The Open Matt Project

Blowing chunks

It is another beautiful day! I'm eating lunch and watching La Femme Nikita on tv, and the main character (a rough young woman dressed up for her first classy night out) puts her arm around her trainers arm as they walk to the restaurant.

I almost throw my food up right there I get so nauseated with a strong memory of walking with Denali in that way. Her dressed up and wanting to be with me - and my not noticing. I got the nasuea under control and almost burst into tears with the shockwave of guilt and regret. Breathe, Matt, breathe.

Out of fucking nowhere. Fucking emotional snipers.

Sake

Without any direct influence, I've found rage to be a common theme this week. Despite the awesome weather and the general feelings of enjoyment they give birth to, I've heard a volume of rage that insists on not being ignored.

Not just me, but many seem to be fighting mortal battles with their realities. She shouldn't have left me. He shouldn't have left me. We could have worked. I didn't know better. I thought it would be different. I wanted to make things better. We never thought it would be like this. That fucking bitch. That dirty bastard. Why are things this way? What should I have done differently?

And so on. I don't have answers. All I have are best guesses, and I'm discovering that they are not even that good. I don't know why you had to leave. I don't know why I'm such an asshole. I don't know why these difficulties all happened simultaneously. I dont know what do to. I don't know how to fix it. I only hope that things will find their own way to redemption or reparation or neutrality on their own.

Perhaps in the end I am only a chintzy salesman for hope, and not the prophet I wish to be.

No Way but Out

I am pretty sure this has never happened before. There is actually nothing left for me to do at my house. I've done it all.

1. I've checked all my mail accounts. "You don't have mail!"
2. 800 channels. Nothing on.
3. Phone is working, right? Right. *tap tap* Oh well.
4. I've done the dishes and taken out the trash.
5. I ate. A salad and sandwich no less (read: healthy)
6. My IM list shows everyone as away or offline.
7. I installed the new HSF so my computer is actually cooler than I am.
8. I'm not sleepy.

So it looks like it's time to go. Out. Side.

Hot air and beer

It's been shockingly hot out for the past couple of days. I mean real nice heat. I spent a good majority of the time at Jupiter, outside with smokes and beer. I still basically hate the place, but it does in a pinch.

Yesterday there was a massive watergun fight, involving about 8 water guns in healthy rotation. Getting wet was not a punishment, it was a reward - so there were a lot of faux gunfights. I loved it. Getting wet lasted only about 10 minutes, since the heat would make it all evaporate.

Today there was more of same. Waterguns, heat, beer, and laughs. Again, I loved it.

But, despite the good times, both nights I found myself at home post-fun and feeling empty and confused. I don't want to think that I'm just a depressive person, but sometimes it's hard to see otherwise. Spending time with people who are really not doesn't help. I keep pushing myself to spend time with people who are generally high-energy and active, but more often than not it just contrasts my recitance rather than amplifying my desire to act. I just don't know.

BSOD

The past couple of days I've been breaking my skull against the seemingly endless stream of problems getting Ian and myself upgraded and stable. Computer-wise, that is. I've almost completely overhauled my computer, now running at 2.2 Ghz with just over a quarter terabyte of HD space (260 gigs.) It's fast enough, I guess. Meanwhile I've donated my old stuff to Ian, and for some inexplicable reason it seems to exhibit some of the most bizarre problems I've ever heard of.

Windows resizing on their own. The screen size expanding out for no reason. Stuff like that.

I assumed the problem was lack of power, so we got a new power supply for him. Nope. Still weird problems. So now I'm figuring it might be heat, since his CPU is running at over 60 degrees C. Since the thermostat is actually under the cpu, the core temperature is probably damn close or over the spec (85 degrees... celsius.) That's not good.

So I'll be donating my old-ass tower case and re-seat the HSF (Heatsink/Fan) and see if a cooler core makes a happier machine. The whole experience is just super frustrating.

First post!

I'm going to need to spend some time trying to tweak out the stylesheet so I can get a more traditional Matt look. I hate the calendar. I don't really know what I'm going to do.

Now would probably be a good time to use the COMMENTS feature to speak up. Any suggestions?

