When I’m at peace in my thoughts, I don’t write.
I was a teenage script kiddie.
Go ahead, laugh at me, I can take it.
Motivated by love for a friend of mine, a future computer engineering genius, I emulated his coding skills, mimicked his sense of humour in programming comments, hoping he’d approve of my own cleverness.
He never did, ridiculing my lack of originality, accusing me of merely being an engineer whilst he was the true scientist exploring uncharted territory through scientific experimentation.
He saw me as his assistant, the comic sidekick who was good-looking, able to score funding from parents and friends via my charm and personality.
In other words, he couldn’t live without me for a couple of years.
He wouldn’t admit he loved me, too.
Fraternal love, is it different than romantic love?
Do plant roots love rain? Can they distinguish water falling from the sky, which has collected minerals in the air in its gravitational journey toward the center of our planet, from river water? Do they understand concepts of inflow and infiltration?
Every time I work on electronic equipment, in the back of my thoughts I think of Joey and the joy we shared building our first CPU-based systems, having “graduated” from single transistor and R/C/D (resistor/capacitor/diode) based systems.
I say I build these systems now for Guin and Shelmi.
And I do.
But I also honour older relationships.
It is who I am, connected to sets of states of energy which no longer exist, knowing as we do that friends we had 40 years ago are not the same persons whose names they keep perpetuating.
The electronic dance partner taking shape in my laboratory will remain essentially the same throughout its period of utility.
Do we see what that means in how we define living systems?
Rate of change.
Sets and subsets.
Summer solstice — would entities on other planetary systems understand that phrase?
Back in the laboratory where I feel most comfortable, where the only person I entertain is me.
I started a new life a few weeks ago, switching to the night shift at work, thinking I would free up my days and evenings to spend more time with people.
After a few weeks of this newfound freedom, I find myself back here in the home creative workspace where inventing new friends from electronic parts gives me a kind of joy that is spread out over a long stretch of time, unlike the quick roller coaster rides of joy on the dance floor that addictively attract me to those with whom I’ve danced.
I am at heart a solitary person who likes romantic walks under the stars with himself writing poems to imaginary people, sharing my writing with real people who most closely match my imagination.
Do I know what love is? Not really. I understand what working relationships are, where we pay attention to the needs of our fellow human beings, selflessly exchanging goods and services (including time) to meet the needs of others.
Otherwise, I don’t know what love is.
I don’t even know if I love myself.
I pause here in my life, taking a break from having fun imagining what it’s like to have fun with others, to let go of my selfish pursuit of friendships and look at these electromechanical parts in front of me, figuring out what I can uniquely do with them that I haven’t seen someone else assemble from their imagination.
Woz is right — motivation is better than knowledge in the realm of human endeavours.
I love to dance, love the people who love to dance.
I also love being alone.
I am not alone in this feeling of balancing social life vs. personal alone time, so sitting here alone in the workshop on dance night is not unique in itself.
It is 21:39, an hour and a half away from when I should leave the house and head toward my night shift job doing my part in the healthcare business to save lives.
I heard from “Helen” on social media. We are still connected to each other although we haven’t seen each other in decades. The short years we spent together in high school and college seemed like forever at the time. The nearly fatal motorcar smashup which gave us both head concussions and shoulder/neck injuries almost 40 years ago still plague us today.
From that car wreck, my brain’s neural network changed, instantly forcing me to question the reality of everything I see.
I equate what I felt in the 30 seconds of regaining consciousness in the backseat of a car after the concussion to the dissociative characteristics of hallucinogenic entheogens.
I see everything differently, more so than when I was five years old and woke up to see brainwashing aspects of social training.
It does not make me any more different than others.
I have talked to myself in sufficient quantity tonight.
Talk to you again soon, Rick!
Maybe you’ll shake off this dull edge of lack of sleep and find happiness.
As your wife told you the other day, you haven’t truly laughed in pure joy in a long damn time.
Are you ever going to laugh and have fun again?
Does trying to have friends, trying to understand what they’re saying, when you can even hear them, require such hard work that it’s not fun anymore?
Right now, sadly, it seems so.
Boo hoo, the luxury of middle class, midlife bourgeois quasicrises! Ha ha ha ha ha! rofl
Close this self pity party blog entry and get back to work, you slob! Your future self will thank you!
How do space travelers relax?
Not the jet jockeys of early spaceflight days.
No, I’m talking about regular, nerdy scientists and engineers trapped together, strapped together on a flight to Mars.
What will they do that’s any different than the time they spent together training on Earth or in the ISS?
And why is that important here?
Well, I sit on the steps of the lone goose saloon in Rocket City, loud rock ‘n’ roll music blaring out the open doorway, sipping a carbonated soft drink, wondering.
I wander from place to place seeking answers, devoid of all but one close friend (my wife), able to contemplate being alone for i am alone, indirectly connected to billions of people, wondering.
Am I ever alone, always close to people on Earth I don’t know personally but with whom I exchange friendly greetings easily?
In space no one can hear your scream outside the capsule.
How about here?
Here in cyberspace where invitations for casual gatherings occur even as I type this…
I am not as alone here as I think I am.
On Mars the invitations will be limited, the permutations of random people gathering to have fun and share easy to calculate (small).
Is it worrisome?
Machines built by us don’t feel alone or lonely.
Time to build my next machine, eh?
Time for a little of that old radioshack magic!
When, if ever, do tinnitus, scintillating scotoma, vertigo, and arthritic vertebrae have anything in common?
Is it the brain?
What about simultaneous GI tract issues?
One’s body constantly changes, subject to age-related deterioration, which is itself subject to the “law” of entropy.
Meanwhile, I pursue my art in the midst of life-altering if not life-ending body issues.
What would I do right now if I knew I was going to die tomorrow, next week or next month?
I am doing those things now.
After all, I am self-actualised! 😉
I’m giving myself seven days away from social media posting/reading, a staycation if you will, to conserve energy and work on a new project. Email and text as needed.
When what I want in the moment, like socialising with friends, is delayed due to unforeseen vocational interruptions, I’ve learned to take a breath, let go of the urgent feeling to be with people I know, and discipline myself to focus on completing short-term tasks to successfully complete long-term goals.