woke up

I woke up and scratched my nose; not the tip and not the underside but the side of my nose. I made contact with my nostril and index finger only to put a beginning to the day’s actions. It transitioned into a wipe of the eye and from there I realized that I needed to get out of bed.

A walk across the room and around the pile of books in the center of my room and out the door through the hall and into my parents' room and into their bathroom brought me to the shower. Deftly closing the door and shedding myself of the meager supply of clothing wrapped around my waist, I stepped into the shower. It was quick and I was soon laying a used towel on the ground from my dad perhaps thirty minutes earlier. Softly stepping along the towel's back I opened the door of a cabinet just under the sink. Pulling forward a fresh towel I began to dry and had no thought about what the day would entail.

Towel now wrapped about my waist I made a swift run down the stair found to the right outside my parents' room and turned another right into the dining room. Our family does not eat there, but we entertain there for formal dinners. After exiting the short run of the dining room with its matching carpet runner to keep either dirty or wet feet from ruining the new carpet I found myself in the kitchen in front of the phone. Picking the phone up and seeking Mollie's phone number, I replace the phone and I return up the stairs and into my bedroom to look for my palm pilot. Upon finding it in the front left pocket of the shorts I wore yesterday and the week before and at that concert a month ago and planned to wear today without washing I went back to the phone in the kitchen to make my call.

It is important to phone Mollie this early, seven-twenty in the morning; because she will leave for school without me if I do not indicate that I am coming to pick her up by calling or arriving in her driveway. Sometimes I run into the car she is riding in as it is leaving and force her to switch rides. We have a peculiar relationship and I would like to keep it like that. Next year will not be the same with her as a resource for literature and math or a friend to talk to on the way to school. When will she entertain the notion that she needs a driver's license?

Mollie picked up the receiver and I was spared a jovial, banter-filled conversation with her mother. Mollie does have a nice family, but I am clad only in a towel and need to move towards putting on clothes if I plan on meeting Mollie in the next half-hour. I need to think of when I am going to pick her up, and so I say, "Yes, Mollie, I will be there in approximately twelve minutes. Yes, twelve minutes." It is a lie but one that Mollie will entertain. A good rule of thumb if I give time in minutes until something I am doing happens is to switch the tens and ones digit. Therefore, I should be pulling into Mollie's drive in about twenty-one minutes. The clock has started.

Another run down the upstairs hall deposits me in the guest room. Our family uses the unused and well-kempt guest-room-bed as a repository of clean clothes. Sometimes we look in our closets for the clothes we will wear, but most of the time I just dive into the guest-room-bed and find the clothes that I am most likely to wear for the day. Of course, the clothes I find typically do not account for socks and a pair of shorts. I normally just grab a shirt and some underwear. Not too much at all. The shorts, or pants, and socks are going to be found on the floor of my bedroom next to the bed, where I threw them the night before or the night before last night. I usually rotate the socks so that they do not become too dirty. Dirt in socks, I have found, makes holes in socks.

I think that I am ready. I have the clothes on and I have visited the guestroom bathroom to brush my teeth and tongue once over and to apply a spot of gel to my hair, which requires me to make a run to my parents' bathroom once more to use my mom's hair dryer to make sure that the gel sets the right way. Otherwise, my hair just will not look right. I wash my hands at my dad's sink to the right of the sink I was just at with the hair dryer to clean my hands of excess gel because my mother's sink does not work correctly. She had a would-be plumber fix it so that it would drain. Now it does not run water out the tap. There is irony in that situation somewhere. I am almost ready to be out the door.

This time I turn left at the bottom of the stairs. This brings me into the foyer and if I were to head straight I would be in another room like the dining room that is never in use except for family. I have to turn left once more and now I am in the den. The family room as some would call it. My mom sometimes is on the left right about now, sitting to the far left of the couch along the wall I just saw the back of that is a part of the room no one uses from the foyer. She is not there and I soon waltz back into my parents' room to say that I am leaving. I have collected my Birks and my backpack is still in the car. I am ready to go and it is only seven-thirty.

