Posts filed under ‘stories’
Last night I was a transsexual woman flying through
A new Houston, Texas
Brooklynites offset by rents had colonized portions
Panda graffiti Announced a transgender man bookshop
The city is over taken by lesbians
Hip little avenues sprung out and about
Alison Bechdel crew cuts rule the town
I am no longer a transsexual woman
Cyncerie runs a restaurant down town
I am talking to her when David Bowie’s wife walks in
She wants to thank her for the hospitality
I am so embarrassed
I squirm around trying to not be noticed
Is it David Bowie’s wife? It looks like him in drag
Just being normal
When I wake up a lady in my Facebook feed has posted this.
And so I learn the glam star’s 100 favorite books includes Comte de Lautréamont.
I am sick in bed today kindling Bowie’s favorite books, the ones I haven’t read.
Once open a time a poet died uneventfully before his poems were read,
I suppose it will stay that way: The kindle edition of Maldoror ends unexpectedly after
The forward. Capitalism buries another corpse behind a paywall.
Yesterday I wrote a poem
And I got 26 new followers
In Henry Fool a man writes a poem
And gets over a million
Is genius not in practice Mr. Hartley 🙂 ?
Life is a hegemonic bully
that holds your head up to the tracks.
It knows only Schadenfreude.
Occasionally you mistake an eddy for mercy.
You fall sleep exhausted.
When you wake you realize you must go
Through life with out sleep,
while the beast dreams
Only of your exhaustion.
Yesterday I bought Stylus for my iPad and Valkyrie Chronicles for my ps3. If the later will entertain me as much as the Stylus is open to question, but what’s above I made this morning during a little down period at work.
Concerning Back Logs
Let’s say games are like marbles, the further they are up in the sky, the more fun and force they exert when they hit the track and begin rolling in the track. Games store potential the way gravity does, the problem is Steam lacks gravity sometimes. During these periods, usually Steam sales, the average consumer may as well be playing cars in a super nova. Gravity is warped and the potential of games goes out the window. In my case I have survived numerous steam sales. These sales leave archaeological layers the way dinosaur bones do, you can identify when gamer teenagers graduated to gamer fully employedness by simply looking at their steam log and determining when they first blew over 300 USD in a 36 hour period on Steam sale. Sales build up dirt and grunk in Steam’s layers aka lists. But the thing is a more massive object exerts a greater gravitational force. as everyone knows the fun of dropping things is the force with which they hit. Your account becomes a small planetoid around which potentially shrinks, the length of the drop reduces to nothing. The fun of games is reduced by the size of my back catalog. Their Purchasability shrinks when I still need to finish X and Y. So great is my steam catalog, that I can not justify another purchase. Part of this is simply Steam’s Microsoft like decision to refuse a firm design choice and instead force us to peal through layers of options to choose the rightish design template to reduce back catalog showing. By default Steam shows all games you own, by default iOS makes it somewhat difficult to achieve what Steam does naturally. Apple clearly understands the need to clean up a mess more than Gabe does. The problem with these Steam sales is that conditions return to normal. Those 2.99 triple A games you bought pile up, the planets go back into alignment and gravity resumes it’s due. And all our games come crashing down, more garbage in a pile of wasted potential, and what’s worse is that we have to carry it all around.
When I was in College we were told about an experiment: a group of college students had to carry around all the waste they produced in a week in a bag. Students jokingly thought it would be rather small, but soon discovered the bag grew enormous and eventually untenable. Steam’s inherent UI works like this. Every time I open it, by default it shows me all of my purchases. In order to cope psychologically with the depth of my greed, I have to create categories and determine favorites. I don’t get why it just doesn’t show what’s on my machine (this option is available in a click, but clearly not Dan Gilbert style easy to do). What’s worse is that Steam is one of those schizophrenic types, in reality Steam is a slob, but hey it’s got a second personality as a diligent cleaner. The problem is when the potential exists to be a slob, the cleaner is annoyed. You see we’re fascists. I get down on my knees and scrub toothbrush style to get stains out of my bathroom, giving me the illusion that games aren’t there when they are is just more annoying. Steam can ends it’s delusion of being neat and clean with a simple click, and often does.
