matches is enjoying copland, sunshine, and a rather blatant bandwith violation at dragonfly chai~
ah, spring is in the air. flowers are tunneling their way through the soil, erupting at the surface life spurts of lava. it is so refreshing, after such a grey and downtrodden winter, to feel a breeze that isn't piercingly cold rustling through one's clothing. to sit at a table outside, and not have to defend your laptop against a barrage of raindrops slingshotting around to the underside of a pitter-pattering canopy. sunroofs, they are open. ice cream trucks, they are, curiously not present (let us hope that this deficiency is remedied in the coming months).
mattress is debating the idea of starting a vegetable garden on his extraordinarily-large deck. it seems that it would be a large investment of time and effort, but he imagines that he could probably learn some things from it as well, and also would get a kick out of nourishing himself with things that he once nourished (kind of like a kung-fu master learning from his student. well, maybe not much like that. but, delightful nonetheless). his main qualm is that he would probably be unnecessarily devastated if the sun became overly harsh and roasted his plants, as happened to justin naught but 3 years ago. so much effort poured into nothing~
the idea struck him long ago, but recently he has been thinking that it he might reap some quite isolated benefits from the process. for one, he has noticed this aspect of himself lately, whereby he has become quite impatient with anything taking longer than a few moments. it's a terribly frustrating state of being, because most things take longer than a few moments....for instance, he hasn't been seeking out much new music by bands, even ones whose names he is aware of, because he is exhibiting impatience with downloading or going to stores. sometimes he refuses to go to a website if it is not preemptively bookmarked, because he doesn't want to move his hand from the mousepad to the keyboard and type the address. these things do not take much time at all. it is a problem. so, perhaps taking the time to cultivate something lengthy will balance his mind out a bit. what is curious is that he exercises extreme patience in some respects....as a rule he would consider himself to be one of the most patient people he knows~ there is just an inclination of late that exhibits otherwise, and he supposes it would be best to whisk these inconsistencies into a more fluid smoothness. life is so much easier when one is in a casually-drifting disposition.
and then, of course, after all is said and done, he will get to put said vegetables to their ultimate destruction in his hands. which is oddly kind of a fun prospect, is it not~
do you notice the same tendency towards impatience? he is not sure quite what to make of it? is impatience a good thing on occasion? is it always negative; a weakness? upon contemplation, the problem is precisely in the application of the feeling. it is bad to have a pressing impatience, an inability to behave oneself when immediacy is unavailable. but it can be good, for instance, to have an impatient resolve, an uncompromising steadfastness towards achieving a goal. it's funny the quickness with which virtue can shift to vice, and then double-back upon itself. good things do come to those who wait, but it is foolish to let an opportunity pass one by when it could be seized. impatience clouds the mind, though; it confuses and magnetizes one toward finding a singular thing. it takes patience to really recognize a genuine opportunity~ so, kind of divided on the issue.
perhaps, like most things, the degree of importance which the quested-after object has determines its tendency towards either impatience or patience. when you only want something for shallow reasons, you leap upon it, frenzied, and fail to evaluate anything about the situation or the thing itself. when you desire a thing for more intricate and notable reasons, patience springs up as an unwillingness to compromise, as a third eye guiding with more depth perception. it becomes important, truly, and as such you're willing to invest more of yourself and your time towards achieving it.
hm. outro~
February 29, 2008
February 25, 2008
in theory
here is one little notion on life.
the first step is usually the hardest. if you play an instrument, if you play it well, it will be easier for you to learn another as there are cross-functional ideas involved in the two. if you know a second language (or shall we say, a first; but the reading of these words then begs a question), then any other lingual exploit you choose to embark upon should ultimately require less effort to achieve the same level of comfort. if you become a savvy traveler, the world will bloom open for you like a summer rose. not that matches would know about that one, but he can know such things in reverse; there are large quantities of geography in all manners of intricacy that he is completely ignorant of. le sigh. the unseasoned explorer only knows vague facts, and wanders around in a daze. this trend also follows suit with busy people, somewhat surprisingly....if you want something accomplished, give it to someone who is already busy. they tend to have a better current sense of orientation, and can manage their resources such that the pieces all fall into place.
matches is witness, but also admittedly somewhat party to, a phenomenon which may be cultural; we'll see. it is an epidemic, a problem of inaction and complacency. rather than investing oneself in any particular angle of study or advancement, there certainly seems to be a growing tendency towards a more 'plain' genre of human (not to be overly harsh, unless it is necessary for spurring purposes). there seems to be less and less focus on any specific endeavor, and more emphasis on surprisingly unmemorable activities...frequenting the same spots, playing the same games, watching the same movies, unspooling the same unengaging and unstimulating small talk. shopping (depending on the item in question) deserves a category all its own. maybe mattress should be thankful that we have freedom enough to enjoy doing nothing particularly worthwhile with ourselves, but he somehow just cannot reconcile with it. if this is a cultural issue, then it is entirely likely that it will follow a trend, and that the next generation will be even less inclined to make something of themselves with the time that they are given.
the problem that m is running into, however, is a slightly different take. he feels horribly judgmental, going off like this on the surrounding people he does not know, who are surely verymuch like himself (saw some graffiti the other day: "hello, i am much like you"). he is having trouble assigning a value system to the world lately. obviously, don't kill, don't steal, etc....but when it comes down to how someone chooses to live their own life, how is there any chance of one argument obtaining more validity than another? what if the entire point of life isn't mental exploration, or spiritual development, but rather to sit around and indulge in as many small pleasures as possible? who can say, with certainty? what is grinding matches forward in his proposition is a gut feeling, an instinct, that tells him how he should be conducting himself. it falls short of the mark more often than it should anyway. if it really were a theory with some truth backing it, then wouldn't it logically be less arduous to fall into line with?