I duck back through the den and as I pass the sofa my mom sometimes sits in I unlock the back door and exit the house. I am on the deck and it is different than it was one year earlier than today. It has now got a roof and a wall along the right side. My dad and I have added onto our deck and have made it a porch, soon to be screened in. Soon, we will add some more decking to wrap around the house. It will run almost right into the ground because of the slope of our yard. That will be a happy day when we finish because our overweight dog who is currently on the sofa sleeping the day away on a permanent siesta cannot take stairs anymore. He is grossly overweight to the extent of injury. My dad wants to finish before graduation. He and my mother plan on using it on graduation day to entertain friends and family and I just enjoy the new roof because it is just outside my bedroom window and in the afternoon sun it is a great place to read a book. My books are in the car and so is my corduroy jacket and driving hat. The light-brown jacket lies in the back of the now clean car. I cleaned it last night. It took at least two hours. I did it for the passengers. Now i can have three people in the car besides me instead of one.

After walking down the stairs I am sent into a trot by momentum as I prepare by getting my keys out of the car. Keys in hand I open the picket-gate made of cedar and close it close behind me. Stepping from slate to slate I reach my car in no time. The door takes no time to open either and soon I am inside. The deep green driving hat from Newport will not grace my brow until this afternoon, when my hair will be beyond repair.
- posted by Zach @ 3:23 PM -

 
trousers

"shut the door." his voice was tense, steel; his anger constricted and this was apparent to those who were in within hearing.

the door was pulled in by a lone hand, stark in conterast to the polished black that expressed the age of the door in volumes that crackled paoint would have left as sentences. tthe black of the door that expressed age more thouroughlyu than any faux paint could have hoped for. strived for.

the hand pulle dthe door inward and the light beyond was cut, a tether was snapped, it seemed, and the last vestige of reality was swept from the corners of the room and the black of shadow sprinted accross chairs and tables and over shoes and up trousers. eyes twinckled as retinas exploded in a vain attempt to capture at least a little of the remaining mists of photons screaming through the last crack of the door. finally the room was still. though there had been no movement since the door's first opening and seats had been taken, now that the light was gone it was as if the experience of sight was once just a form of motion that all present had serundipituously ignored their whole lives.

again he spoke. movetment now. a sigh? perhaps a shudder. those within the gaping hole in reality were not surprsied to now see the smallness fo light issuing forth from a point just ahead of them. although they had been sitting in rows and in seats around tables and in benches all arranged for a grand view of the stage ahead, accross form the door, the door behind them, they now could see no neighbour. the light was theirs alone it seemed. the man continured to talk.

earlier the small release, gasp, of emotion at his words had been one of ignorance, like a laugh placed after was was apparently a joke when you found that he person talking was unintelligible but had spread the look of waiting one knows comes after a poorly told joke. it was a reaction like that of a smile when someoen seemed to know you and had smiled at you. the return of a wave to a stranger. just a reaction to the surroundings really, this thoughtless gasp had been. this crowds mass reaction to his speaking was just a quaint comprehension of what it was that he was actually saying. they did not understand the words, this was not the language that they had been born with on their tongue, instead it was a comprehenstion. they also knew that the ballroom reserved next door had people going through a similar experience. one not too unlike their own.

the man was talking still. a gutteral speech that rustled and guffawed and groped it's way towards each ear and each hearing aid. yet no braileboards. when comprehension is inherent, hearing is not necessarily needed. he was indeed washing them each with explanation, and as he did so their personal fires grew.

still each in the crowd was alone to his thoguhts and the man ahead of them. the light was moving, undulating. moving not thorugh space, but within itself. transitioning. experimenting with it's shade. matching the voice of the man speaking. never toughing the ceruleans and verdant fringes that could stimulate repressed hope. the now orbs of light were edging on crimson. they were a red found on the moon as it rises on teh edge of the horizon, displaying proudly it's bent light.

hands reaching toward this new focal point and none undertanding their need to be so curious. the attenders of this great banquet cannot contain themselves, they have no inner conscience.

fingers aching. armes stretched. it is not necessary to grasp or hold true this new jaunt, they feel it's call. the man beings to speak faster. his voice is the beating of drums, now a pounding of fists it seems on the inner workings of each guest's chest.

arms aiching. on fire.

