't have much to say. I could do my math homework, but I wanted to have fun. (Math wasn't so much fun to me at that time.) A classmate had a computer at home and he would bring in and show me programs he created. He showed me a little bit of programming (I realize in retrospect) and offered to teach me. I learned as much as I could with my 4th grade brain and the tiny bit of computer time available to us. The next year I moved up in the system and none of my teachers had computers in their rooms and I got sucked into alliteration, onomatopoeia, assonance and other poetic techniques. The apple had been forgotten.
Enter summer school. I have no idea how it happened, but before I went into high school, my mom enrolled me in a summer computer class - which was basically an entry level programming course. We had those tiny black and amber or green IBM screens with the huge floppy discs and our teacher proceeded to teach us programming concepts. The whole if/then statement and how you write so the computer understands you and executes what you want.
We wrote a program and tweaked it for our personal interests. It was a simple concept, you typed some commands into the computer and it would say something back and then launch a game depending on what you typed back. Or something like that. It wasn't very big, it had to fit on those big 5.25 floppy disks.
I remember my excitement of being able to take the floppy home with me to show my mom my project, but we didn't have a computer a home so my cool project because a dusty black floppy on my bookshelf.
These are my first two memories of computers. I've been passionate about learning and using them ever since. I didn't go on to be a programmer. I skirted the fine line of translators. Those able to understand technology in it's native language and translate it into the genre-speak of a particular audience.
I've always been a PC person. I rebelled against the "macs are for creative types" and got a thinkpad. I'm most certainly not going to adhere to someone's marketing campaign to express my creativity. So I shunned the silicon valley hardware manufacturer out of my principle of the opposite.
But that's all changed. Because a few days ago, I bought my first Mac. It's a black powerbook and the exterior rivals my matte thinkpad. I hate the touchpad and am forced to use it and the keys are a bit awkward, but for the most part I am getting along. I miss the little red mouse pointer button on my thinkpad (that is my favorite feature). But I dig some of the meta/individual organization techniques. The built in iSight is cool, but the quality is less than average.
The main reason I decided to get the Mac is Video. There is so much and much is done on a Mac. Plus it's about time I do my own cross-platform QA testing for projects and sites. So there. I've come to the dark side. But I don't expect to put down my IBM anytime soon. Oh yeah, this entire post was written on the new macbook.
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"The words of the world want to make sentences... a paratactic linking of scattered fragments of lost sound, acoustic aberrations and apocrypha: vintage/modern electronica, progressive trance, soundscape/soundtrack, acoustic ephemera"
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If you missed the midnight show this weekend, don't worry, we have it on video. Do you dare to watch zombie cheerleaders, dancing zombie bananas and a lead singer called Gwenchael Jackfani dance to one of my favorite mashed songs Hollaback Thriller Girl by DJ Schmolli?
Well, just hit play. Yes, another heathervescent dream come true. Thanks to everyone who was part of it!
oh, if you missed it, we're planning some reprises - first one at LA Decom this weekend, and later this month at a club in Hollywood. Details will be coming!
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If ye love wealth better than liberty, the
tranquility of servitude better than the animating contest of freedom,
go home from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or arms. Crouch down
and lick the hands which feed you. May your chains set lightly upon
you, and may posterity forget ye were our countrymen.
-- Samuel Adams
Did you exchange your walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage? Do you have the guts to call yourself American? Do you fight for freedom, or prefer complacent consumerism?
Just some light questions to start off Monday morning. ;)
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If you were at the echo last night and saw the midnight mashup show of Gwenchael Jackfani and the Hollaback Zombies then you know it was a smashing success. The bananas blew the crowd away. We've got photos and video, but give me a moment to recover and get it posted. YouTube, here I come. Thanks to everyone who came out for the support - and thanks to A+D for running a kick ass club night. xoxox
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"Jung once told me that he thought the dream was always going on in the unconscious, but that it usually needs sleep and the complete cessation of attention to outer things for it to register in consciousness at all. As a rule, the first step in active imagination is to learn, so to speak, to see or hear the dream while awake."
Reminded via RS.
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To persuade someone of something you have to start small. Big changes take time and they happen step by step, moment by moment. You'll plant the seed. But then it must take root and become part of the new. Take an innovative idea. You can talk and show and display all you want. You may not persuade them to see your point of view in one meeting. But they'll leave with the seed planted. The next time you meet, the seed may have taken root. It may grow in a new direction. That's even better than you expected.
