There are a million messages in a million bottles upon an endless ocean with so much silence between the waves. Many shall drift forever. A few may be found. And maybe just one of them will reach the soul it was actually written to. Maybe one. One, maybe. Because we often seem to crave opposite ends of the spectrum all at once, don't we? The fact of whether we truly wish to be left alone is the answer to the question, 'by whom?' Everyone! But, not by you, you, or you. This is the difference between 'go away' and 'please don't leave me'. Because the question is not simply, 'Is there anybody out there?', but 'Are you?' 'Are you?' 'Are you?'. For while all are equal, love is what gives to each and all their own specific gravity. And when you love someone, their words will always carry weight. Even beyond life itself. So when we randomly place messages in bottles, randomly casting each adrift on a random ocean.... Why, why, why can't we be a bit more specific, a bit more targeted. Because, when we shout out "Anybody?", "Anybody?", "Anybody?" we often mean somebody. Or maybe we fear the silence. I myself must admit this much. I, too, fear the silence. Could you imagine a sinking ship in the middle of the ocean sending out a call for a specific rescue ship and no others? Could you imagine a prisoner of war refusing to leave the camp until General George S Patton himself rolls up to the front gate? Is there anybody out there? Yes. Everybody is out there. But your question, my question, their question is just a bit more specific. Sometimes too specific to ever have an answer. And that's the reason for the random messages in the random bottles on the random ocean... Some of us fear the silence of a call that can never again be answered. Is it a good thing that we're not alone at being alone? Only if misery loves company. And that's not always the case. Sometimes company chases misery away. That's the vortex for ya. We're all caught in the same web. Maybe we're all seeking an angel that just doesn't exist. I think it's more a lack of words to be found rather than a lack of kindness or of caring in the heart. A lack of words, yes, because words can't make it all better. Although, maybe, "I hear you", or "I'm here", would be a start... But breaking the ice can be a challenge when dealing with an entire arctic glacier, that barrier introverts like myself must overcome. Besides, my words can never hold the power of those spoken by the one you wish to hear them from. After all, you see it's only me. I have a voice. Just not the voice listened for. I am not the angel that is awaited, nor do I claim to be the promise, just an island in this same darkness, probably waiting on a very similar angel. If it helps at all, I'm out here, too. Feel free to gab. I may not have the answers, but I can help refine the questions. Okay... Next? I know I have talked about this before, but why do they use AI to pick on Fred Rogers? To make him say or do things he would never say or do. Now, I have to say Jim Carey's impression of him on 'In Living Color' was freaking hilarious, but even he had enough respect for the man to break character at the end. How can you not love Fred Rogers? I think a major goal in life is to find someone who feels about you the way he felt for everyone. That you're special, one in a million, that there's nobody quite like the wonderful person you are, just the way you are. To find someone who loves you like Mr Rogers loved the whole world. A worthy goal, right? Now, leave him alone you dumb robots. Whoever thought the robot apocalypse would be like this? Poor Mister Rogers. Hey, we all still love you. Okay, okay, okay. Now on to our feature presentation. Join me for the adventures of Ogg. When we last left our prehistoric hero, he was trapped in an endless cycle of "Mmmm, fire pretty." and "AHHH! Fire hot!" It would seem Ogg has still never learned. Both fire and cavewomen are pretty. The whole tribe would agree. But as an elder of the tribe, I would advise that both burn if not careful you are. To our hero, Ogg, fire is indeed pretty in its dazzling, swaying light. But it's not very pretty in the way it burns to the touch. Smarter cavemen learn and move on. But poor Ogg forgets and learns again, and again, and again. Ogg may be the greatest hunter of the tribe, but he often regrets what he finds. And the moral of this cave story is that the oojas aren't always worth the moboojas. Sometimes it's better to stay in cave and draw on wall. Ah, let's again celebrate the social media vortex, ladies and gentlemen. That grandest of illusions. That magnificent mirage. There's nothing