contact. pain... of light and noise. the white of iron as it's heated to melting. the clang of the hammer on anvil. the coursing of gold through channels of molton beauty. no fire. just raw emotions, their distress at the crouding of the sub-terra chambers. masses of glowing mauves and oranges and crimson fireflys keeping the energy up in place of fire for the smithies. the sweltering currents of emotoin deluge pits and keep the place of the fires that have no presense. anguish lights the lamps of each master viewing the activites of this one mine. rage chases itself around cauldrons as perversion sturs their contents liquid wealth for reclamation in molds and the eventual decoration of one final masters residences. the adornments of one last slaver.

next door there was no flash. only one motivational speaker and his only visual aid was a television. it was black and white and poor for use in instructing. an overheard projector would have been far better, but at least it was not a poster or some other such foolery. the television was without color, and that was how it was supposed to be. sure technologies had lept to such a standard that a tri-dee image would have been feasible, but it also would have hidden the point. this crowd was gathered in radience, almost obcsuring the view like a set of blinds with a dutiful sun poking around its slats accross, perhaps, the same tv screen. these folks alread knew what it was they were supposed to be seeing, what lay behind the tube.

"faith" said the speaker, "lets you see past the grainy picture and into the depth of my true message."
- posted by Zach @ 6:27 PM -

 
shopping.

"...it depends on what you want. do you want a brand-new model or one that has been refurbished?" he asked.

"i think that i'd rather have something that's been tried and is true to its original intent. something that's been worn-in." she replied.

"ahh yes, i think this here is what you want."

they rounded a sharp corner in the stores exposed warehouse structure and found stationed in the rows of aisles of humanoids a robot of sub-standard make. poorly painted, he fashioned a black color that looked navy when it wasn't in the presence of other blues.

time passed and the old woman nervously bit her lip and finally spoke, "i dont think i want that one." her interjection caught him just as he had begun to voice the closing into his pocket transcriber made specifically for the continous, minute-to-minute rise and drop in demand infamous of the retail industry.

pointedly he stated, "this is the one you are getting. you said you wanted something that had been worn-out." he insisted also with a firm glare and a tap of his pen.

"i didn't say worn-out... thought i said worn-in." and sagging outwardly she began to sob. the broken robot was expensive, afterall.

"well, you've said it now and according to the law you have entered into a verbal, and binding, contract. this isn't france ma'am, this is the united states." he said tersly as he began to walk now, away from the decrept robot and incidently the aged woman as well.

mumbling she said, "i remember when it was."

"hmm?" he had stopped when he had noticed that she was a couple yards in his wake. "what was that?" he finished.

"france. when this was france. you got swindled, yes, but not by someone with a slicked back black tupee and a voice recorder." finding her wind she had finished somewhat strongly.

ignoring her he was imperative with the contract in her face, "i'll be taking your blood-print now." the papers were capapble of digitizing her personal and human code, something that robots can never have.

"put it on my tab." she was firm now too.

confusedly he replied, "you dont have a 'tab,' ma'am."

"my legacy is my children." and with that she pulled from her tiny chic purse a small blade of foreign quality and expertly insisted that it greet her throat and the air beyond.

as she fell the salesman executed his own precise moves. he snatched her falling arm from the air and let fall some blood accross her palm. her soaked thumb met his contract and he called forth an army of cleaners from a recess in the wall.
- posted by Zach @ 11:15 AM -

 
i thought about getting one of those blogger hoodies, but then i realized it was summer and didn't. several other reasons i thought of as well, but they aren't as interesting.


recent happenings
-black guy talked for me at pretzel time for 3 to 4 hours
-black guy gave me twenty dollar ga tech hat
-black guy said he'd get me more cool shit and a double cheese burger
-black guy accepted payment
-never saw black guy again.
-hardest earned hustle i've even been witness to occured.
- posted by Zach @ 11:15 AM -

 
if it wasn't berable i would be dead.
- posted by Zach @ 9:24 PM -

 
i hate peta. this is rediculous. it's absolutely disgusting. you cannot equate human life with that of animals that have not the capacity create more than an unwelcome pie. it scares me to think that this sort of bullying of the mind actually influences people. this sort of display by people with money(who don't have anything to spend it on that's better, including wild horse indian resevation children funds) is harmful to the sheep that embody all societies.

yay to yellow journalism. socialism. mass ignorance? sure.


