Saturday, June 18, 2016

The One Man Human Being

As of right now, I have...

140 feet of bamboo, harvested locally from the Amber Waves of Bamboo behind my compartment complex.

That's a lot of bamboo, but I don't think it's quite enough... so I knew that I'd know that I'd have known that somehow I'd have to figure out how much bamboo I'm gonna need. And that to do that, I'd have known that first I'd have to use coffee straws to build a 3-D wireframe blueprint of the hang glider. Which is exactly what I knew I'd wind up doing, which I did.

Once I'd gotten the shape right, I tried to calculate exactly how much bamboo that would translate to in real life, and super-calculus just wasn't super enough for number crunching of this order of magnitude.

So I invented 3-D paper, and a brand new method for expressing numerals and variables in 3-D to go along with it, along with the Zencil, which is basically a ball of pencil encased in a spherical graphite shell. By the way, cursive script looks amazing when written in every possible direction at the same time. I can't believe they're phasing that out of elementary school.

Anyway, all of that was just so I'd have the right symbology for hyper-calculus, which I invented next. Not to brag or anything, but hyper-calculus beats the shit out of super-calculus all the way back to the first dimension, lemme tell ya...

So then I of course hyper-calculused the shizzyschnitzels out of that model made out of coffee straws, with the resulting mathematical singularity instantly evaporating in a blinding burst of virtual particle pairs, leaving behind only a sparkling after-image of the result, suspended in mid-air and slowly rotating...

*** 160 FEET, + OR - A FEW FEET ***
*** END OF LINE ***

...until it finally dissipated quietly.

Ok, 160 feet, plus or minus (pretty close to my back of the envelope estimates, by the way) which gives me some room for the weebles to wobble. Meaning that I might even be able to sneak by with just 140 feet.

All of that which I just described came, of course, after a lifetime of scouring increasingly obscure online archives for a method of curing bamboo that doesn't require three months of salt water soaking - followed by a year of drying - in a humidity controlled environment with a twenty foot ceiling. There was no way I could wait that long, because I knew that I probably wouldn't even remember any of this a year and a half from then, which is about eight months from now...

So it was a miracle when, about five minutes ago, I happened upon an ancient BBS server dating back to the Aztec-Inuit Wars of 1993 which was, amazingly, still online, and hosting several top secret R&D message threads between the Coordinated Information Apparatus and the Advanced Weapons Division of the Aztec War Ministry, detailing recent (at the time) technological breakthroughs in the field of advanced heat application for the purpose of bamboo weaponization.

Kind of anticlimactic, really, because nowadays you can acquire a propane blowtorch at almost any hardware store for around $20, as this once fearsome technology is now considered safe enough for general public use. Moving on.

Finally, after I've cured approximately 150 or so feet of bamboo with a propane blowtorch, I can start thinking about putting all of the pieces together in ways that nature never intended.

Then... LOOKOUT! Because here comes the One Man Doom Squad, and with robot boots to boot.

Thursday, June 16, 2016

Brain bugs


That's the official - or, better yet - the CLINICAL term for just bein' good ol-fashion, plain an' simple, no ifs ands or buts, 'eat up with the dummies', as they say. For instance. If, say... Say, if you were to happen to, say... see me in person, say, and let's say you wanted to strike up a conversation with me...

Stop saying say! could say, for example, say... 'Boy, is you eat up with the dummies, or whut??'

...say what?

To which I'd most likely say, 'Bite me, dilweed.'

What? I wouldn't say that.

To which you'd most likely say, in reply, 'WTF. I was just trying to strike up a conversation, like you said! You're an a-hole.


To which I'd likely say, 'That works out real good, because they said that they hate you too!'

...ok, that's enough...

To which you'd, as in you would, or, you, most likely, wouldn't, that is to say, would not say, that is, to say in reply, not, to what was said, at all, making me the winner because I got the last word. 'Hahahaha, you lose you big fat buttmunching snotsnacker!'

Anyway. Also known as 'the dream feeling' by hundreds of thrillions of tons of a-holes, all over the world.

Gol. You happy now?

So... there it is then, huh?

Yeah. There it was. Now. Bite me.
Wait, stop it. Just stop it, ok? No, it's not there, then OR now ! I haven't even said what it is yet, dummy! It's a, uh... um.

Shut up. I'll say it, you big fat shitwhit. Derealization is a, uh... a kind of condition, I suppose... which, although comparable to, uh... a similar condish, known to lunatics all over the world as 'depersonalization', remains a separate and distinct... uh, affliction? No, not an affliction. It's uh...

A special feature?

Yeah, that's it! Thanks, butt brain.

You're welcome, fart head.

Huh. Anyway... and not only that, but also, many millions and billions and trillions and godzillions of nutjobs all over the galaxy can lay claim to this unique and special feature which accompanies only a certain few, really Special types of deranged psyches, like mine. So... say, for instance...


Shhhhhh......... Hush now. You hear that, depersonalization? There's a new kid in town. Goes by the name of Derealization. And he's gonna kick the sissy out of that little girly pants identity crisis you're always bitching and moaning and going on about! YA GOT THAT??!!


Ok, then.


That is, to say SO, is to say so.

So true. So, what if...

No, what if I say so? Huh?

What if you say so to what?! Huh?

What if I said, so what to what, THAT'S WHAT!!

So so, suck your toe...

Geez! Ok. When EYE first started researching what the heck this is, this thing that keeps happening to my perception of reality...

Both physically and emotionally...

So I googled...

I googled Gogol. That's an absurd play on words. I did that, just now. D'you get it? The thing about googling Gogol?

Ok, whatev. Anyway, as I was saying...

What he did was...!

Shhhhhh, hush now.

(Ok, I'm fixing to get pissed off) I googled the phrase, 'Why does life feel like a dream?' And the result was a crapload of articles and personal accounts of this thing called 'depersonalization'.

See, this is exactly what I meant! You can't take him anywhere.

WHAT! That's not what he meant at all. It's YOU can't take HIM anywhere, but. hole.

Uh... yeah, that's exactly what I said, word for word. What are you, retarded? Do I have to say it again? Ok. I'll do it slowly, just for You. He. Can't. Take. Me. Anywhere! Get it? D'ya understand NOW, knucklehead??

No, you don't. YOU said EYE can't take ME anywhere! ME, not YOU!

Uh, no... what I said was that YOU said that HE said that EYE said that YOU said that EYE said that that thing about HIM wasn't supposed to be about HIM at all, and that it was really ME, not YOU who you were talking about, because EYE was the one who YOU were originally talking TO.

Dang it! Where was I...?

Row, row, row your boat?

Oh Yeah. So. So really, I was just thrilled to have discovered that the dream feeling was actually a thing -

Gently down the streeeeeeeeem?

- and not simply my own personal version of brain bugs. The only thing that didn't really jibe about - quote, unquote - 'depersonalization', regarding my own experience, was...

Scarily, scarily, ne'er, he will ever be...

...the whole 'loss if identity' aspect of it. What I'm experiencing isn't a loss of identity. My ego is always intact; it's the loss of reality that's...


Ahem. Will somebody please shut that stupid sonuvabitch up?
Forget it. I don't wanna talk about it anymore. You happy now?


Huh? Who are the two of you two who are talking talking to, you two, and you too, talking to! Huh? Well, who?

Why, you, of course. It ain't exactly rocket surgery, for Pete's sake.

You're all acting like a bunch of friggin' retards.

Black on the light

There's only an hour
Or two in a day
When everything's right.

When the negative space
Is black on the gray,
And it's usually at night.

Or maybe it's turned
Around the other way,
The gray on the light.