there. Yet we keep looking anyway and are disappointed every single time. Hamster on a treadmill. Mouse in a maze. Human online. Hopefully there will still be something worthwhile here in my little corner for others to find. At least it is my hope that someone might someday find something worthy here in this randomness. Meanwhile on to the irreverent. The funniest YouTube Star Wars edit I ever saw was where they added a high pitch "Hello, there!" to the scene when the twins were born, indicating Obiwan had some splaining to do. Speaking of Obiwan, Hello there! Here it is, mourn day all over again. Well, at least this time I don't have to lament over squandering the weekend away. I got a lot of things done and I should be happy with myself for once. I rocked and I rolled. Took care of the yard, the garden, and the laundry. I took care of the bills and even had time to do some computer stuff and play some Doom. So, I should have no short term regrets except for those butterbeans I gourged on. I will most likely regret that. There might be a red alert involved. Clean cup move down. The easiest thing to be in this world is a critic. It takes no effort at all to judge a life from the outside. Correctness aside. Correctness always aside, because how can you know? Whatever floats your boat, so long as you keep it afloat and that you don't torpedo other boats. All this talk about floating has Pennywise in my head. They all float! Or my favorite line, Tim Curry to John Ritter, "Kiss me, fatboy!" Oh well. Here we are with January molasses with it damn near being July. Michael Myers time, Michael Myers Time, moving slow and just won't die. Why, why, why? The heat is omnipresent. I'm roasting. I'm like KFC. All I need are those eleven herbs and spices. Time in general is no friend of mine. It drags on and on in times like these. I bet it would fly if I were in a nice air conditioned room, enjoying conversation with my earthly angel, wouldn't it? Time is not my friend. It's fast enough to take away my loved ones, yet slow enough to leave me in a place like this to think about it. It's a hell of a thing, really. There is nothing quite like having too much time to think. This old brain has no off switch. If I'm not thinking about the ones I've lost, I am thinking of what I never had in the first place. You can't make anyone love you or feel any certain way about you. They're going to feel however they feel. Sometimes we win. Sometimes we lose. But what value would there be for anything that wasn't there in the first place? So maybe that's a good thing. And I say this for all varieties of love. Friendship, family, yadda yadda Yoda. "The chosen one, not possible to be it is, if the only one choosing you are!" <(- _ -)> Though I have not seen the first face hugger, the alien is back this morning. My poor tummy. Ugh! Ahg! "Oooog!" said Ogg The Caveman. Ooog! "Mmmm, fire pretty."Ahhh! Fire hot! Fire burn!" "Same true with cavewoman, But Ogg never learn." Rrrains! More brains! Did you ever hear about the zombie who went to Washington DC? The poor thing starved to death. (Quite the unusual accomplishment for a zombie, I might add) I never liked that Walking Dead show very much... But from what I saw, I learned this: If a group of survivors act defensive and hostile, you're safe and can trust them. If they act overly friendly, however, run, RUN, RUUUNNN! Oh, and from one zombie to another, happy mourn day. Let's make it through this day together, shall we? My face needs no hugs. But the rest of me sure wouldn't mind at all. But, it's like they say, all struggles and no snuggles. Now, get to work! You might need love, but hey, hey, you got bills to pay. Welcome to the conundrum. Welcome to the human condition, while you're being conditioned to be dehumanized. Bummer, right? Welcome to the treadmill, fellow hamsters. As Pink Floyd so eloquently put it, welcome to the machine. It's a bummer, dude, but what can we do? Not much, I'm afraid, not much. Let's just keep up appearances like everything's okay. Hooray! It's a lovely day. Ads, ads, ads, people must think I've got money or something. Sorry, Albert Einstein, but I won't be buying from your store. Your theory is relativity. My theory is the theory of not spending money. Do they know they're ripping off the likeness of one of the greatest scientists of the 20th century? Great Scott! Heavy, ain't it? Oh and no offense meant to the people who love it, but I am so sick of being bombarded with this world cup o shit bullshit! I am about world cupped out! Shut up, already! I could give three flips and a flark about soccer. If you strange men