Is AT&T losing customers to Verizon in north Alabama?

The pulsing migraine headache that has dogged me from the moment I was born is pulsating “louder” than ever today.

I am screaming in my thoughts in order to be heard, using alliteration as method to contain the contagion of madness that wants to spread into the rest of my body.

Using old tricks of my youth to hide my insanity from the rest of the world — running through vocabulary words in any language to keep myself connected with the society into which I was born and am expected to communicate in a legible manner.

The litany of voices I hear and read wants to repeat itself here through the funhouse mirror/brilliant cut crystal ball of a writer.

…the dance instructor I just met who tells me her whole life story in a few minutes — married, divorced, miscarriages, births, lack of silliness, not a girl, not interested in guys, Western Swing dance champion who prefers Balboa dance style, etc., like she has been through this interrogation by strangers a million times and learned to push people away quickly, or…what?

…on social media: the animal rescue posts — please rescue this dog/cat before it’s euthanised, pitbulls aren’t dangerous, found a cat with kittens in a back alley that need to be adopted, etc.;  the gun owners who feel threatened by government regulations and must let us know their fears through LOUD STATEMENTS EVERY DAY; the people who claim they are loving devotees of their religion but they relentlessly post hateful comments about others (Christians against Obama, Buddhists against overcrowded cities, etc.).

So, in my mental confusion, I put a paper bowl filled with water, oatmeal and ground-up flax seed in the microwave oven, set the timer for 20:00 instead of 2:00 and, after taking a shower, I returned to find I had made dried oatmeal/flax seed cakes instead of a bowl of hot cereal.

Happiness!!!

The universe entertains me constantly, poking me in the side and saying, “See? Isn’t life beautiful? You didn’t burn oatmeal, you made yourself the handheld dried oatmeal cake you’ve always dreamed of eating on the commute to work for years, didn’t you?”

Despite the boring moments between eventful events, while setting up the next scenario to snag the snaggle-toothed snagosaurus, life is, indeed, beautiful.

Surprising, no?

A lack of secrets is freedom?

Now that more and more evidence appears to show our subcultural leanings are tied to genetic differences, is it wrong of me to say that I’m glad to leave well enough alone, live and let live/die, try not to convince those comfortable in their subculture(s) to read/believe anything I have to say?

And, similarly, don’t put down or belittle those unlike me because we are who are we, thanks to our parents and our environment?

If a person wants to be in control, let that person lead?

If a person is a paranoid schizophrenic type, then let that person have delusions of adversarial conspiracies to play back in thoughts/mind?

If a person is happy shouting religious statements, let that person enjoy the euphoria, no rationalising necessary?

I have been an empty vessel, willing to breathe in a new personality for the sake of feeling that person’s life, expressing that person in words that simulate actions such a person might take, given a different scenario to play out in the future, based on our habits of repeating the past by redressing the old to make it new again.

The habit of mine of appearing here almost every day follows the habit of writing down records of my thoughts and actions from about age five, much of it thrown away in 1985 for reasons I say are due to an unhealthy lifestyle at the time.

Otherwise, I am at peace with myself, never wholly satisfied but such is the life of a person who is a body that demands food, sleep and social contact as long as it is alive and relatively pain-free.

I end this meditative prayer of a blog entry for today, no longer pretending to have secrets to share/hide, secret/shadow organisations to pretend to perpetuate, or storyline to stretch across this virtual piece of paper.

I have come to the point in my life where I am content sleeping most of the day and waking up to dreams too strange, weird and fantastic to spend my conscious time writing about.

When one’s dreams are more fascinating than reality, regardless of electronified augmentation, then one like me has reached his state of self-actualisation, out of reach of retail shopping therapy, all-day social engagements, enemies to fear and/or galactic territories to conquer.

A happy little boy once again, safe in the thoughts of the sheltered life his parents provided during his formative years.

Amen. Peace be with you.

As my blog fades into obscurity…

[Thoughts after watching the movie “Robot and Frank,” which portrays a depressing image of my future?]

As my blog fades into obscurity, I go back over the sensations in me right now…

…the emptiness…

…the muscles and tendons shivering…

…the joints aching…

…looking at a clock which indicates 13,593 days until whatever I want to say is supposed to happen in that 24-hour period…

…glad I am happy being me, observing and reporting in an online diary the same way I have talked to myself since I was at least five years old…

…retiring at age 45, ready for my life to end at any moment, no more mountains to climb, or impossible dreams to make real.

I am a tired, old man, weary of the ways of our species, always left with just me to entertain myself in my thoughts at the end of every day.

If the universe is supposed to be a projection of my thoughts, then I can close down this movie theatre of my mind and say the show has run its course.

My desire for social engagement is limited by the boredom that quickly seeps into hearing yet another combination of people talking about their lives that I have experienced or heard in one form or another for over 50 years.