i wrote a more excellent post but it disapeared instead of posting. technology, sigh.

why should lies have more force than truth? they are the mustard stain on a life and no amount of scouring of the truth will remove it.
- posted by Zach @ 7:44 PM -

 
i finally bought my digital dictation device (newer and more expensive radio shack version of the talk-boy... plus).

i'm not really sure how that will affect this forum. i've made no more than (without counting on my hand) a fistful of posts. i think it may help. there will certainly be just as much original thought going into it, but i may start to put down on, ahem, paper what i'll be telling my electronic secretary. it shall be stories, stories and a couple anecdotes too.


my boss at pretzel time got fired today. he came in like an hour and a half to two hours late while the pretzel time overlord was waiting with me making pretzels. my old bosses excuse was that he was getting a haircut. quite an expensive cut. had not the overlord been there i would have been swamped since i'm not a pretzel master and ouor store would surely have lost a sackfull of sales.

concerning work. if you are going to poison yourself shortly before going to bed and shorter still until you have to wake and go to work, use arsnic instead of booze. that way you won't have to worry about keeping up any appearances ; )
- posted by Zach @ 7:32 PM -

 
i'm a thief. not one of love, or some other esoteric bullshit that girls like to think about, but one that steals material things. i stole a chair tonight. fromt he place that used to have a pizza-like moon but is now a moon-like pizza. also, on the way home from a short visit to kroger ;) i stopped for a sign of a man digging. don't know what i'll do with it yet, except store it at my friend's house, but it's cool as shit. yo.
- posted by Zach @ 9:17 PM -

 
www.bannannabread.com
movies, flash movies, animations that are not so politically correct and satarical. such as "wong way," "just hanging out," "i've gone through many borders, but i've never read a book," "lockheed: The man behind the curtain," "God, My disbeleif of, and how pringles made me christian," "Porn is at the click of a button, so be warned (a story about how the internet prys women from their throne of power)."
- posted by Zach @ 10:00 PM -

 
so i woke up for work at around seven-thirty a.m. and went swiftly to the bathroom. there i endured a shower and a painful shave with a razor that i was using back at ga tech last semester. i hate shaving, but poor tools just make it even worse. finally dressed in the proscribed khaki pants and yellow, stained and dirtied yellow t-shirt of the company i left and made it promptly on time to work. nine a.m.

i was getting things started. mixing waters with baking soda and yeast and lemonade puree. the work wasn't overly arduous and i began to count the monies in the safe while wating for the yeast water to get funky.

presently i saw in the video camera monitor a figure entering the store. it scared me at first, with cash held in my hands, but then i realized that it was an employee from the other pretzel time. he came into the back office and we exchanged salutory nods and blessings. then he said somethign that was unitelligible to me. i asked him to repreat it because it sounded like it had more weight than a shrug could cope with. he repeated himself, and i repeated my own self. then, finally, he asked clearly what day was today. i told him. more jibberish poured forth from his mouth. i told him that wednesday i had a day off, in case that helped. it didn't.

the problem that we had, apparently, was with who exactly was actually supposed to be in the store at tha time. he pointed to the calendar and i read it. then i re-read it correctly and was angered and disapointed at the same time. disapointed because i wouldn't be working; angred because i had shaved. so i left.


when i got home i left later on after playing some zelda: windwaker to go work at the ymca. there i partially drowned like three black kids and more white ones. i had a lot of fun. teaching kids how to swim is so rewarding even though you know that your pupils will never remember you. you've given somebody else a lifelong skill they can forget, master or be average at. it's awesome. i'm sure teaching someone how to read has about the same feelings attatched for the teacher, only i think that they probably have to wait longer. i only have to wait about a week to be rewarded.

for dinner when i got home from the ymca, my mom had cooked veal. it was also awesome. quite easily the best meal i've had since uga dining two semesters ago. nothing can top the taste of infant calf.
- posted by Zach @ 9:47 PM -

 
this blog posts three hours before i even write this stuff.