want to serve your balls to each other, that's your business. I don't care, and I don't want to know. The only international sport I worry about is war. That's the sport to end all sports, and the only one where winning ever mattered. War has rules, of course, but those rules are generally written by the winners of wars. Sooo. The only true rule in a war is to win or die trying. Keep your balls to yourselves, gentlemen. Unless you want a war. I don't want them. I don't need them. I don't give a shit about them. I'm just not into any sports, really. Not unless the coaches or players get mad and flip out and / or start yelling or fighting. Or maybe women's tennis or volleyball for other obvious reasons. But, otherwise, I have never given a damn for sports. The heroes around my house were game programmers, not sports stars. Have you seen the guy upset for weeks because his favorite team lost? Really? What if they had won? Would he have gotten a championship ring? A trophy? To party with the cheerleaders? Nope! So why should he care? Yet he builds his whole world on that nonsense. I suppose he'd think my computer stuff is nonsense. He'll never understand me. I'll never understand him. To each their own, I guess. I just never understood sports fandom. I just can't get giddy over anybody's prowess but my own. Such that it is. Well, I just got my very first pair of bifocals. The world seems just a bit trippy. I see much better, but I sure hope this feeling of being stoned goes away soon. I also have to keep stopping myself from taking them off to read or write. ...Or eat. Turns out it's a hard habit to break. You know? Getting old sucks! Yesterday, I got up at daybreak to pick butterbeans. Still, it was already hot as all get out, and a squadron of mosquitoes were divebombing me. My body somehow thinks I'm old. Pouring sweat, and my damn legs kept shaking. Stupid body! It took a couple of hours, but I got them. I spent most of the day shelling them under a nice cooling fan while watching random YouTube videos and finally putting them on to cook that evening. They were delicious, a nice reward for those hours. I had several bowls. Now, I am awaiting the consequences. Red Alert! Fire the photon torpedoes! Captain, the warp core is about to breach! All hands abandon ship! Clean cup move down! Anyways, I got a call from an unknown number on my phone ending in 6666. Not today, Satan. Besides they should have sent me a text first, "Hey, it's me, Prince Of Darkness. This is my new number. Had to change it. AT&T was just too evil for me!" When Yoda's grammer you correct, wrong you are. Hmmmmph! If 900 years old Yoda is, much older his grammer must be! <(- _ -)> It's another long day, the very last day of June as I write this. And hot as a mofo it is! Sometimes waking up is almost as difficult as falling asleep. I fought the latter battle last night and am still fighting the former battle this morning. In fact, I feel like a former human right now. Rawr-rawr! No wonder those guys are always attacking Doomguy. This Doom level was a nice quiet place to sleep until this jerk showed up. Once again there were dreams, crazy and just plain weird. A fight to sleep, a fight to wake, and a trippy intermission in between. Now I'm just sitting here trying to get my bearings. These neurons are firing in a discordant way, and I'm trying to align them with the finer balance of caff-o-tine, trying to boot up this old computer so I can face the day. And Wie-OS can be a real bitch to boot on mornings like these. Ugh! Ooja Mobooja! What a pain! It's going to be a long day, my friends. Yet in the midst of all this confusion is the illusion that is also kind of real, pleasing to all the senses that that are accessible, and likely even more to those that aren't. I suppose she's just as real as a star a thousand lightyears away, with those ensuing nine hundred and ninety-nine meaning she could be still there or long gone depending on a single one of them. A beauty to behold, a song to the ears, but forever out of reach, forever both an illusion and reality, if you believe in spacetime, and I do.. Too much space between us and too much time to think about it. Yet I love and adore the illusion all the same. Like I said before, the search continues for what was never there, a hamster on a treadmill, a mouse in a maze, and a human being in love. We are all causes of hopelessness. The hardest thing is accepting the feelings that I have are as real as the same that they lack, with no fault or blame belonging at their feet... Or even mine. Feelings are like the universe. They're just there, surrounding me, filling