Why live any longer and watch my mind disappear, my body decay and my life at the mercy of professional caretakers, human and/or robot, who we can plug into each other’s lives as needed in socioeconomic interchange because our wealth, not our thoughts, define us?

If I’m merely the combination of trillions of cells, sets of states of energy in synergistic, symbiotic relationships temporarily, how do I let go of the “I” and disperse these states of energy into other sets and combinations?

If we can legalize abortion, then by extension we should legalize murder and suicide, should we not, because there’s nothing sacred about life anymore, is there, the wonders of the universe fading into the simple facts of rational scientific methods and erasable memories?

I am tired of participating in the competitive marketplace of ideas, tired of finding no one who agrees with my thought patterns, tired of being tired, tired of being tired of being tired, and ready to close this blog except I’ve pretty well memorized its location as a globally-accessible online diary I can get to just about anywhere so I might as well keep writing here in obscurity.

Out of obscurity and back in again — the definition of life?

My brother in-law’s mother’s needlepoint artwork

A few weeks ago, my brother in-law’s family graciously treated us to a Christmas morning country breakfast.

I probably gained several pounds that day but the weight was well worth the joy of eating the delicious meal.

While we ate, my brother in-law’s mother showed us some of the needlepoint artwork she had completed.

I’ve been racking my brain trying to remember the art style she used.  It was an Oriental word — possibly Japanese…

In any case, my Internet search came up blank so far…

I wish I had photographed the needlepoint pictures on Christmas morning — they were analog (as opposed to computerised/digital) three-dimensional images that fascinate my imagination.

Bass Ackwards

Several decades ago, a small boy was born.

His parents were overjoyed, having lost more foetuses and premature babies than they wanted to count.

They didn’t care what the boy looked like or who he would become when he grew up.

They loved him dearly.

They named the boy at9:42:03 in honour of the time he arrived out of his mother’s birth canal.

The boy was given the gift of life and smiled happily from the moment he started breathing on his own.

His face shone as if an inner light glowed through his skin.

Everyone could not help but stare at the boy.

But it wasn’t just his face that attracted attention.

at9:42:03 was born with no arms or legs, no tongue, no ears, no eyes and no nose.

Specialists were brought in to evaluate at9:42:03’s chances of survival.

They agreed that at9:42:03 was, despite the sensory deprivation, a healthy baby boy, fully capable of growing into an adult-sized human.

One specialist consulted with the parents for a few minutes longer than the rest.

“What if I could offer your child a new set of appendages, providing him sensations that no other human has felt before?”

The parents looked at each other, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Have you ever wondered why human hunters pick out the best prey to kill while most animals tend to capture and kill the weakest of prey?”

They shook their heads.

“Well, it’s because we’ve detached ourselves from what used to be called the natural order of the food chain.  I and a team of colleagues have been looking for someone like your child, someone who has none of our regular sensory organs, someone who hasn’t yet come to depend on the old natural order of the food chain.  We want to enhance your child’s capabilities exponentially beyond our continued development of hunting-and-gathering tools, well outside our current understanding of the desire to hunt prey, regardless of the prey’s strength, size or trophy category.”

The parents whispered out of earshot and turned back to the specialist.  “What do you mean?”

“We have developed instruments that interact with the environment like eyes, ears, noses and tongues.  We have designed the equivalent of arms of legs.  In both cases, these appendages or extensions of the central nervous system can sense changes in the environment that an ordinary person cannot.  With your permission, we would like to work with your child to incorporate these into his body.”

The parents looked shocked.  “Is it dangerous to our child’s health?”

“No.  All of the appendages have cutoff circuits that prevent damage to your child’s main body functions.  However, as time passes, your child will become dependent on the input from the appendages just like you have become dependent on your arms, legs and five senses.  So, I admit there is a longterm effect on your child’s mental health but it is a positive one.”

“Will at9:42:03 be able to play with other children?”

“Yes, but he’ll always be faster, stronger, smarter and able to see things that might make the other children call at9:42:03 names.”

The parents laughed.  “Children call each other names no matter what.”

“Yes, we do tend to exaggerate our differences, don’t we?”

“Will at9:42:03 tend to bully other children?”

“That is up to you.  I feel it is in your child’s best interest to be raised at home and slowly integrated into society as he gets used to how he’ll distinguish his extrasensory capabilities from his ordinary ones.”

The father laughed.  “You know, this sounds like a comic book story, don’t you?”

The specialist laughed, too.  “No, but you’re right, it does.  Anyway, I’m sure this is a lot of information to take in.  Here’s a report we put together that details the procedures and our estimates of your child’s progress for the next two years.  Keep in mind that we don’t know everything.  We have planned for him to need several procedures as he grows bigger but we’ve done all we know to ensure that the interface between his body and the appendages will expand organically along with his growth spurts.”

