Hookers or Cake

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Victo Ngai. CW Cover - Cobol Braindrain.

Cover illustration for the ComputerWorld magazine about the Cobol Braindrain.

When the last Cobol programers retire, 50 years of business processes within the softwares they created may be lost. I was playing with the term “braindrain, and came up with the idea of a giant creature mourning over the lost of his precious programer blood from his third eye (the gateway to higher consciousness and knowledge). (from the artist site)

On Tumblr:

I had a vision - A shaman told me to become a drag racer

to learn the ways of fire and airplane fuel

To eat hot dogs and drink tall cold drafts of beer

I had a vision - A bird spoke from the bushes of an IHOP

to spend late nights alone, drinking hot black coffee

reading what the worlds greatest thinkers, thought about thinking

I had a goddamn vision - I slow danced with a crying dragon

whisper smoke dreams of fighting men with swords

endless sad ass parades of self hatred and bitterness

I say I had a mother fucking vision - the spilled gravy

gave birth to a knowing laugh - I entertained a wild tiger

feeding it stories of a sly monkey in a gilded cage.

(Source: hookersorcake)

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Oscar-nominated documentarian Danfung Dennis has designed an amazing way to control video by moving your tablet, creating an incredible first person experience.

The best part, it doesn’t require any special camera to shoot, the software does all the work.

and into the rabbit hole we go.

When I was younger, the ghost of a fireman saved my imaginary friend from a house that didn’t exist, but was none the less on fire. Sometimes I feel like I’ve spent my whole life trying to solve a crime that hasn’t happened yet. And if its solved, I guess it dissolves, and I’m left to wonder, did it ever exist?

Life is a cosmic joke, not one that goes ha ha, but one that goes ah ha. A Janus, a sad two faced joy that sings in the heart of all things. A holy mantra sung about reality TV. A dirty knock-knock joke about love eternal.

Part 2 continued… read part 1 here

Though it was almost full daylight it was still quite dark in the forest. The whiskey strummed me up a bit but it was still too damn quiet. All I could hear was the crunching of my own footsteps, dead leaves, twigs, and pine needles. I kept stopping and listening because it felt like the footsteps were following me. I would walk in perfect rhythm and then stop, but there was nothing, only total silence. It must’ve been some kind of echo or my mind playing tricks on me. Another tug of whiskey and I trudged on. I’d probably only walked about a mile when a crow screamed from the tree. I nearly pissed myself. I took a deep breathe and heard another crow a ways down answer. A hundred yards further there was a clearing and then I saw it, it was the house. I couldn’t breathe. It looked exactly like our old house before it burned down. All the windows where missing and the paint was faded down to the bare wood, but it was almost identical. Probably built by the same company. Lots of houses around the lake had a similar layout, but only ours and this one had the large porch and bay windows that looked out at you with giant black empty eyes.

It had been more than ten years since the fire. I don’t remember much about it. I was only a kid. All I remember is being in the hospital, eating ice cream, and a lady telling me that the smoke had put Mom, Dad, and Travis to sleep and they didn’t wake up.

Back in the woods I heard a loud crack and saw a flashing grey black bolt round the corner of the house and come straight for me. I froze. I felt myself tilting sideways and tumbling out of my head. I saw myself raise the shotgun and blast as the dark grey lunged for me. I don’t know if the thing knocked me over or what but it felt like it ran right through me. Suddenly I was fully back in my body. I’d dropped the shotgun and quickly drew the .357, scrambling to my feet. There laying next to my head was a massive pile of grey fur. It was a wolf, and it was huge. I watched closely, to see if it was still breathing, but it lay as still as a stone. I couldn’t see were I’d hit it. I didn’t see any blood. I wasn’t about turn it over, so I found the shotgun and blasted it again. Once I was certain it was dead I dug out the machete. I wasn’t going to be able to drag it back but I could cut off its head and bring it into town. I’d never heard of a wolf attacking a human, but this one had attacked me. So it was probably rabid and the same one that mauled Renee at the store which was only a couple of miles from here.

Once I had the head wrapped in my pack I slowly backed away from the house and once I turned around I ran as fast as I could straight back to the truck. It felt like the devil and god knows what else was chasing me. I probably would’ve set some cross country record that day and I was never more relieved in my whole life to start that truck and get the hell out of there. Little did I know that I’d be back several hours later in the middle of the night.