me, leading me to somewhere I can not go. Such is the way of feelings and the force, of dreams and reality, if shoes and ships and sealing wax, and cabbages and kings. Unrequited love is a hell of a thing, a hell of its own, and as Howard Jones sang, no one ever is to blame. I love her. That's the cruelest fact and the harshest reality. The thin line between heaven and hell is sometimes mutuality. As I said in the beginning of all this, Ogg The Caveman never learns. The prettiest fire burns the worst. Even if they never meant to hurt you, you can somehow manage to hurt yourself anyway. That is the irony. We are rational creatures, all logical beings, living on reason, until of course we're not. But enough if this! The great Ogg has spoken! Clean cup move down! Well, the 4th is coming up soon. Also a certain earthly angel's birthday. I think I'll get her a card again this year and maybe a small present, too. It's not like I think such things would ever win her over, but it's one of the few chances for me to express my feelings without getting myself into trouble... So I will. It's only logical in an irrational sort of way. As for the fourth, I plan on keeping things simple. I won't be burning money or blowing myself up. Those wild pyrotechnics are of the past, a past long ago when I once had a like minded sister to enjoy such pyrotechnics with me. We were a team. No soda can or fire ant bed was safe when we were on a rampage. Now, I'm just an old guy watching the world go by. My biggest ambition is the deepest sleep. Which may be difficult that day for obvious reasons. Ah the 250th birthday of the good ol US of A. What does it all mean? For me, just another year. I love America. Though I think it's still a while to go before it's a match for the Roman republic as far as for longevity.. Though the line between republics and empires can get a bit hazy as Caesar might tell you. Also, George III's taxes were never so bad as they are now! The founding fathers would freak out, man. My biggest governement gripe however is local. The rob me blind just to hold onto Grandpa's land, but can't maintain roads worth a shit. You'd think they'd provide a worthy service in return, but we're talking about some greedy bastards who double as lazy sons of bitches. That's multitasking for ya. I sure didn't see those worthless bastards helping my Grandpa work the land. I never saw them even once help my parents with the mortgage either. Instead they were billing them just as they're billing me: For absolutely nothing. I love America. I love my country, but I'm no fan of the government. Especially this crooked county government. They can bite my ass and go to hell. And on that rather grouchy note, let's change the subject, shall we? Clean cup? Move down? Are there no more challengers? Let's give them a big Klingon battle cry RAWRRRR!!!!!! I feel better already and you will too. Even an honorable Klingon warrior gets a bit tired and frustrated now and again. For no particular reason I will now share a random thought that popped into my brain. 100 years ago today, my grandfather was 19 going on 20. I suppose it's only relevant to me. Still that makes it relevant enough. It's a fact: Once certain ACME rocket powered roller skates are ignited, there is often no going back. Ask any Coyote, and he'll hold up a sign telling you the same. Why me? Some days I am down with the flow that flows with harmony, reason and rhyme. But other days its a damn conspiracy against me and even my own damn body is in on it. It all started with an ill timed sneeze, continued with people crowding in too close, both behind and not behind the wheels of vehicles. It was all I could do to fake a calm, collected, polite exterior, when I had a strong urge to flip out, freak out, and curse out. Humans can be so damn unbearable sometimes! Look, when my nerves are playing Eddie Van Halen guitar solos on my strings, I need some damn breathing room! Don't crowd me! Space, baby, space! Then maybe my heart can slow and maybe my nerves can settle. But that'll never happen if I am forced to breathe your air. I never choose these things. They just happen. Once they do, it's a wave I've got to ride whether I want to or not. It ain't no fun, I'll tell ya whut. I would much rather not. But once that particular ACME rocket is launched, there really is no going back. Give me time and space. Give me spacetime. And I promise I'll be back to my old abnormal self. Though that two bit baby smoocher has really gotten on my bad side. Somebody's gotta pay for cheating me out of my sanity, and he's elected. The funny thing about being angry at