Well anyways, My back catalog continues to work one effect: I feel almost no need for new games knowing how many I purchased before and have never played.
P.s. purchases include rockin’ android bundle, Dishonored (gift), and to the moon this season. Waiting on rayman origins to finally drop to 50% before I buy.
Mark said we should start the ogre game, so we did. Rachel and Michael got the part out of the box and Alex opened the service tunnel, we ran through the hallways, down to the fixtures and found the valve in question, and then tag “you’re the ogre!” everyone took ten steps back, Rachel said, “oh no the ogre!” and ran to the wall and then I began the slow work of replacing the valve, wrenching slight shifts of pipe off and occasionally turning around, everyone froze, “Michael froze last,” screamed Rachel and so Michael went back to the wall, resisting against the sweet plastics condensing the impurities and humidity into something we can breath. Rachel began an eventual swoop to my left side while Marco pinced me on the right, all the time I was feeling back there for the right nut. Finally, I found it and wrench! Off came the piece and snap the replacement in place and then, “gotcha!” Someone had tagged me with my back turned. The lights flashed, Rachel was recorded as winner and the panels began to dim down into dullness. A flicker arouse in one of the vents and Marco ran into it, we all followed afterward.
On march first Mom got her first batch of passwords from the Doctorow act. She decrypted the keys and began siphoning through the scroll of passwords. 666morde666 DEathc4mp roger Williams, 414 oak dale drive, Missoula, Montana, directgib.com
666morde666 Deathc4mp, Jesuitacademy.com
666morde666, deAthc4mp, missesfeedies.org
What were these doing in Mom’s files while the first question she asked and then She clicked on Jesuitacademy and and logged in.
Rachel had given this day to making flowers in photo booth for grand ma. She started out with a series of portraits of them, and then she zoomed into little details, a skirt here, a teddy bear, grand pa’s ancient Mac book, and put them in fractals that scrolled out into floral arrangements that she bean to trim. After a few minutes she exported the whole thing to grand man’s funeral wall and recorded a short video of her saying good bye. I got the job of cleaning out old comments, archiving the pretty ones, and deleting any especially potential spam. When we were done grand man’s wall pristine with just one love filled message sitting there, almost instaneosly, like a hug capable of pulverizing a paparazzi, a hundred new comments came up, some text based, a few videos of grand ma in various games, one friend recounted the time they jumped through Koopa’s castle, another on the Doctorow act and how she didn’t need to know what it would reveal, and she loved her anyways.
the maintaince game was the one the boys played in the walls between the compartments. these spaces had been designed for maximm game play, miniscule chutes chunneled the children down floors and into the spaces where the pipes lay. markus made it first and found the wrench his mother had pulled out of printer this morning. he eagerly went over to the pipes and sang, “I am an oger! I am an oger!” the other chlidren instintively group into sleath units, “I am an oger!”, he sang twisting the wrench onto the pipe and with a tug he suddenly flung it back, the other children all spun their back to him, but the wrench pointed directly at a yonger boy who sat their n silence, “and now so are you!”, he said and the other boy came towards as the two other children obeyed the rules and took two steps back. Marcus and the younger child took a moment to reattach the wrench and then, “we are ogers!” and the other boys began to wittle towards them slowly so as to interrupt their work.
marcus took out the elbow he had been given that morning and put it in place, they kept singing, he cold hear the footsteps, the other boy put the elbow n place and markus gave one big turn and then beep beep, marcus turned around and ran into one of the other boys, “that was close!” “we just let ya score,” said the other one, and then the lights went out and a single dot appeared in the distance, the boys made a dash for the next goal.