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And then there are the days when I don't care about persuading. I have no patience for those who can't keep up with my thinking, extrapolation and the "right" way to do things. Those are the days I want to dump. Those are the days I question my existence. Or start wondering if being aware and paying attention are all they're cracked up to be. If I am so obviously enlightened, then why am I irritated? Why do I care? Why can't I find a method for these dunce-heads to see the light? And then that leads me to, well, there is probably more to learn.
Or maybe when I feel like this, I should go do something to take my mind off these irritations. Even the Dali Lama retreats to fix clocks occasionally.
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happening the weekend of November 11th and 12th. More details coming soon, but for now - Save the Date.
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Not from this weekend, but it might as well have been.
Let's just say, that heather once again forgets she has limits and blew right past them in her paramnesia. Sometimes the line between reality and non-reality is blurred - especially out in the desert.
Photos by Kmo.
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A couple hooks that I want to write about, but don't feel the luxury of time to do so right now.
- Art of Bleeding killer show, my goth nurse costume and how I (and BJ) won the impromptu costume contest
- Jury Duty stories yesterday
- On Evangelism
- Memory sticks, power objects and decoder rings
Because later today I am heading out to my favorite desert local with my love and we are going to get jiggy with the Joshua trees.
Oh and there is a new addition to the family: Ingemar. We picked him up last night. But first, I need to do some work.
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I just made the biggest score of the year! Last night on my way home from LAX I stopped by a friend's house and picked up his 16+ year old rocket collection! Yes, home made rockets, blast engines, wadding, launch pads and more. So much information and history. I felt like I had been given an amazing treasure chest.
And it's perfect timing too. One of my "goals" on my project list has been "get back into rockets". Now I have no excuse and everything I need to blast-off!
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I dreamt of my first first-person VR experience. You know, like in eXistenZ, that Cronenberg movie? It was so vivid the wake up call barely pulled me back. I choose a different body type but something that was still somewhat like me and went up an elevator, alone into a new world. Since it was my first time, I could only start at floor 2. So I went up and started exploring. I found some party friends, who were really partying it up. And then I started exploring the city. I was walking around and this couple was standing together, and we started talking. I recognized them from my waking life. They recognized me, although I was not myself. It was Sean, whispering to Erika (although I could hear him), you know, that person is a lot like Heather, and I gave a look of recognition, and he immediately got it and said something like, Ah, it is you Heather. And then we went on about talking about VR, the environment and why/how I choose who I did and how my essence still came out.
It's probably one of those random dreams mashing up my recent re-start reading of Trouble on Triton (which I think should be bundled with Mez's More than Human) and my travels yesterday.
But I got me thinking. What if there was a way to transport the essence, the soul, your consciousness into a virtual reality? There will be a way someday. (Just read Kurzweil.) And actually there is a way you can do it today. It's called magic. Sorcery. And the stories are hard to believe, but why not? (Because there are more things in Heaven and Earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy, said the Old Baird.)
I've heard stories of people channeled, their essences trapped (or placed) in objects. A small shard of pottery found in central Mexico held the memories of a sacrificial slaughter. These are power objects. Energy infused beyond the regular object make-up.
I could go on with this, but I have to be disciplined and jump in the shower and get ready for my day. But I'll be thinking about this topic, even as I discuss business opportunities 30 stories above the city.
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What people don't realize is that it is always war. Those who disagree, aren't paying attention.
I was stuck on an airplane for 5+ hours earlier today. (Yesterday in the timezone I currently inhabit, today in the timezone I write in.) I finished reading The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien this weekend. Really it's that book (and my recent viewing of Apocalypse Now REDUX) that has spawned this war obsession. And retrospecting on family histories.
Most of the time, I'm disinterested in war, because I don't like fighting, combat or killing people. But I've come to realize, that my entire life I have practiced being a warrior. I've had my years of aikido and weapons training. Of hunting and stalking people, animals and places. I pick up any skill or tactic in my adventures and put it in my toolbox to be a better warrior. I don't attack or kill - is not my style. My preference is not to fight with other people. My war is much larger and I fight it each and every day.