your own body is the only one you can properly direct your rage to is yourself. Even though it wasn't exactly yourself. It's bad enough when the universe is working against you. When your own damn body joins in on the wrong side of that fight, well this is bullshit. Shouldn't we be on the same team? I hate being trolled by my own damn body. Don't I have enough problems already? Work with me and not against me. Geesh. What the hell, man? Stop it already! Is there a part if myself that wants me to fail? Because I want to succeed more than ever. It has been a long time, a rough time... The 2020s have sucked most egregiously.. So, yeah, I want to win for once in my life. I am so tired if losing people, sanity, dignity, and damn near everything but what I actually want to lose. The negative stuff that I actually want to go away tends to stick around instead. Negative energy and bad luck has its thumb on the scale and I am so sick of that being a factor. Why don't you go away and torment somebody else? Don't you get bored messing with me all the time? Find another pigeon and get your own Grey Poupon. Leave me out of it, man. Great God, I'm so tired of this. Sometimes you just can't win. Sometimes I wish human interaction (except for with my favorite people) was optional. Hu monz get on my freaking nerves. Hell, I'm a human and I get on my own damn nerves. I have wished many times on this life that I were a robot. Doomworld often thinks I am. Cloudflare sucks!!! No, I am not a flarking robot! Ah but I sometimes wish I were. What good are all these emotions when they are basically homeless with nowhere to go? I'd rather be playing network Doom with Cyberdyne Systems Model 101. Get to the teleporter! Do it now! (Wrong armhold musclehuggah). You know? There's a part of me with a wild idea as to what could make me feel better. Then there's the rest of me that could never agree. That war was will be inside myself forever. Actually I am not honestly sure just how I would feel. One intervention could overshadow everything. One intervention that I know in my heart shall never happen. Maybe it's good I'm not so great at finding things, depending on which harmonic, which aspect you ask. Now let me tell you some shit that just happened. I don't want to point any fingers (Actually I do but I'll refrain for now) at anybody for inviting riffraff out here, but some weirdo walking up in my house quite uninvited with no damn permission ain't cool at all. (Maybe I should install CRACK VISION (tm) on the posted sign out front) Or Rifle site vision? Man, what the hell has been going on this week? Random crazy shit has been fraying my nerves of late. It has been just a bit much. I mean I had just settled down enough for an early evening nap when this happened. Now, I'm all riled up again! Damn. Just can't catch a break, man. Home is supposed to be a refuge. And it's damn sure not a public place. As Eddie Murphy's Pops, Vernon once said, "It's my house, mothatruckah!"
Now, time for Yoda's Yaddas it is!
In a clearing by a small hut we find him lost in meditation, trying to sense from the force the meaning of a disturbance he felt, as if thousands of voices were suddenly silenced in terror: Heard not from Organa, I have. Connected to Alderaan, this disturbance could be. Know not I do, but about this, a bad feeling I have. Danger, I sense.Yet, still in the force, sense the presence of Obi-Wan I do. The boy and the princess, in danger they are, but help them he can. Patience and acceptance, the Jedi way they are. Abandon these ways, I should not! A long time in this place have I been. A long time. Strong in the force, this planet is. From the cave, sense the dark side, I can. From the wider galaxy sense it stronger I do. Befallen, the dark times long have, and strong the Emperor's grip on the galaxy has become. Obiwan and I, the last of the Jedi are we. Not ready, the children of Anakin are. The boy, long have I watched. Much like his father he is. Impatient for the future, never his mind on the present. Much anger I sense in him. Not ready for the burden is he. Hidden the truth, Obi-Wan has. Was this wise? Fear his reaction, I do, when revealed the truth is. Darth Vader, his father he is. Tell him, would he? Doubt, I do. Care about family, the dark side does not. Safe, this secret must be kept, before defeated Vader and his Emperor are. Tell him, Vader would not, even if knew did he. That was when he sensed the transformation of Obiwan into the force. What have you done, Obiwan? Just stood there and let Vader destroy you did? Not good, this is!
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