Some of you may wonder

Some of you may wonder why it is I've been posting these sometimes random quickshots. It's because I'm blog-constipated. Blogger is down, and I can only shoot posts ON to the site. I cannot edit or remove them.

I am now in the process of migrating OFF of blogger. Wish me luck.

Absolutely astonishing and cool.

Absolutely astonishing and cool.

Hope is here. Yay!

Hope is here. Yay!

Randomly, I found myself revisiting

Randomly, I found myself revisiting my first girlfriends website and discovered that she had written a poem about one of the best sexual experiences of my life. Well, maybe it's not exactly about it, but it's in there. Just scroll down to "Between the Cars."

I was going to link to a couple of other blogs I read, but then I realized that I have no idea if they want links posted. That's kinda frustrating.

Also, my NYC Badmen album came in today. This fucking CD has been nigh impossible to find. I have literally spent the past five years trying to find a copy. Then I happened upon Out of Print Music and was ballsy enough to give these fly-by-nighters my credit card #. $28 dollars incl. shipping and tax. Worth every penny. I cannot believe it is the real CD - not some crap bootleg, even though I would have been happy with just a burned crap-o copy.

Ok, it looks like I

Ok, it looks like I can run around the BloggerPro "reliable" service which is down right now by posting directly through this "BlogTHIS" linky thing. I know everyone is just screeching with glee now that I've explained why I haven't been able to post anything.

So today looks like a Redbull and Gin day. Yes, I know that every time I go that route I end up writhing on the floor half-naked and listening to depressing music. Listen, I don't have time in my dramatic life for judging yours, so try and have at least that much courtesy. This drink smells like children's aspirin.

I've never forgotten the childrens aspirin. I remember having access to that "candy" when I was really young - like 8 or 9. It's a testimonial to how absolutely terrified I was of my fathers swift and unavoidable retribution for misbehavior that I never chugged the whole bottle. I loved the way those things tasted. They were actually better than PEZ, because they'd melt in your mouth and you didnt need to chew them. Sweet! Speaking of which, there were no sweets in my house (barring the chocolate donuts and the frozen chocolate chips which were my fathers, and may the lord have mercy on you if you touched them because my old man sure didn't.) so the childrens aspirin were actually a pretty good bet for candy jonesin'.

will this work? WHO KNOWS?

will this work? WHO KNOWS?

After I passed out, naturally,

After I passed out, naturally, I dreamt I was in some kind of performance art school (about high school level). I was in an episode of Saturday Night Live, in the school, and I stole the show. Literally, I was so funny that nobody else could or would say their lines. One of the main characters for the skit looked like Martin Short and I totally ruined his part. The whole thing was really funny though, in a Groucho Marx kinda way - y'know, where someone says something and then he cracks wise.

Well, after the show I went to go tease the Martin Short guy about how much I shut him down and how much funnier I was than him. He was pissed as hell, far more pissed than I expected. Somehow we ended up on "the bus" (hey it's a dream) and he and I were still tossing insults back and forth, surrounded by our peers. I proposed a "laugh-off" where we could decide whether or not he was funnier than I was. He agreed but then when the crowd around us dissipated, I saw him go to the bus exit and start to cry. I think he knew he didn't stand a chance. Actually, I know he didn't stand a chance.

So he leaves the bus and his brothers are there to meet him. These guys are like fucking Russian dockworkers - walls of beef with little heads on top - and they are clearly upset about Martin (or whatever his name really was) crying. I try to explain to the brothers that I didn't mean to hurt his feelings, and I tried to make them laugh, but they weren't having it. Martin was egging them on to chop me up into hamburger with the cleavers they (suddenly) had. Needless to say, at that point I did a bugs bunny and split. I mean it. I was bugs bunny and I disappeared in a puff of smoke. and as I ran through cartoonland I bumped into Bluto and some scientist type. The scientist had a huge syringe and he jammed it into Bluto and deflated him. then he jammed it into me, presumably to give me Blutos strength (again, it's a dream) and I get so strong that I explode.

And then I wake up.