"life is a blast, when you know what you're doin'
best to know what you're doin', 'fore your life get ruined
life is a thrill, when your skill is developed"
~ hieroglyphics - at the helm
so, take note; this is not an objective mandate; not that anyone would have taken it for one in the first place. he thinks that, he hopes that, once you really find something that is worth doing for yourself as opposed to what anyone else thinks, it isn't 'arduous'...it becomes light-hearted, and fun to experiment with or explore. kind of like scribbling on this thing~
still, get out and see some nature this weekend. pick up a new book. meditate. chances are you will not regret these things~
the first step is usually the hardest. if you play an instrument, if you play it well, it will be easier for you to learn another as there are cross-functional ideas involved in the two. if you know a second language (or shall we say, a first; but the reading of these words then begs a question), then any other lingual exploit you choose to embark upon should ultimately require less effort to achieve the same level of comfort. if you become a savvy traveler, the world will bloom open for you like a summer rose. not that matches would know about that one, but he can know such things in reverse; there are large quantities of geography in all manners of intricacy that he is completely ignorant of. le sigh. the unseasoned explorer only knows vague facts, and wanders around in a daze. this trend also follows suit with busy people, somewhat surprisingly....if you want something accomplished, give it to someone who is already busy. they tend to have a better current sense of orientation, and can manage their resources such that the pieces all fall into place.
matches is witness, but also admittedly somewhat party to, a phenomenon which may be cultural; we'll see. it is an epidemic, a problem of inaction and complacency. rather than investing oneself in any particular angle of study or advancement, there certainly seems to be a growing tendency towards a more 'plain' genre of human (not to be overly harsh, unless it is necessary for spurring purposes). there seems to be less and less focus on any specific endeavor, and more emphasis on surprisingly unmemorable activities...frequenting the same spots, playing the same games, watching the same movies, unspooling the same unengaging and unstimulating small talk. shopping (depending on the item in question) deserves a category all its own. maybe mattress should be thankful that we have freedom enough to enjoy doing nothing particularly worthwhile with ourselves, but he somehow just cannot reconcile with it. if this is a cultural issue, then it is entirely likely that it will follow a trend, and that the next generation will be even less inclined to make something of themselves with the time that they are given.
the problem that m is running into, however, is a slightly different take. he feels horribly judgmental, going off like this on the surrounding people he does not know, who are surely verymuch like himself (saw some graffiti the other day: "hello, i am much like you"). he is having trouble assigning a value system to the world lately. obviously, don't kill, don't steal, etc....but when it comes down to how someone chooses to live their own life, how is there any chance of one argument obtaining more validity than another? what if the entire point of life isn't mental exploration, or spiritual development, but rather to sit around and indulge in as many small pleasures as possible? who can say, with certainty? what is grinding matches forward in his proposition is a gut feeling, an instinct, that tells him how he should be conducting himself. it falls short of the mark more often than it should anyway. if it really were a theory with some truth backing it, then wouldn't it logically be less arduous to fall into line with?
"life is a blast, when you know what you're doin'
best to know what you're doin', 'fore your life get ruined
life is a thrill, when your skill is developed"
~ hieroglyphics - at the helm
so, take note; this is not an objective mandate; not that anyone would have taken it for one in the first place. he thinks that, he hopes that, once you really find something that is worth doing for yourself as opposed to what anyone else thinks, it isn't 'arduous'...it becomes light-hearted, and fun to experiment with or explore. kind of like scribbling on this thing~
still, get out and see some nature this weekend. pick up a new book. meditate. chances are you will not regret these things~
February 19, 2008
synchronicity
it is about time that matches covered a topic that has been prodding at him and a few of his close peoples for some time now. allow him to get some momentum into this one, if you will. have you ever noticed something, anything, and known that it was more than it appeared? have you ever netted a thought from the air in front of you, and had it prove undeniable, either by way of close-to-immediate factual concretization or just plain logical and emotional admission? have you felt something deeply? have you toyed with chance, pushing a hand in a card game that you just 'had a feeling' about, completely ridiculous by all accounts but which played out to be a monster?
do you trust your life to your feelings? do they speak to you in sleepy whispers; do they stomp and stamp like a great chained beast? every so often something strikes us, solid and swift as a skipping stone. usually it is in retrospect that we make the connection between what is actually happening somewhere, and what we feel...we isolate the emotion, turn it over as though it were the only thing running through our mind at the time. thought is a bit more complex than that, though....there are often in the neighborhood of five concepts tug-of-warring within matches' mind, so it would be difficult for him to say when or which one necessarily takes precedence at any given time. ouch, just poked self in eye. there are moments when feelings seem to merge with what is transpiring in other places; when thoughts spring up unaccounted for in your progressive tabulations between eyes-open and eyes-shut, and you just know something that is going on elsewhere.
you could call these moments 'coincidences', but that would seem to take something away from them, wouldn't it? it's easy in the hustle-and-bustle to pawn such inconsistencies (actually, they are apparitions of consistency...) off, and move on within your sphere. but don't they make you ponder; don't they haunt you when you lay down to sleep? how can one only believe in four dimensions, with such irregularity? granted, they are few and far between. granted, there can be no proof that they were not, in fact, mere coincidences. he supposes it comes down to a degree of faith, in whatever you make that out to be.
antimatter has had at least one extremely potent instance of said occurrence in his lifetime. one, but probably many more that are just less poignant, less pronounced. one, when it comes down to it, is probably all it takes....to shatter the illusion of control, of somehow being audacious enough to think that we are perceiving everything that is going on in this maddeningly-intricate atmosphere. people live functionally, for the most part. but in his particular experience, the thought was such an abstraction, such a deviation from his normal modes of behavior and thought (his style of moving throughout the world); and the event that it pertained to was so very jarring, so definitive, that he cannot simply stamp it with a waxy 'coincidence' seal and post it express-mail to the history books. he is not done with it yet. not nearly so.
he remembers from when he was reading string theory books, that there is an avenue of the idea which basically says that there are invisible, intangible links between certain things in the universe. certain things being the theoretical 'strings', but even so, why not clandestine connections between other things, like minds or emotions? it is not so much of a stretch. anyway, these tethered objects, they may exist on opposite sides of the known universe, but still their movements, for whatever reason unknown to us, exert a mechanical influence upon the movements of the other. they are mirrored, in a sense; acting jointly though they are separated by unfathomable distances. this, is of interest to m. this, makes some sense, in its own unique and nonsensical method. a connection, beyond the confines of the current paradigm. what else then, can be connected?
a decent example of an unexpected connection, you ask? well, this one is explainable, but nevertheless, interesting enough to scribble down. in a perfectly ovular room, there was a party going on; let us call it a business party. a man got fired the next day, and he could think of no likely explanation for his notice of termination. he had performed dutifully and cordially in the eyes of all people who had any such authority over him. but unbeknownst to him, he had made a mistake...he unloosed his tongue, poking fun at one of his higher-ups to a mere scullery-maid, who giggled incessantly at the comment. little did this man know, that he stood exactly upon on of the ovular room's two focal points (a geometrical pivot of which there are two of, situationally). the other of the focii, at the precise moment, was occupied by the president of his company, silently contemplating the boorishness of the guests and simultaneously, his martini olive. the vocals of the first man projected themselves into the geometry of the room, and being a perfect oval as it was, redirected themselves to converge directly upon the president as he unthreaded the olive from its tentative toothpickery. thus the man's deviant intentions were made unintentionally public, and he was doomed to go on the rest of his days in utter befuddlement as to why he was released so callously.