(to be continued part 2 of 4)

They said there was a house in the woods that killed people. Maybe it was just some campfire ghost story. It was on the other side of the lake where no one lived, past the dirt road. “A sad monster lives there,” said my older brother, Travis. “Why is he sad?” I asked. “Because he’s trapped in the house,” said my brother, “Maybe its cuz hes lonely, he wants friends,” I offered. “No, he’s sad because he’s a monster and all he knows how to do is kill,” said Travis.

The stories about the house and monster got stranger with each passing summer. I even had dreams about it for a while. The monster was a giant sad child who wore a mask and was trapped in a maze of a house in the woods on the opposite side of the lake. The dreams terrified me, because it felt like I knew the monster, his laughter and cries felt familiar.

I was seventeen and had forgotten all about it when they found Renee Jenkins mauled to death. A wild animal or something had attacked her behind the Lake Store, she was only twenty. I heard Al Wilson telling my Uncle about it, he said it was a bloody mess. It was weird because I used to really like her. She was real pretty but kind of trashy. Her mom was dirt poor and Renee had worked at the lake store since she was sixteen. I thought she would’ve jumped at the chance to be with me. My Uncle owned the mill and I drove a new Camaro. Sure I was three years younger but she didn’t have to be such a stupid bitch about it. “Beat it kid,” she’d said. I’d never felt so embarrassed in my whole life. So I felt kinda weird and sad, Renee Jenkins, what a waste.

It was probably a day or two after the funeral that I was sitting on the dock fishing. I was just looking at all those trees on the opposite shore and thinking about the house. I wondered if it was even really there. I guess it was then that I got the idea that whatever killed Renee Jenkins was probably in those woods and maybe even in that house, if it existed. 

It was 5:30 am and I doubled checked all my gear, I had a twelve gauge and borrowed my Uncles .357. I also had my knife and a machete just in case. I drove the old work truck to the other side of the lake to where the dirt road ended and parked. I sat there a bit as it got a little lighter out, the woods were unusually quiet, it had me a little spooked, perhaps a little liquid courage was in order.

(to be continued) 

I’ve been asked to write a speech scene for a romantic comedy. Heres the ‘big’ speech part the male romantic lead yells to female lead. Its in an elementary school gymnasium in front of 500 kids, because she’s a teacher. The speech is way too blue. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned after all these years in the industry, its you gotta start massively obscene. Then you can take out all the crude language and lewd parts and philosophically do whatever you want. Yeah, I coulda taught Socrates a thing or two.

BRIAN - (shouting)

…because I require more than your cunt and your hidden eyes, your fabulously clever brain and your oh so wondrous mouth. I want your pain and ugliness too. I want to devour all of you. I want to fuck your insecurity and doubt. I want to fuck all your stubborn arrogance, loneliness and frustration. I want to fuck your heart and your ass - your mouth and your mind. I want to devour every last bit of you and grind you into bliss. I want to cum all over your face and politely kiss you on the cheek in mixed company. I want to hold the door for you and then wrap my hands around your throat as I fuck you into oblivion… until we are overflowing and glowing like idiots.

 Because, in the end …. What remains but this joyous moment; I fucked, fought, and danced with every bright piece of junk I had. Why offer anything less than the full spectrum of your   endless    vibrant   color.

These romantic comedies almost write themselves.

Sometimes when I’m in the bathroom I catch a curious glance of myself in the mirror. It always startles me. Like I’m someone else completely. I’ll look closer but its just me staring back at myself bewildered. If I close my eyes I can sometimes hear a voice. Sometimes I record the voices and write out what they have to say. I think this one is David Lynch. It sure sounds like him.  He talks about art and darkness alot.

The entire focus should be to let your heart or head or perhaps some shadow inside of yourself get hit in such a way that it resonates like a gong. The vibration of which exposes an infinite aspect of circular truth. The true wonder and enjoyment of the creative experience is knowing that you’ll never comprehend it and by relaxing into the intuitive feeling that it all makes such incredible sense that you’ll never be able to forget it. It exists now as an eternal form of art whether you like it or not.

Come to find out, being the all seeing eye of god is a lonely gig. I spend most of my time converting dark matter into ultra light beer. Sure its a crisp and refreshing but I miss the old days when it was 2 for 1 black hole night at that shitty fake Irish pub on 3rd street. Man, the honey’s really loved that place. I used to pull a lotta wool at that joint. 

Now chicks look right through me like I don’t even exist. Duality! is all they scream. Shit, duality is all anyone screams. Nobody cares if the eternal deathless all seeing eye of consciousness ever gets laid.

"Misery loves company, also drugs and waffles."

— James Joyce