This is actually the second of two dreams, the other one being about my father (nothing like my real father) being shot and killed in a traffic accident dispute and my resulting life with a talking cat, my sister (nothing like my real sister), and a creepy guy who lived in dark places - and we were living on the construction site right next to where the murders took place. I say murders because my father shot and killed the other guy at the same time that he was killed. Oddly enough (nevermind the talking cat), the gunshot wounds were in super slow-motion closeup. I got to watch the skin peel back and the bullet flatten and burrow its way into his chest, and so on. It was a triumph of special effects.

It's worth it's own post.

It's worth it's own post. I think it would be unfair to not mention that I figure she must have already gone through similar, if not the same, torture. For that, I don't have a worthy apology.

Ok. Now that that's over

Ok. Now that that's over with, I can move on. So to speak.

I spoke briefly with Ian the other night about some of the more grizly thoughts I've been having recently. I said that I was feeling embarrassed and angry about still harboring feelings and thought about Denali. It's like at one point you have some kind of relationship, where two people are involved, and then there is another point where it's just you alone. That's the weird point where you look around and realize that you are really on your own. Despite my seeing her only a handful of times in the past year, I still feel as if there is an "us," when in fact there isn't anymore. I still think about her daily. I am still trying to figure out how to make things work.

But trying to make real that she is gone? That is the hardest part. That she doesn't care anymore. It's just me. I'm the one standing here trying to figure out how to tend the garden that's already dead and salted. I feel stupid. I feel angry. Stupid because it couldn't be clearer, and angry because I failed to figure out how to avoid this.

I used to feel that I knew something about how to navigate this terrain. But I am finding it excruciatingly difficult to force myself to see that I'm lost. I feel like I don't know who to be without her. Or at least the "her" that I imagined. As time passes she becomes more and more fantasial. What did she smell like? What did we argue about? What did her snoring sound like? Who is the person I am mourning?

As she fades, so do I. I actually see a light at the end of the tunnel, a person I will be without her, and I seem to refuse to go towards it. I hear the train whistle echo off the Berkeley hills and I feel the brush of her in my stomach. I see her blood stain on my old matress and hear her muted cry. She speaks to me from countless restaurants and street corners all over the bay area. I see her in my bathroom and my kitchen and in photos I refuse to delete or move, and I refuse to let go.

It's just me, though. Do you see how stupid and bizarre it is to mourn a phantom? To feel horror and misery in missing your third arm - the one that never existed? It's preposterous, and yet I persist in maintaining it each day and night. Stupid, stupid me.

Finally I manage to get

Finally I manage to get to Blogger. I guess I did something that screwed up the MS Visual Basic crap. Anyhow, finally, I'm back. I didn't think it would be quite as painful to be without this particular expression route, but I guess I know now. It only makes me want to move to independant software even sooner.

First off, lame as it will unavoidably be seen, I wanted to post the lyrics to the song I can't help but listen to over and over. Yes, the song is lame pop-hybrid BS. Sadly, I find myself punching walls and lip-synching and eyeballing my kitchen knives when I listen to it.

Linkin Park - In the End

It starts with
one thing/i dontknow why
it doesnt even matter how hard you try
keep that in mind/i designed this rhyme
to explain in due time
All i know
time is a valuable thing
watch it fly by as the pendulum swings
watch it count down to the end of the day
The clock ticks life away
its so unreal
didn't look out below
watch the time go right out the window
trying to hold on /but didnt even know
wasted it all just to
watch it go
i kept everything inside and even though i tried/it all fell apart
what it meant to me will evetually/ be a memory/of a time when

I tried so hard
and got so far
But in the end
It doesn't even matter
I had to fall
to lose it all
But in the end
it doesn't even matter

One thing/i don't know why
Doesn't even matter how hard you try
Keep that in mind i designed this rhyme
To remind myself How
I tried so hard
in spite of the way you were mocking me
actin like i was part of your property
Remembering all the times you fought with/ me/I'm surprised
it got so (far)
Things aren't the way they were before
you wouldn't even reconize me anymore
Not that you knew me back then
But it all comes back to me
In the end
You kept everything inside and even though i tried/it all fell apart
What it meant to me/will eventually/be a memory/of a time when i