true, that example was more for the telling than its relation to the actual topic at hand, but it makes a notable point....there are unlooked-for and unperceived connections between any given set of things, and just because we cannot explain them in the moment does not rob them of their validity. matches is of the opinion that if you feel something, truly, that goes beyond observation or explanation, that such occurrences should be treasured allthemore and certainly should not be dismissed.
faith is very rarely a bad thing, and often it is much more applicable to, just about everything, than we give it credit for. mattress is a believer....he just needs to figure out what in. or does he? perhaps that isn't the way it works~
it wouldn't be the first time.
do you trust your life to your feelings? do they speak to you in sleepy whispers; do they stomp and stamp like a great chained beast? every so often something strikes us, solid and swift as a skipping stone. usually it is in retrospect that we make the connection between what is actually happening somewhere, and what we feel...we isolate the emotion, turn it over as though it were the only thing running through our mind at the time. thought is a bit more complex than that, though....there are often in the neighborhood of five concepts tug-of-warring within matches' mind, so it would be difficult for him to say when or which one necessarily takes precedence at any given time. ouch, just poked self in eye. there are moments when feelings seem to merge with what is transpiring in other places; when thoughts spring up unaccounted for in your progressive tabulations between eyes-open and eyes-shut, and you just know something that is going on elsewhere.
you could call these moments 'coincidences', but that would seem to take something away from them, wouldn't it? it's easy in the hustle-and-bustle to pawn such inconsistencies (actually, they are apparitions of consistency...) off, and move on within your sphere. but don't they make you ponder; don't they haunt you when you lay down to sleep? how can one only believe in four dimensions, with such irregularity? granted, they are few and far between. granted, there can be no proof that they were not, in fact, mere coincidences. he supposes it comes down to a degree of faith, in whatever you make that out to be.
antimatter has had at least one extremely potent instance of said occurrence in his lifetime. one, but probably many more that are just less poignant, less pronounced. one, when it comes down to it, is probably all it takes....to shatter the illusion of control, of somehow being audacious enough to think that we are perceiving everything that is going on in this maddeningly-intricate atmosphere. people live functionally, for the most part. but in his particular experience, the thought was such an abstraction, such a deviation from his normal modes of behavior and thought (his style of moving throughout the world); and the event that it pertained to was so very jarring, so definitive, that he cannot simply stamp it with a waxy 'coincidence' seal and post it express-mail to the history books. he is not done with it yet. not nearly so.
he remembers from when he was reading string theory books, that there is an avenue of the idea which basically says that there are invisible, intangible links between certain things in the universe. certain things being the theoretical 'strings', but even so, why not clandestine connections between other things, like minds or emotions? it is not so much of a stretch. anyway, these tethered objects, they may exist on opposite sides of the known universe, but still their movements, for whatever reason unknown to us, exert a mechanical influence upon the movements of the other. they are mirrored, in a sense; acting jointly though they are separated by unfathomable distances. this, is of interest to m. this, makes some sense, in its own unique and nonsensical method. a connection, beyond the confines of the current paradigm. what else then, can be connected?
a decent example of an unexpected connection, you ask? well, this one is explainable, but nevertheless, interesting enough to scribble down. in a perfectly ovular room, there was a party going on; let us call it a business party. a man got fired the next day, and he could think of no likely explanation for his notice of termination. he had performed dutifully and cordially in the eyes of all people who had any such authority over him. but unbeknownst to him, he had made a mistake...he unloosed his tongue, poking fun at one of his higher-ups to a mere scullery-maid, who giggled incessantly at the comment. little did this man know, that he stood exactly upon on of the ovular room's two focal points (a geometrical pivot of which there are two of, situationally). the other of the focii, at the precise moment, was occupied by the president of his company, silently contemplating the boorishness of the guests and simultaneously, his martini olive. the vocals of the first man projected themselves into the geometry of the room, and being a perfect oval as it was, redirected themselves to converge directly upon the president as he unthreaded the olive from its tentative toothpickery. thus the man's deviant intentions were made unintentionally public, and he was doomed to go on the rest of his days in utter befuddlement as to why he was released so callously.
true, that example was more for the telling than its relation to the actual topic at hand, but it makes a notable point....there are unlooked-for and unperceived connections between any given set of things, and just because we cannot explain them in the moment does not rob them of their validity. matches is of the opinion that if you feel something, truly, that goes beyond observation or explanation, that such occurrences should be treasured allthemore and certainly should not be dismissed.
faith is very rarely a bad thing, and often it is much more applicable to, just about everything, than we give it credit for. mattress is a believer....he just needs to figure out what in. or does he? perhaps that isn't the way it works~
it wouldn't be the first time.
February 15, 2008
seventh and fifth harmonics
mattress isn't going to pull the typical move and whine about how sappy all the couples are being today. it's the 15th and that shit is behind us, even if the echoes are still bouncing around.
you know that feeling you get when that first band-specific sound cascades down from a stage; when, at that very moment, the concert just began? then usually there is a tantalizingly slow build up, or sound check, until the speakers just unloose those candy-striped transmissions which were the reasons, one by one and sequentially, for coming. that absolutely-recognizable first song....a promise of what's just about to come. the adrenaline starts flooding, even collectively, in this giant throng of people sharing at least that commonality. it is a moment of supreme abandon, quite distinct in its methods.
how much more fluidly life would progress if this was the feeling that wrapped itself around oneself in the morning; eyes creaking open, mind dissolving in the sensuality of the lights, the sounds, the sensations? if we were more giving with our mental resources, more committed to entering fully into a state of receptivity....things would be much different than they are. our attention is such a valuable resource to us; we siphon and measure it out into our individual array of pots and pans, and simmer/juggle it like the most overburdened chefs with critics to impress. we accomplish much, but in the wayside we leave our sanity and, too many times, our personality. our ability to live joyfully and untroubled, like children. it's an all-too-human trait that whatever we are shuffling around in other areas of our lives tends to spill over its boundaries, toeing the lines of containment that we thought we had set up. it shades your thought, which is your lens to the world. reaping what we sow, perhaps you could say.