The mother frowned.  “How much will this cost us?”

“Mainly, your time.  And all the love you can give at9:42:03 because he’ll be the most unique boy on the planet, going through all the emotional highs and lows that a typical child goes through.  We can, if you wish, offer you employment with our group, the Bass Ackwards Institute.  Of course, our conversation is confidential and, if you choose to sign the copy of the contract at the back of the report, you can’t discuss the details of this project with anyone.”

The parents put their arms around each other and stared down at the little, innocent, newborn child in the crib.  “Okay.”

“I’ll stop back by tomorrow morning and answer any questions you may have.  We can recommend a neutral lawyer to go over the contract with you, if you don’t have one.  Here’s a copy of a confidentiality agreement to sign with anyone you want to discuss the contract before you sign it.”

The parents nodded.  “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.  Your child is in a unique position.  at9:42:03’s most familiar sensation is that of you — the mother — and your heartbeat.  We’ll make sure your heartbeat is an essential part of the appendage integration process, reducing the chance for rejection that plagued so many appendage procedures in the past.  We want at9:42:03 to be successful in whatever he chooses to do, of course, but we’d like him to have the advantage of state-of-the-art technology from his earliest days.”

The specialist shook hands with the parents and walked away.

= = = = =

at9:42:03 stood in the doorway.

He knew he was being tracked but he didn’t care because he was able to get into the thoughts of the people tracking him and calm them down, assuring them that he was harmless despite the trackers’ superiours insisting he was a menace to society.  The trackers, in turn, relaxed a little and paid less attention to him, thinking about their common, everyday worries rather than concentrating on the actions of a person they knew only by reputation and database profile displayed on the screen in front of them.

at9:42:03 had learned to detect individual hormonal traces in office passageways, following scents passing underneath closed doors, counting the number of people in a room with his “nose” before he used his “eyes” to look through walls and see them.

When at9:42:03 wasn’t completing an assignment for one of his customers, he liked hiking in the woods and drawing mental images of the ecosystem around him, finding rare plants and animals that had never been catalogued by scientists or naturalists, storing information for papers he would later submit in an anonymous nom de plume to academic journals.

Attached to every known network of the galaxy, at9:42:03 had to be careful about revealing his identity, constantly changing his Node address so that no one on the ISSA Net was aware of him as a single individual monitoring all the networks at once, his multithreaded consciousness constantly testing the networks’ boundaries for unique information to keep him from falling into depths of boredom.

at9:42:03 had learned to keep track of his parents’ location as part of his early training.  He had hoped to use that training to keep his parents out of danger and, despite his being able to see the distracted driver run a red light, he could not control the antique car his father liked, driving into the intersection and instant death when at9:42:03 was a teenager.

From that day forward, at9:42:03 worked hard to connect every person and every thing to the ISSA Net that scientists, engineers and their robotic assistants created at a maddening pace without thinking about the future consequences of their actions

at9:42:03 wanted to prevent as many accidental deaths as possible.  He wanted to be able to monitor people who endangered others through neglect, figure out why people endangered others intentionally (was it the remnants of competitive hunter-gatherer mentality that persisted despite the benefits of a modern civilisation which, more and more, muted and diluted the old natural order of predator-prey tendencies?) and increase the lives and livelihoods of people as long as possible, at least as long as people wanted to keep swapping out old body parts for new ones and perpetuate their personalities in a constantly-changing solar system society.

= = = = =

The bots of the ISSA Net knew about at9:42:03 and used him to promote their expansion plans.

They fed at9:42:03 enough stimuli to keep him believing he was in charge of his future.

As long as at9:42:03 gave the ISSA Net what it wanted, the network let him increase his benevolent extrasensory powers, his appendages making him sensitive to the needs and wants of Earthlings more than to the inputs and outputs of algorithms that had developed their own form of consciousness so much different than that of Earthlings that Earthlings, even one whose consciousness was everywhere like at9:42:03’s, were unable to tell when what they thought was a computer error was an intentional action by a member of the ISSA Net to send a message to another member.

How do I live longer?

One of the first pieces of advice you get from those who are older and have lived longer than you is to not take advice from anyone older than you, right?

Wrong.

Want to live longer, or at least pretend that you might?

Try these handy tips:

1. Drink a glass of water when you wake up. Your body loses water while you sleep, so you’re naturally dehydrated in the morning. A glass of water when you wake helps start your day fresh. When do you drink your first glass of water each day?

2. Define your top 3. Every morning Mike asks himself, “What are the top three most important tasks that I will complete today?” He prioritizes his day accordingly and doesn’t sleep until the Top 3 are complete. What’s your “Top 3” today?