Tried so hard
and got so far
but in the end
It doesnt even matter
i had to fall
to lose it all
But in the end
It doesn't even matter

I put my trust in you
pushed as far as i can go
For all this
theres only one thing you should know
I put my trust in you
pushed as far as i can go
For all this
theres only one thing you should know

I tried so hard
and got so far
but in the end
it doesn't even matter
i had to fall to lose it all
But in the end it doesn't even matter

I had this long post

I had this long post about how much I hate hockey and how my hatred for it was symbolic of a greater misunderstanding between me and the universe, but then I pressed the wrong button and the whole post pulled a Saddam Bin Ladin. I'd be pissed, but I know that as the only person in the world who hates hockey (and perhaps the only person who has the aformentioned understanding challenges) I can't help but be acutely aware that nobody cares whatsoever.

New features coming soon. Stay

New features coming soon. Stay tuned. (HA! as if I need to say that!)

Ok, just a few things

Ok, just a few things off the top of my heed now that it's no longer Friday the 13th. In no particular order,

1. If you want to impress someone with a photo of you, don't show them a picture of you standing next to someone who is much better looking. It ruins the intended effect.

2. If you call me and there is no answer, either my phone is off/silent mode/broken or I am unavailable. Unavailable might mean I am watching a movie, or washing dishes, or fucking your girlfriend. Who knows. The point is that I own my cellphone - it doesn't own me.

3. Don't be stingy. Especially with shit that is inexpensive.

4. "Shit doesn't come from butt-holes, it comes from bad people."

5. Please don't ask me stupid questions. If you ask a question that only requires me to raise an eyebrow and wait for you to come to the answer yourself, I ask that you have respect for the muscles that raise that eyebrow and not ask it. Give your brain a whirl and you'd be surprised how much quality fluff it puts out.

6. I am not you. I could give a stone-baked shit about how warm you feel if I am cold.

7. It's a gorgeous day. I'm going to get drunk and go out and get more drunk. If god smiles on me today, it will stay warm out. I'll bring my coat.

It just occurred to me

It just occurred to me it's Friday the 13th.

Another dream about Denali last

Another dream about Denali last night. This time it was simply being with her and everything was all right. No angst. No conflict. Just natural togetherness. It was so real and complete that when I woke up it was still real. It was only when I got to the bathroom and saw the crusty old shower curtain that she bought me that I realized it was just a dream.

That hurt.

Surrounded by ovaries. I can't

Surrounded by ovaries. I can't help but recall my time in grade school(s), sitting with the girls and listening to the through the looking glass version of what I knew about people. Far from being foreign, the ideas and topics are resonant like listening to someone speaking Spanish slowly. You understand just enough to be confused, and your mind reaches and strains to touch the surface of what the meaning might be. It's only mildly disturbing, like watching animals at the zoo be so exotic and yet so banal.

I'm asked if I'm bored or annoyed. Nope. It's fascinating. Not often do you get a chance to ride in a gender bathysphere into the depths of feminine connections.

Beware of fat people

Beware of fat people with dual-ended lightsabers!

Something changed this month. I

Something changed this month. I discovered that my desire to drink has been sharply curbed by my burgeoning self-discovery and consequent resolve to change for the better. I'll find myself in situations where drinks are warranted, such as a hot sunny day at a barbeque, and I'm annoyed that my urge is to get a drink - but I don't want it. Most often, I find that I want quiet things.

Currently, my idea of a perfect day would involve waking up next to a woman, making breakfast for the both of us, then sitting in the sun someplace with a good book and a pitcher of lemonade. Swap the lemonade for sangria and the book for a comfortable woman, put me on a warm beach, and you have my perfect night. Pretty simple, really.

It occurred to me the

It occurred to me the other day that I am at a point in my life where my social scale has outstripped my ability to realistically maintain it. I simply know too many people, and my desire to stay relatively intimate with all of them is simply impossible to fulfill. People I used to work with, old friends, acquaintances who I thought I'd get in touch with "real soon" and so on... just end up getting lost in the shuffle.