"cause you can choose to say 'good morning, God' or 'good God, morning'
with black clouds storming
i walk without umbrellas into these woods
don't need 'em 'cause the mighty trees above will shelter me good
i'm eating berries from the bushes of the heavenly good
from the stakes the power came to us whenever we stood
reverberatin' out, we're reachin' each and every hood"
~ blackalicious - first in flight
matches knows for a fact that when he wakes up, the world tends to crash down on him...typically in a negative way. and this isn't laziness, though he has experienced his fair share of that over the years. it stems from a distancing of his priorities, because for whatever reason he has chosen a set of them that currently do not yield much monetary value in today's world. he has a basket of things he would like to accomplish or try his hand at, in any given day. but he needs to tuck some money in his mattress (proper) so that he can continue to live in the style that he is accustomed to (not exactly lavish, but he did spring for a really nice apartment for once in his life. you probably know how much a contract monthly bill can tangle your priorities).
but he misses that concert feeling, once it is gone. the dynamic rush, the abandonment, the absolute justification; the conviction that you are currently experiencing something worth your while. it's a potent feeling. matches knows that life can contain this feeling, that a mind can. it's just a matter of accessing it, and society seems to be a tough nut to crack (remember the cartoon with the squirrel and the coconut? allegorical). is life 'musical'? is that natural force too much to expect from reality (occasionally, italicization denotes when he would like to remember a point for later deconstruction)? there is this experience that he knows/hopes everyone has, where he walks at night with his headphones unspooling some thievery corporation or such to him. and that itself isn't so notable, but there is a concatenation, hidden from all other ears/eyes/steps, going on there. it all fits so brilliantly; he is convinced that there is an innate correlation between music and the gyroscopic functionings of either the physical world, the mind, or both. or perhaps music is the sparked product of some friction between the two. either way, he is convinced that this is no falsity.
the question is, how do we capture that momentum; how do we swing on a star?
you know that feeling you get when that first band-specific sound cascades down from a stage; when, at that very moment, the concert just began? then usually there is a tantalizingly slow build up, or sound check, until the speakers just unloose those candy-striped transmissions which were the reasons, one by one and sequentially, for coming. that absolutely-recognizable first song....a promise of what's just about to come. the adrenaline starts flooding, even collectively, in this giant throng of people sharing at least that commonality. it is a moment of supreme abandon, quite distinct in its methods.
how much more fluidly life would progress if this was the feeling that wrapped itself around oneself in the morning; eyes creaking open, mind dissolving in the sensuality of the lights, the sounds, the sensations? if we were more giving with our mental resources, more committed to entering fully into a state of receptivity....things would be much different than they are. our attention is such a valuable resource to us; we siphon and measure it out into our individual array of pots and pans, and simmer/juggle it like the most overburdened chefs with critics to impress. we accomplish much, but in the wayside we leave our sanity and, too many times, our personality. our ability to live joyfully and untroubled, like children. it's an all-too-human trait that whatever we are shuffling around in other areas of our lives tends to spill over its boundaries, toeing the lines of containment that we thought we had set up. it shades your thought, which is your lens to the world. reaping what we sow, perhaps you could say.
"cause you can choose to say 'good morning, God' or 'good God, morning'
with black clouds storming
i walk without umbrellas into these woods
don't need 'em 'cause the mighty trees above will shelter me good
i'm eating berries from the bushes of the heavenly good
from the stakes the power came to us whenever we stood
reverberatin' out, we're reachin' each and every hood"
~ blackalicious - first in flight
matches knows for a fact that when he wakes up, the world tends to crash down on him...typically in a negative way. and this isn't laziness, though he has experienced his fair share of that over the years. it stems from a distancing of his priorities, because for whatever reason he has chosen a set of them that currently do not yield much monetary value in today's world. he has a basket of things he would like to accomplish or try his hand at, in any given day. but he needs to tuck some money in his mattress (proper) so that he can continue to live in the style that he is accustomed to (not exactly lavish, but he did spring for a really nice apartment for once in his life. you probably know how much a contract monthly bill can tangle your priorities).
but he misses that concert feeling, once it is gone. the dynamic rush, the abandonment, the absolute justification; the conviction that you are currently experiencing something worth your while. it's a potent feeling. matches knows that life can contain this feeling, that a mind can. it's just a matter of accessing it, and society seems to be a tough nut to crack (remember the cartoon with the squirrel and the coconut? allegorical). is life 'musical'? is that natural force too much to expect from reality (occasionally, italicization denotes when he would like to remember a point for later deconstruction)? there is this experience that he knows/hopes everyone has, where he walks at night with his headphones unspooling some thievery corporation or such to him. and that itself isn't so notable, but there is a concatenation, hidden from all other ears/eyes/steps, going on there. it all fits so brilliantly; he is convinced that there is an innate correlation between music and the gyroscopic functionings of either the physical world, the mind, or both. or perhaps music is the sparked product of some friction between the two. either way, he is convinced that this is no falsity.
the question is, how do we capture that momentum; how do we swing on a star?
February 12, 2008
harvest moon
love the coffee shop. it's practically an extension of one's house; a room to retreat to when you're tired of your decor (and mattress is...he has resisted putting up his typical room patterns and colorations because it is about time for something fresh to look at. well okay, he still has the tapestry). and on the plus side, the company, the music, the art, the delectables...these things are in a constant state of motion. one's apartment sometimes just feels sort of, stale, immobile; which is such a blessing sometimes, but not when the mind is on edge or kaleidoscopic. it's good to live in cultural hives, because they have the potential to catapult your mind somewhere else with every step. and not in a relentless, distracting sort of way. if it is distracting, it is only because synapses are firing in different tunnels of your mind, calling your attention towards different puzzle pieces than the ones you currently had in construction. sometimes the best way of getting through a problem is to refocus on something completely separate for awhile, and come back to it with a fresh set of wits about you that haven't been muddled by the innate disorientation of immersion. classic motherly advice.