i saw Finding Nemo tonight. i was disapointed, but i know that all the sheep that were in the theater with me were not. i heard them laugh and laugh and laugh and i only laughed three times. maybe less. but i know that two of the times i laughed no one else in the theater was making a sound. i wasn't laughing a joke that was supposed to tickle the crowd's gullet. instead i was just amused by the situations of the characters. perhaps the sheep, er... i mean the crowd didn't laugh because it wasn't fed to them with a cutesy feel and cuddly appearance. i think that i might discontinue the movies that cost six-fifty, and only go to the dollar-seventy-five theater. no one is ever in that theater and when people laugh it is genuine. i don't hate society because of its ignorance (that's just a minor disapointment), i hate society because of it's lack of independance.

when i drive i dont move my car, i shift the earth.
- posted by Zach @ 9:57 PM -

 
-=the following was written with the monitor off and a keyboard in the lap. now revised=-


a couple days ago, or more, a co-worker asked me if i had heard of a band called third day. a christian band. i had, in fact, heard of the band and knew that its name was religious in nature. we talked about it and what the name represented and eventually it became today instead of the other day; talk being the time waster that it is, we were engaging in it while making pretzels.

a third worker was there and he said that his sister had recentely declared herself agnostic. a tsk tsk went round the crowd and stopped with me. no one noticed. it's hard to notice what you dont want ot see, feel, hear, experience, et cetera ad nosium. so the girl worker and the guy worker continued talking and remarked upon his sister's decision. they had said, collectively (though not at the same time) during the talk, "at least she didn't say that she was athiest."

i don't really think that that's all that different. to me, an athiest is just being honest with themselves and saying proudly to others that they do not believe in a god or higher being or creator or aliens that make humans. now don't get mixed up, athieism isn't a belief in itself. it is instead only a frame of mind. it is relaxing your most important muscle from worrying about superfluous materials that don't really fit science (as of yet, all you christian scientists, you!).

i piped up and i took a leap of faith, if you will permit me. the faith being that the pople with whom i was talking will take something away from the exchange that they are were about to subscribe to. i told them that i was an athieist, with a shrug (no big thing). a high and mighty attitude i had not (i have actually found that a lot of athieists are very passive compared to many that are acitvely religious.) anyhow, as as i spoke up, the conversation died. just stopeped. not a word from either. a nod, a turn away instead. remember what i said about not hearing or what have you what you do not want to notice?

the girl worker says, "what about what we were talking abotu the other day?" ahh, from the start of this very pasage. also the start of this very thought i want to share. i thought what i wanted to say, but had no chance to share it with my fellow pretzel mates. i've actually considred the things that they believe, contemplated being a part of their very own beliefs. i've been save once by a baptist and confirmed to the episcopal church, at different times. last summer, even, i looked into joining lds after a couple of years of not really thinking about anything religious(see list above for more synonyms). it has occured to me after trying most of them on for size, that all major religions and faiths and philosophies have a speaker. he says things. people listen. what doesn't occur to many people, however, is that all those people that listen do not have to believe that the selected speaker is of divine quality.

so i now i will compare jesus to a leprechaun. if the written word of a leprechaun told me that it might be a cood idea to breathe, i'm going to breathe. but i'm not breathing just because i blieve in the leprechaun, but because it realy is a good idea to breathte. thus, as jesus taught, it's usually a good idea to treat people with respect. why not? there is no reason to treat others badly if they aren't a cop. so jesus may not be my own persanal lord and saviour and neither is he someone that i'm going to try and convince others to believe in or learn from. if other people don't want to see the sense that is inherent in the bulk of what he had to say, when he's not off conjuring crazy stuff, then good for them. humans are indipendant creatures and i'm not going to be responsible for forcing someone to see some new ideal as their only choice. i see the merit in some of what jesus has to say, and i'm going to take hede. just like the attention that i afford the written words of sun tzu. when i read the art of war, i was able to take what was written two thousand years ago by the minds of several select chinese military geniuses and apply it to how i try to opporate.



- posted by Zach @ 9:44 PM -

 
why doesn't the post office deliver on sundays? for religious reasons? i hope not. i ope it has something to do with sorting or perhaps they are counting and comparing walmarts to targets instead of bringing me mail. i dont get a lot of mail, true; but i do like to receive packages that i am having shipped to me with 13th class mail(like in taht one episode of tailspin where the mom of kit wins some contest and baloo blows the money for first class postage on a pizza) get to me a day earlier. it would b eni
- posted by Zach @ 6:26 PM -