I fight for awareness. For evolution. For the freedom to think, to be - "all that you can be". To drag your stubby legs out of the ooze that is called mainstream media conditioning, "this is the way you should live" and be a happy consumer, human battery.
My war is one I fight every day, with myself mostly and sometimes others. It's a hard war, because even when I win it - a moment maybe - it means practically nothing. Because the world is inhabited by mostly unaware individuals and even in my aware moments, I am often surrounded by the unaware.
But I dream. Imagine a world where everyone is aware! Paying attention. That's where I want to live. That's the world I want to create. That's what motivates me wake up in the morning and be optimistic and fight the good war.
Evolution. Not just the evolution of an individual (ahem, called enlightenment) but the radical transformation of an entire race. I know it's possible. It's just a matter of timing.
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I started out early saturday morning meeting Charlotte in Playa del Rey. She introduced me to Ingemar - an olive/black saab convertible. I don't think I mentioned on the blog, but I sold my black saab convertible earlier this summer. Even though we had so many good adventures together, it just felt like it was time for it to go. My heart was breaking as I sold it. I knew I was onto bigger and better things, but still, I loved her so.
In the meantime, I've been driving the surprise Jeep. I think I wanted one at some point, maybe when I was a teenager, but I'm not into the jeep at all. I feel like I am in college and I don't like that feeling. The jeep has all the bad characteristics of a convertible (loud wind noise) and none of the good (fast, sticky tires, nimble) - not to mention almost everyone has a jeep in LA. It's about as unique as fake tits on a trophy wife. Blech.
I digress. Before I met Ingemar, I was pretty sure I was going to fall in love. I had secretly been stalking the ad for a couple weeks. I wasn't sure if I really wanted another saab. (I was really in denial.) And it was really expensive - more than I wanted to pay - although a good price for the vehicle. So I just sat and waited. And hoped I would forget. But I didn't.
Then I remembered the feeling I had when I saw the ad. It was love at first sight - just like my last saab. In that case, I saw the posting and I knew that was the one I wanted. Again, it was selling for a lot more than I wanted to spend. And I waited that time, but eventually ended up buying it. (See the blog postings from June of 2004.)
I was pretty sure the same thing was happening here. I would stalk the listings and eventually come back and look at Ingemar. I thought, this is the perfect car, it's exactly what I want and at the same time... noooo, it's way more than you wanted to spend. Finally I broke down and wrote an email to the owner. We agreed to meet Saturday morning for a test drive. Stepping into Ingemar was like coming home. It was so much like my previous saab. When I curled my fingers around the stick and felt the smooth as butter clutch, that was it. I had to have it.
I can't express how happy I am to be back in a convertible - a saab convertible. And I can't wait to get back to California. Ingemar is waiting.
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A friend reminded me, storm clouds must gather before they can rain. That must be the case the past couple weeks, which means, watch out - cause here comes the purple tornado.
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I am getting more and more intrigued by you. Not only are you a catalyst for world change, but personal transformation. And you are more play than anything else. That is what I think is most misunderstood about you War. Instead of toy guns yours are big complicated machinery. I know it's easier to play than think about the big questions. And if the world is destroyed, well then, we have millions of years of evolution before the big questions dare be pondered again. But those big question are begging to be understood, to finally shine again.
War, come be my friend. O favored child of our times come rest your weary head and help me plan my attack.
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Hey Gawkers,
Yeah. You there. On the other side of the screen. I see you. Don't try to hide your face from me. I know, I know, so many people have issues with bloggers and laptops. Hell, a few days ago, I almost wrote a rant about lame ass laptop stickers, but I sucked it in. Yeah, I did. It's saved as a draft.
But come on. I have to say, it is pretty damn cool to "blog" from the top of a building. With my foot dangling off the edge mind you. I mean, it was a great excuse to hang out on the edge of a building. How often do you get a chance to do that? And there was WiFi up there too. I mean, that's pretty ass kicking.
But I agree. No more bloggers with laptops photos. Unless you've got one of yourself scuba diving. I know that's on my todo list!
Thanks for stopping by. And feel free to dig. If you really want to gawk. You'll be especially interested in the aeon flux photos. Just search this page.
xx,
-Heathervescent
Gawk some more: The post I actually wrote from that photo.
More gawking: the photo of me reading the newspaper of the photo. Droste effect?
If you missed the gawking. Here it is.
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