matches is getting to the point where he is realizing that its alright that there isn't enough of any one mind or person to get around to everything. he would like to know everyone in the world, or in a town, or even in a room, but there simply isn't enough of him to commit to mapping all of that out, assigning them each a spectral set of tints that watercolor-swirl into a general impression of their style or mood. he's sure that everyone is indefatigably interesting, in whichever way one chooses to interact with them, but it would lead to nothing but scattered bits of a person (in both senses, both of the person exerting themselves trying to know everyone losing track of himself, and in the sense that one cannot commit much individual attention if one is constantly bouncing from acquaintance to acquaintance, from dancer to carpenter to philosopher). maybe matches is too much the solitary type. but spare him the exhaustion and decomposition that would surely result from such....extroversion.
it's funny how many crevices that this water sinks into, though. it's easy to be intimidated by a bookstore, because of the honeycomb of information that resides there. he thinks he has covered that point in the past, so he will spare you the anecdote. but truly, even if he was the most voracious and avid of readers in the world, even if he could devote an eye to each page and speed-read them simultaneously, instantly processing and piecing together and transposing such that it turned out intelligible....even then he could never get through a quarter of the books that have been written.
even if he studied all the majors, all the sciences, all the languages; he would fall short of the mark; m would fall down somewhere in the encyclopedia between 'cellular biology' and 'curmudgeon' and you would never hear from him again. so he picks what he likes, and perhaps he will skim some vague knowledgeables from the people he chooses to care about, and finding out what precisely it is that they themselves care about in turn. it is absolutely absurd, the depths that this world has....there is no way to keep pace, but that's just fine.
"but time, is on your side
it's on your side, now
not pushing you down, and all around
it’s no cause for concern"
but dizzying complexities aside, there is certainly an enjoyability to new things, to variations and to oddities. matches is not scurred to admit that he is a bit of a tea snob....he likes tea, it likes him; there is a reciprocal relationship acknowledged. and he has his staple brews; the ones that excite his palate in a particular or even reminiscent way....the exotic jasmine, the musked osthmanthus, the smoky lapsang souchong, the sheer joy of a quality white peony. but it is also so rewarding and enriching to branch out (*cough) into new varieties. teas are finite in a loose sense; the options are not a potential infinite. but then again, when you begin to treat them like, say, a wine...everything gets cloudy, astronomical. there are different mixtures and harvests, different climates and methods of curing the plants....the depth of it all is profound! but at a certain point, one just has to let go, to sense the retreat of the mind's desire to encompass and to welcome the blissful encroachment of pure enjoyment. there is no way antimatter will ever consider himself a real wine or tea snob....he juggles the term in jest. he doesn't care much for the difference between an '89 syrah today, and an '89 syrah tomorrow. he would rather live lucidly, and let the other factors in the room be determinate of his wine recommendations~ in that spirit, he recommends the 'red bicyclette' pinot noir, because he has had it in the company of the best of friends and times, and hopes that you shall, too.
cheers~
matches is getting to the point where he is realizing that its alright that there isn't enough of any one mind or person to get around to everything. he would like to know everyone in the world, or in a town, or even in a room, but there simply isn't enough of him to commit to mapping all of that out, assigning them each a spectral set of tints that watercolor-swirl into a general impression of their style or mood. he's sure that everyone is indefatigably interesting, in whichever way one chooses to interact with them, but it would lead to nothing but scattered bits of a person (in both senses, both of the person exerting themselves trying to know everyone losing track of himself, and in the sense that one cannot commit much individual attention if one is constantly bouncing from acquaintance to acquaintance, from dancer to carpenter to philosopher). maybe matches is too much the solitary type. but spare him the exhaustion and decomposition that would surely result from such....extroversion.
it's funny how many crevices that this water sinks into, though. it's easy to be intimidated by a bookstore, because of the honeycomb of information that resides there. he thinks he has covered that point in the past, so he will spare you the anecdote. but truly, even if he was the most voracious and avid of readers in the world, even if he could devote an eye to each page and speed-read them simultaneously, instantly processing and piecing together and transposing such that it turned out intelligible....even then he could never get through a quarter of the books that have been written.
even if he studied all the majors, all the sciences, all the languages; he would fall short of the mark; m would fall down somewhere in the encyclopedia between 'cellular biology' and 'curmudgeon' and you would never hear from him again. so he picks what he likes, and perhaps he will skim some vague knowledgeables from the people he chooses to care about, and finding out what precisely it is that they themselves care about in turn. it is absolutely absurd, the depths that this world has....there is no way to keep pace, but that's just fine.
"but time, is on your side
it's on your side, now
not pushing you down, and all around
it’s no cause for concern"
but dizzying complexities aside, there is certainly an enjoyability to new things, to variations and to oddities. matches is not scurred to admit that he is a bit of a tea snob....he likes tea, it likes him; there is a reciprocal relationship acknowledged. and he has his staple brews; the ones that excite his palate in a particular or even reminiscent way....the exotic jasmine, the musked osthmanthus, the smoky lapsang souchong, the sheer joy of a quality white peony. but it is also so rewarding and enriching to branch out (*cough) into new varieties. teas are finite in a loose sense; the options are not a potential infinite. but then again, when you begin to treat them like, say, a wine...everything gets cloudy, astronomical. there are different mixtures and harvests, different climates and methods of curing the plants....the depth of it all is profound! but at a certain point, one just has to let go, to sense the retreat of the mind's desire to encompass and to welcome the blissful encroachment of pure enjoyment. there is no way antimatter will ever consider himself a real wine or tea snob....he juggles the term in jest. he doesn't care much for the difference between an '89 syrah today, and an '89 syrah tomorrow. he would rather live lucidly, and let the other factors in the room be determinate of his wine recommendations~ in that spirit, he recommends the 'red bicyclette' pinot noir, because he has had it in the company of the best of friends and times, and hopes that you shall, too.
cheers~
February 10, 2008
chasing waterfalls
lifestyles are so fascinating. there seems to be a 'standard', for us in america, whatever that can be taken to mean. it's not often that you meet someone who truly shatters the boundaries of these assumptions, whose priorities and even perspectives are, if not groundbreaking (for what does that mean, with a pinch of relativity), at least different and...what would be a good word? unexpected. it's easy to expect that everyone around you will fall into the same cycles of americanized and simulated life that you are prey to (speaking loosely, of course; matches would grant you an extra degree of credit, the same that he would desire in return). but it is so refreshing to find some diamonds formed in the lava rock...some people that, even if only in a moment or in a slight facet, reflectively, show you something separate. something individual and noble. do you know what a noble metal is? according to wikipedia, they are "metals that are resistant to corrosion or oxidation....they tend to be precious metals, often due to perceived rarity". how metaphorical a factoid. antimatter feels like much of our society is corrosive, acidic...we are bred and clawed into by television images, values, greed and jealousy (both of which play a relevant role in the formation of a capitalist state, or at least in this resonantly flawed instance). these are carnal terms, and not without purpose...evading such predators is, in all practical terms, probably about as difficult as surviving alone in a jungle with naught but your senses for defense (which must develop along with you, but at the same time really must be innovative beyond the norm to conquer so persistently...luckily we have the gift of hindsight and recollection. and also, forgetfulness). but these shining people, these minds that scrap through life and still retain some original sensibilities that have not been tainted or tinged; truly these people are precious, noble. we could say materials, but to reduce a mind to a commodity seems to play into the problem.
