05/07
          There is more to music than notes and beats, scales and signatures, bars and clefs. The transcription of music is a mere technical way of remembering or learning the components of an essentially abstract substance; it is like using mathematics to describe the colors and scents of a flower garden. Full comprehension of modern music notation is less useful than memorization of the periodic table of elements or the first fifty digits of pi (just as reading a detailed list of chemical compounds would tell you nothing about what might happen if you were to ingest all of them at once). That's not to say the learning of music theory isn't useful or necessary; understanding the physical workings of tonal relationships is invaluable to the composition process. However, a method of notation that hasn't changed much since a century or two before the invention of electricity can hardly be seen as useful, practical, or at all relevant... and that alone is without having taken musical emotion, imagery, poetry, or spontaneity into account.


05/06
          During the vague in-between of day, of dawn light, when dim hands fill with yellow, when the mind is neither truly awake or asleep, the chair accommodates careful contemplation of the morning, the evening, the everything.
          Golden dawn honey, dripping into the colors of sunrise. The mind and body are submerged in the wave of nature's power that rushes out now, lighting all within reach, bringing alive the sleeping landscape and world.
          Somewhere, sometime, people are talking, blabbing, spouting sounds from their mouths. Why is face-to-face speech -- or, more generally, written and spoken language -- the most-often-used form of communication? Humans can transfer thought and emotion far more easily and accurately via composed musical sound, created visual image, even food or drink, than through words.
          Tiredness is far too often associated or used interchangeably with sleepiness. Tired does not necessarily have anything to do with amounts or quality of sleep. 


05/05
          In the morning I start the dishwasher then finish making the mix of early 1970s German electronic music, finish the energy drink from last night, and finish the remainder of my stock of speed (all to either quicken the morning or hasten the drive, with hopes of missing traffic); before we leave, Seth and I split up to gather supplies, him collecting blanco tequila, aztec triple sec, cigarettes, more speed, and myself collecting sandwiches, limes and lime juice, gasoline, more weed; finally, we reconvene, pack the car, purchase an 8-ball of cocaine, and get the fuck out of town.


05/04  
          What is a father? Hell if I know, but I've realized recently that I'd like to be one. One day. Maybe. If not, a teacher? Who knows?
          To impart knowledge to future generations; that is the point of life, if there is any point at all. To avoid and prevent entropy. To create or have a hand in creating an other person who is a better (whatever that means) person than the creator. To grow as a species. To evolve.
          Writing too is a method of passing knowledge. Well, here I am. What do I have to pass on, to communicate? To say?
          Let me think about it.


05/03
Tyler does on most evenings enjoy sitting alone on the couch after Opaline has gone to bed, basking in the projected feelings of the telesense, but tonight he grows bored and restless; sense games, his usual addiction, provide now only unprovocative and mindless sub-entertainment, and the late-night programs this particular evening are mere visceral sensations with no commentary or humor ("And what is the point," wonders Tyler, "of telesense programs without commentary or humor?").
          He is considering (as well as he can at such an hour and with such a sleepy brain) whether reading a book could be pleasurable enough to be worth the effort of digging through his grandfather's things in the attic when, just outside the window, the hind-end of a deer disappears into bushes near the house.
          It does not seem so strange to him that a deer should be jumping into bushes (though deer are quite uncommon in his neighborhood, perhaps more so in that part of the city) but, driven by unclear thoughts and a without any better ideas of what to do, Tyler decides to step outside and have a closer look.


05/02
Does writing have a future?
          That is the title of a German essay book.
          These current words were written on a typewriter. Well, is there any future for written language?
          Considering alone what has been done in film since Flusser's writing of the aforementioned essay (and what has been done since his death), how possibly could writing, such an archaic form of thought and communication, hold any significance in humanity's future?
          Even if people, the contemporary masses of humans, became solely dependent upon aural and visual media for collection and retention of information -- ideas -- would the textual word then become useless and obsolete? Presumably, film scripts cannot exist without a form of written typography, for how can a complex alignment of sound and image be produced without some written plan? And, in the same vein, musical composition, and any accompanying lyrical arrangement, is most easily notated -- though certainly not most easily or effectively presented -- in a written memory form. So the future of writing may be ensured, but in what manner and for what reason?
          Sure, people still read, but who? I'll tell you: the literary commonplace and the literary supreme. One group cherishes the written word as a sign of intellect while the other worships the decrepit past for its way of arranging shapes and sounds (letters and words, as you may know them more comfortably by) in ways that have been defined as "elegant" or "beautiful" or even, somehow, "meaningful." These approaches to reading take no consideration whatsoever into the potential


05/01
          There is a young woman lying face down on the sidewalk, her belongings scattered around and before her. I will not try to interpret why this is.
          After a few minutes of unsteady standing and collecting her things from the path and grass, she gets to the bus-stop and starts making calls. "Sorry, I'm going to be a little late."
          I decipher this message as having two  distinct meanings.


04/30
          Other side effects of frequent long-term shifting or Xanafrin withdrawal include identity overlap. Even while under the birth-given persona, additional identities will begin to crowd in the periphery of thought, making concentration or decision-making increasingly difficult, sometimes impossible.