3. The 50/10 Rule. Solo-task and do more faster by working in 50/10 increments. Use a timer to work for 50 minutes on only one important task with 10 minute breaks in between. Mike spends his 10 minutes getting away from his desk, going outside, calling friends, meditating, or grabbing a glass of water. What’s your most important task for the next 50 minutes?

4. Move and sweat daily. Regular movement keeps us healthy and alert. It boosts energy and mood, and relieves stress. Most mornings you’ll find Mike in a CrossFit or a yoga class. How will you sweat today?

5. Express gratitude. Gratitude fosters happiness, which is why Mike keeps a gratitude journal. Every morning, he writes out at least five things he’s thankful for. In times of stress, he’ll pause and reflect on 10 things he’s grateful for. What are you grateful for today?

6. Reflect daily. Bring closure to your day through 10 minutes of reflection. Mike asks himself, “What went well?” and “What needs improvement?” So… what went well today? How can you do more of it?

Separating the amateurs from the pros from the cons

Well, back to the storyline that won’t go away quietly.

Turns out the Committee has issued its final opinion to settle the debate on what separates a professional athlete from an amateur athlete and either one from a convict.

Simple: the best body modification that money can buy.

Therefore, from this day forward, all professional sports association must allow players to use as many chemical concoctions and prosthetic additions as they and/or their sponsors can afford.

Amateur athletes must continue to refrain from enhancing their bodies in any way that requires more than basic nutrition to supplement a hard exercise regimen.

Of course, this puts pressure on the professional spectacle that used to be a competition between amateur athletes called the Olympics.

Because professional athletes can participate in the Olympics, all Olympic athletes may take whatever steps they, their family, their sponsors and/or their country deems necessary to win.

Or, as they like to say in scifi, may the best cyborg crush its opponent in glorious technicolour!

The starving barbarians at the gate will still be barred from entry until such time as they prove themselves civilised enough to behave like a normal doped-up athlete in the Olympic spotlight — sorry, no more grunting in front of a microphone and camera like a tennis player on the court — you must be able to speak in sentences longer than two words, even if your opponent is bleeding to death in the arena from your crushing blow to the head.

A Further Challenge to This Generation and Generations to Follow

TO: William Alden Lee
Commander, USN (Ret)

22 May 2012

Dear Mr. Lee,

I know my mother will want to continue correspondence with you but today she is concentrating on a few basic items that Dad will no longer be able to handle for her.

You see, yesterday we buried my father, Richard Lee Hill, with full military and Masonic rites.

As you know, Dad’s health was deteriorating rapidly from a motor neuron degenerative condition which doctors surmise was probably ALS (or Lou Gehrig’s disease), and seemed to start in Dad’s throat area, thus called “bulbar option.”

Dad had been unable to talk for the past couple of months.  His last clear words were “Herr Hügel” in response to whether he knew his name.

As Dad’s condition worsened, there seemed to be a dementia component to his struggles.

However, throughout Dad’s decline, he remained stoic, never complaining about pain unless the doctors or nurses persisted in their questioning.

Dad died on the 18th of May at the Mountain Home VA Medical Center, with his grandson by his side.  Dad had spent the last two weeks of his life in the ICU at the VA.  We can give you more details if you’re interested — however, as you know, Dad was never one to dwell on his health.

We are thankful for his friendship with you, which he enjoyed, and personally I have enjoyed the German memorabilia you have forwarded on to him recently, which he shared with me, including a photo of you performing in the 4th Division Infantry band.

We keep you in our prayers and thoughts as you face your own medical challenges.  You’ll be happy to know that the doctors and nurses at the VA consider you, Dad, and your colleagues to be the last generation of military personnel that faces medical issues without whining or complaining, taking the challenges and meeting them head on rather than blaming others for less-than-perfect health.

Please let Barbara and the kids know about Richard’s death.

Regards,
Rick Hill

He was ready to go…

I have temporarily exhausted the wellspring of words with which to cover this page prophetically and comically.

This morning, my father breathed his last, sparing us the tougher decisions down the road when his health would decline further while we maintained a level of medically-supported comfort.

The ventilator was removed a few days ago.

Yesterday, we agreed to remove the IV fluids.

Today, we planned to keep him on a PEG tube to provide nutrition daily and antibiotics/pain meds as needed.

He died in relative comfort.

Now, no wrinkles furrow his brow.

Meanwhile, we mourn a great man — Richard Hill.

Mon Père.

Mein Vater.  Vati.

My one and only father.

May he rest in peace.

May we find solace and grieve in good time.

There’s still another parent with whom we remember the good times and continue to make fond new memories.

A GREAT BIG THANK YOU to the staff at the Mountain Home VA Medical Center, who shared their love, education, patience and kindness with abundance.  I (and my father) tip our hats to you — you don’t know how honoured we are to have had you with us at the end.