side note: "can i sneak past you to do such and such?" this phrase is cliche. if you really had stealth enough to embody the sense of a sneak, then you wouldn't be bothering with conversational conventions....you would be weaving yourself, as if through a laser grid, through the path of least detection. this phrase is really to admit that you do not possess the clandestine cunning (thanks thesaurus) to impose your will without alarming the other. though if you don't know the other person at all, it can be supposed that it would be quite alarming for them to find yourself pretzeled between their legs, fumbling with a laptop cord and a power outlet~ still the word seems misplaced.
people surprise matches, though, at least some of them some of the time. every so often you will stumble upon a person who, even though they are submerged in this lifestyle and means of existing, shocks you with a word or a gesture that tells of separate provinces in the mind. this seems especially to happen with foreigners, or with people who have traveled extensively...perhaps the exposure to alternative priorities allows them to separate themselves from their native system a bit more poignantly. m likes very much to be reminded that other corners of the world operate on different principles; it creates an important schism that generates a mobility, a freedom....and this can translate into a strengthening of individuality, of personality, of a more direct pursuit of life. isn't that kind of the point?
"sorta similar to the way static electricity stings, see
truth brings light; light refracts off the mirror
visions of yourself and error could never be clearer
the truth is that you ugly, not on the outside
but in the inside; on the outside you frontin' you lovely
the discovery of these things and all are well-hidden
but when you're in denial of self, it is forbidden, that's the truth
let the truth be told, from young souls that become old
from days spent in the jungle, where must one go
to find it, time is real; we can't rewind it
out of everybody I met, who told the truth? time did.
we find kids speakin it, 'cause it's naturally in us."
~pharaoh monch & (then) common - the truth
waterfall picture for you all. waterfalls seem to bring better thoughts~
side note: "can i sneak past you to do such and such?" this phrase is cliche. if you really had stealth enough to embody the sense of a sneak, then you wouldn't be bothering with conversational conventions....you would be weaving yourself, as if through a laser grid, through the path of least detection. this phrase is really to admit that you do not possess the clandestine cunning (thanks thesaurus) to impose your will without alarming the other. though if you don't know the other person at all, it can be supposed that it would be quite alarming for them to find yourself pretzeled between their legs, fumbling with a laptop cord and a power outlet~ still the word seems misplaced.
people surprise matches, though, at least some of them some of the time. every so often you will stumble upon a person who, even though they are submerged in this lifestyle and means of existing, shocks you with a word or a gesture that tells of separate provinces in the mind. this seems especially to happen with foreigners, or with people who have traveled extensively...perhaps the exposure to alternative priorities allows them to separate themselves from their native system a bit more poignantly. m likes very much to be reminded that other corners of the world operate on different principles; it creates an important schism that generates a mobility, a freedom....and this can translate into a strengthening of individuality, of personality, of a more direct pursuit of life. isn't that kind of the point?
"sorta similar to the way static electricity stings, see
truth brings light; light refracts off the mirror
visions of yourself and error could never be clearer
the truth is that you ugly, not on the outside
but in the inside; on the outside you frontin' you lovely
the discovery of these things and all are well-hidden
but when you're in denial of self, it is forbidden, that's the truth
let the truth be told, from young souls that become old
from days spent in the jungle, where must one go
to find it, time is real; we can't rewind it
out of everybody I met, who told the truth? time did.
we find kids speakin it, 'cause it's naturally in us."
~pharaoh monch & (then) common - the truth
waterfall picture for you all. waterfalls seem to bring better thoughts~
February 5, 2008
sabbatical
you know, it's funny; for all the times that m wishes that he had some specific event to attend on a given night, he is actually quite frustrated now that every night of his week has been the equivalent of 'booked'. at least it is a wide variety of people / places, not some clustered conspiracy. it has been far too long since he has witnessed any live music anyway. well, excluding jazz. which there is no reason to exclude...but you don't get that potent 'concert' feeling when you begin digging at a jazz club. it is breathtaking nonetheless, but also so, sway.
if matches heard guru correctly (of gangstarr, not of josh), then it is time to 'make moves'. time to plot, to plan, to thicken the stew of the future with a few de-soled boots and tin can lids. we need to give ourselves something to look forward to, don't we? jobs will not satisfy in the same way that adventure and anticipation can. that same old entryway to a job looks the same every morning...unnaturally fluorescent, flickering, stifled. there is this sensation one gets in job-spaces, this mummification, lethargy; this confinement, only expected to uncoil in certain directions and towards certain people. all in the name of some job description, some 'focus' that is supposed to be maintained. people would likely do their jobs much better in the time that they had if there were no hierarchical restrictions. certainly, people need guidance, but funneling them down to a precise stream of activity and vision just means that they get sick of it all the more quickly. people are so much more than their occupations. matches has faith in people's ability to get the job done, if only they are allowed to explore their interests in it and commit as capriciously as they would like to. nobody is really satisfied with burning all their minutes away on the internet, as the bosses fear. they only do it whenever they can because they feel the need to break ranks with their fixed position, to dissociate themselves from it at their leisure and so maintain their sanity / individuality. it is universally understood that the work needs to get done. people even do gleam a genuine sense of purpose from completing it. the real obstacle to its getting accomplished is people being forced to commit half-or-quarter-heartedly when they would rather refresh and reaffirm their senses of self. you want control over productivity? then distribute it to each individual. they know what to do with it; if anything they appreciate the deference to their own abilities and reflect all the more respect back for it.
anyway.