It's not personal, as in a deliberate decision, but just a plain wall of reality. I think in some ways I hope that this site will manage to mass-distribute me to them enough to keep some sense of connection, but my feelings about this sites success fluctuate on a daily basis. And so it goes.

Ian and I saw Reloaded

Ian and I saw Reloaded last night with the full weight of nerd disapproval preparing us for a mediocre movie at best.

When I left the theater I felt totally cheated. Cheated because I expected a terrible disappointment and instead I got an awesome movie that kept me thinking long past my leaving the theater. Cheated because I listened to people who I trust who said it was crap and barring the first 20 minutes or so, it was awesome instead.

So I went and read all the forums at aintitcool, and here at EA, and USENET, and discovered that by in large the negativity seems to come from just a few vocal camps.

1 - The people who thought there was too much talking and so the movie was boring. These people sometimes mix up there being too much talking with there being dialog they simply didn't understand. You'll see the word "pseudo-religious" and "psychobabble" sprinkled throughout their flavor of rant.

2- The people who had already created a vision of Reloaded in their heads and so any discrepancies from that view made the movie wrong/stupid/unappealing. Whether it's bitching about Neo not having godlike powers, or the moaning about there being not enough X or Y and too much A or B, to these people their particular vision was manifest destiny, and Reloaded was a bucket of ice water to the face.

3 - People who love "the other movie" laughing at every instance of Matrix failure. Be it LOTR or Xmen or even your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, these folks are draining their nerd sacks with shadenfreud to see their "enemy" weakened or killed. Sad, really.

I'm not sure exactly why there are not more people testifying to the quality of the movie. My best guess is that they feel that the movie speaks for itself. That's certainly how I feel.

I spent today at the

I spent today at the beach. Yes, the beach. I have wanted to go to the beach for some time now, maybe a couple of years, and I've never really been in the right mindset to get it done. I asked Rose if she'd like to go, and (again) she responded as if I had asked if she'd like an all expenses paid trip to Hawaii - surprise and excitement. So we decided to leave this afternoon from the city. I managed to get to Sherlock's Haven, my tobacco store, and pick up some desperately needed supplies. The drive out there was great. We got food on the way, and laid down on the beach and ate and talked and made fun of the people around us. I think I got a little sunburned. Afterward, she took me on a tour of the 'hood she grew up in. I think she thought I wasn't interested, but I was actually comparing and contrasting her historical waypoints with my own. She got a concussion on one street near where she was born - I got mine near where I was born on 168th street. She told me about a graveyard where she went as a kid and got spooked out - I thought of the graveyard where I went with Ellen and Jamie in Oakland and got spooked out. And so on.

I really enjoy spending time with Rose. I like just sitting there next to her. I like hearing her ramble on about things I have no interest in. I think sometimes she thinks I am more difficult than I am, or that I am more judgemental than I am, but really I think she just gives me too much credit. Most of the time I'm just thinking about video games, or the nature of evil, or something totally unrelated to anything relationship-oriented. Occasionally she'll ask me what I'm thinking about, or what's up with me, and I'll fumble for an answer than encompasses the unimaginably wide spectrum of my idle thoughts. None of them are particularly deep, but there are just too many of them to coalesce into "what I'm thinking about."

A long time ago, in a book by Robert Anton Wilson, I was introduced to a concept called... well, I forget the name, but it doesn't matter... boop! the idea of boop was to take two totally unrelated things, say for instance, a banana and communism, and find the connection between them. One can find bananas in Cuba and Cuba is a communist state - Banana boop communism. Voltron boop shoelaces. Voltron is a huge robot who is "the defender of the universe" and his feet are each independant entities resulting in a lack of a tethering requirement - independence cannot be tied down. love boop casserole. And so on. It's a mental nimbleness exercise, and it's a doozy. I did it for years, and now without any intention it's how I think. I am forever trying to make connections.

The BBC show Connections is/was one of my favorites.

Usually, I end up just picking the most readily available point of this chain and present it as the thought at hand. It may be jamming my finger in the cake and pulling a dollop out as an example of what the cake tastes like, but that dollop is still not the cake. That said, it will have to suffice.