moves. makin'em. it struck mattress the other day, listening to someone speak so dreamily about a work 'sabbatical' far, far off in the future (a reward for consistent employability), that jobs are year-round. hah, you say...weren't you aware, matches? no, he wasn't, and probably, despite the assumed snootiness of the response, neither were you. think about that seriously. two to three weeks of vacation, per year? per year? obviously, still a gradient of relativity to the scholastic lifestyle here, but this is sheer absurdity. people need more time for personal exploration than a scrapped-together collection of days that can be counted between the fingers and toes~ here is something wrong. tell matches how this is wrong, presidential candidates. he is on the edge of his seat, ballot in hand. pen in the other, as per usual. speak soothing and poetic words to him; promise a future. promise an 'america' and a 'world'; make them realistic and simultaneously better (if you can squeeze a second scoop into the waffling cone; take care not to spill). earn your golden ticket.
but we have to make moves; we have to be discerning with our youth while is it available for discernment. this is why matches lives in portland now, as opposed to 5 months ago~ but even so, there are more moves to be had (not to limit the phrase in the physical sense). it is always time to forge the mind; to collide with reality. can we do it artfully?
if matches heard guru correctly (of gangstarr, not of josh), then it is time to 'make moves'. time to plot, to plan, to thicken the stew of the future with a few de-soled boots and tin can lids. we need to give ourselves something to look forward to, don't we? jobs will not satisfy in the same way that adventure and anticipation can. that same old entryway to a job looks the same every morning...unnaturally fluorescent, flickering, stifled. there is this sensation one gets in job-spaces, this mummification, lethargy; this confinement, only expected to uncoil in certain directions and towards certain people. all in the name of some job description, some 'focus' that is supposed to be maintained. people would likely do their jobs much better in the time that they had if there were no hierarchical restrictions. certainly, people need guidance, but funneling them down to a precise stream of activity and vision just means that they get sick of it all the more quickly. people are so much more than their occupations. matches has faith in people's ability to get the job done, if only they are allowed to explore their interests in it and commit as capriciously as they would like to. nobody is really satisfied with burning all their minutes away on the internet, as the bosses fear. they only do it whenever they can because they feel the need to break ranks with their fixed position, to dissociate themselves from it at their leisure and so maintain their sanity / individuality. it is universally understood that the work needs to get done. people even do gleam a genuine sense of purpose from completing it. the real obstacle to its getting accomplished is people being forced to commit half-or-quarter-heartedly when they would rather refresh and reaffirm their senses of self. you want control over productivity? then distribute it to each individual. they know what to do with it; if anything they appreciate the deference to their own abilities and reflect all the more respect back for it.
anyway.
moves. makin'em. it struck mattress the other day, listening to someone speak so dreamily about a work 'sabbatical' far, far off in the future (a reward for consistent employability), that jobs are year-round. hah, you say...weren't you aware, matches? no, he wasn't, and probably, despite the assumed snootiness of the response, neither were you. think about that seriously. two to three weeks of vacation, per year? per year? obviously, still a gradient of relativity to the scholastic lifestyle here, but this is sheer absurdity. people need more time for personal exploration than a scrapped-together collection of days that can be counted between the fingers and toes~ here is something wrong. tell matches how this is wrong, presidential candidates. he is on the edge of his seat, ballot in hand. pen in the other, as per usual. speak soothing and poetic words to him; promise a future. promise an 'america' and a 'world'; make them realistic and simultaneously better (if you can squeeze a second scoop into the waffling cone; take care not to spill). earn your golden ticket.
but we have to make moves; we have to be discerning with our youth while is it available for discernment. this is why matches lives in portland now, as opposed to 5 months ago~ but even so, there are more moves to be had (not to limit the phrase in the physical sense). it is always time to forge the mind; to collide with reality. can we do it artfully?
February 2, 2008
continued...
well, got yanked in some directions last night. why is it so difficult to maintain solidarity, individual priority, in the wake of social functions and obnoxious events which force separate people into a unity? bah. at least it was fun.
this should be an engaging weekend, as mattress has frosting-layers upon cake-layers of time all to himself. plenty of time to read, to write, to theorize, to meditate, to focus (elusive, elusive focus). he could take or leave the superbowl at this point; no emotional investment whatsoever. he fortuitously has an apartment all to his self (plus one troublesome cat), and each nook and corner of it has possibilities to explore. currently he can think of notebooks, a kitchen, a guitar, various paints, tomes of knowledge and imagination, video games (hum), headphones of uncompromising sound-quality, and of course this laptop just here, which composes the accoutrement of many nooks around the wide world. though 'here' is not currently the house. no matter.
continued, no? m thinks that he was going off on a point about fiction. painting. on a plane recently, he was flipping through 'the art spirit' and a particular quote jumped out at him. well, it was not a quote at the time; it was raw compositional material. only now is it a quote~ it was about painting (much like the book as a theme), and it basically said that in order to effectively paint something (a nose), you must paint not the nose itself, but its essence. its impressions; its reflections inside of one's self. that is a profound point. and where fiction intersects this process, is a cautious, cupped hand....corkscrewing and curling all around each concept or character that you can potentially load into the form. each has a vastness, a potential to be utterly revealed, utterly cathartic. as long as you can reach inside of yourself and be genuine, your brush-stroke words can be as intricate and intertwined as you can visualize. they can orbit, have spatial relations, complements, antipodes...all in this completely free verse that is only contained from complete spillage by your own capacities as a writer, and, more importantly, as a person.
another point that is beginning to be elucidated is that (at least m is persuaded to believe, and will probably be the case with his own books) writers do not formulate much of a game plan. the process involves an inordinate amount of playfulness; everything is explored in the moment and, of the many possible worlds that have been conjured, one is selected for foil-stamping into reality. the process of being a writer involves many stages...firstly, there is a stage of absurdity and sorcery; this stage comes up repeatedly, but in different facets and formats. what matches did not expect, for whatever reason, is that a writer must barrier off a certain portion of himself to these lands. he must have free roam in them, such that he may map them effectively and not be worried about a leak of color from the real world altering some sleight in his tales. each small change that cannot be tracked back to its source represents myriad problems, as they escape the containment of cause and effect. a good writer must have the mental capacity to catalogue all his world; he must have an encyclopedia of daydreams. otherwise, he may lose track, may merge, rift, shatter. which, of course, is still salvageable...it just uproots the physics and the relations of a story, re-potting it in an entirely new terrain. it will find different nourishment, grow into astounding proportions, and potentially break the mind of the author who attempts to pen it~
ho hum. here is to matches' mind not breaking. or if it does, let's at least be optimistic about the outcome~
"do you count the flakes when it snows?
and can you feel the heat, or only the afterglows?
do you count the flakes when it snows, yeah?
and do you count the leaves when they fall?
and can you feel anything at all?"
~ Just Jack - Snowflakes
this should be an engaging weekend, as mattress has frosting-layers upon cake-layers of time all to himself. plenty of time to read, to write, to theorize, to meditate, to focus (elusive, elusive focus). he could take or leave the superbowl at this point; no emotional investment whatsoever. he fortuitously has an apartment all to his self (plus one troublesome cat), and each nook and corner of it has possibilities to explore. currently he can think of notebooks, a kitchen, a guitar, various paints, tomes of knowledge and imagination, video games (hum), headphones of uncompromising sound-quality, and of course this laptop just here, which composes the accoutrement of many nooks around the wide world. though 'here' is not currently the house. no matter.
continued, no? m thinks that he was going off on a point about fiction. painting. on a plane recently, he was flipping through 'the art spirit' and a particular quote jumped out at him. well, it was not a quote at the time; it was raw compositional material. only now is it a quote~ it was about painting (much like the book as a theme), and it basically said that in order to effectively paint something (a nose), you must paint not the nose itself, but its essence. its impressions; its reflections inside of one's self. that is a profound point. and where fiction intersects this process, is a cautious, cupped hand....corkscrewing and curling all around each concept or character that you can potentially load into the form. each has a vastness, a potential to be utterly revealed, utterly cathartic. as long as you can reach inside of yourself and be genuine, your brush-stroke words can be as intricate and intertwined as you can visualize. they can orbit, have spatial relations, complements, antipodes...all in this completely free verse that is only contained from complete spillage by your own capacities as a writer, and, more importantly, as a person.
another point that is beginning to be elucidated is that (at least m is persuaded to believe, and will probably be the case with his own books) writers do not formulate much of a game plan. the process involves an inordinate amount of playfulness; everything is explored in the moment and, of the many possible worlds that have been conjured, one is selected for foil-stamping into reality. the process of being a writer involves many stages...firstly, there is a stage of absurdity and sorcery; this stage comes up repeatedly, but in different facets and formats. what matches did not expect, for whatever reason, is that a writer must barrier off a certain portion of himself to these lands. he must have free roam in them, such that he may map them effectively and not be worried about a leak of color from the real world altering some sleight in his tales. each small change that cannot be tracked back to its source represents myriad problems, as they escape the containment of cause and effect. a good writer must have the mental capacity to catalogue all his world; he must have an encyclopedia of daydreams. otherwise, he may lose track, may merge, rift, shatter. which, of course, is still salvageable...it just uproots the physics and the relations of a story, re-potting it in an entirely new terrain. it will find different nourishment, grow into astounding proportions, and potentially break the mind of the author who attempts to pen it~
ho hum. here is to matches' mind not breaking. or if it does, let's at least be optimistic about the outcome~
"do you count the flakes when it snows?
and can you feel the heat, or only the afterglows?
do you count the flakes when it snows, yeah?
and do you count the leaves when they fall?
and can you feel anything at all?"
~ Just Jack - Snowflakes
February 1, 2008
paint by numbers
the heart-shape in matches' latte is slowly deforming, to the left. portland is amazing.
"how many times will the seasons turn, from babylon"
~ zion i
wondering a sliver (furrowing, pointedly) if stream-of-consciousness is the way to continue scribbling. it is so therapeutic, so expressive, and yet it may not be the form of forms. he would like to take this to a higher place, to quote royksopp. how does one tell what form they can drape themselves in best? this is like painting, experimenting with mediums before settling on a palette and a fluidity which speaks to the soul. did you know how amazing watercolor paintings can be? it is not the painting equivalent of a crayon, as most assumed after they parted ways with fourth grade~ it has its own nuances, its own physics, and it can extract an essence just as well (or better than) the traditionally-touted alternatives. there is no 'graduation' from watercolor....it morphs along with your mind, just like anything else.
it seems like form has to be felt out; cinched and buckled. matches is a little intimidated by fiction, to be honest. he knows he has the depth, the capacity, but he hasn't developed enough literary tools in his own mind to code such a cipher. it takes a degree of mapping, a compass-twirling orientation.
um, apparently matches has just been entered into a trivia competition at the bar/coffee shop he is residing in currently...
...
...aaand, that was the most nerdcore trivia session ever. come on, matches is admittedly a bit of a nerd, and he definitely only got, maybe three questions correct. out of twenty. do you know the name of the computer in 'wargames', and also what it stands for? that was like, 18 years ago.
okay. back to the point. was going somewhere. fiction is a lot like painting. broad brushstrokes finish the job quickly, and you can hammer away at piece after piece after canvas, burning through vague impressions. or you can go deep. you can nick away at detail...a pinned pick, versus a railroad chisel through marble.
arg distraction.
"how many times will the seasons turn, from babylon"
~ zion i
wondering a sliver (furrowing, pointedly) if stream-of-consciousness is the way to continue scribbling. it is so therapeutic, so expressive, and yet it may not be the form of forms. he would like to take this to a higher place, to quote royksopp. how does one tell what form they can drape themselves in best? this is like painting, experimenting with mediums before settling on a palette and a fluidity which speaks to the soul. did you know how amazing watercolor paintings can be? it is not the painting equivalent of a crayon, as most assumed after they parted ways with fourth grade~ it has its own nuances, its own physics, and it can extract an essence just as well (or better than) the traditionally-touted alternatives. there is no 'graduation' from watercolor....it morphs along with your mind, just like anything else.
it seems like form has to be felt out; cinched and buckled. matches is a little intimidated by fiction, to be honest. he knows he has the depth, the capacity, but he hasn't developed enough literary tools in his own mind to code such a cipher. it takes a degree of mapping, a compass-twirling orientation.
um, apparently matches has just been entered into a trivia competition at the bar/coffee shop he is residing in currently...
...
...aaand, that was the most nerdcore trivia session ever. come on, matches is admittedly a bit of a nerd, and he definitely only got, maybe three questions correct. out of twenty. do you know the name of the computer in 'wargames', and also what it stands for? that was like, 18 years ago.
okay. back to the point. was going somewhere. fiction is a lot like painting. broad brushstrokes finish the job quickly, and you can hammer away at piece after piece after canvas, burning through vague impressions. or you can go deep. you can nick away at detail...a pinned pick, versus a railroad chisel through marble.
arg distraction.
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