My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

I’m really not so okay. I’m trying to be, but I’m not. I fucked up so much, I’m so alone. It’s my fault.

I have too many thoughts in my head, it’s a mess, crowded and cluttered. The solitude, my big, showy, digital self-banishment, that hasn’t helped. Not that it would, not that it could. I mean, my being broken inside, my not being able to write or focus, or feel anything good, none of that has anything to  do with IMs or Tweets. I’ve done a lot of thinking recently, mostly when it’s dark and quiet, and I’m alone, wrapped in lonely. I just have to take what’s really weighing me down, and get free of that weight. I’m carrying too much, my backpack is too heavy. I’m exhausted. I’ve felt this way two Halloweens in a row, it’s so… my fault.

So, in about ten minutes I’m going to die. I woke up late, my alarm didn’t go off. My alarm didn’t go off because the power went out. The power went out because, well, and this is so fucking stupid, apparently some giant fucking monster sauntered out of the Pacific Ocean and decided to crush San Diego. Who knows what woke the thing? Maybe it was off-shore oil drilling. Maybe I played my music too loud. Maybe this whole Goddamn thing is my fault because the fucker doesn’t like listening to Heart-Shaped Box at 4 AM. I don’t know, nobody seems to know. Just before the radio went out they were talking about casualties, people abandoning their cars on gridlocked roadways trying to get away on foot, trampling each other to death and getting nowhere. There’s nowhere to go, between the fucking Cloverfield Godzilla Sea Monster and the military trying to kill it, it’s nothing but chaos outside.

I’d rather just sit here with my Goddamn breakfast, my last meal of Fruit Loops and a bottle of vodka, than die out there in that sea of inhumanity. I’m just talking into this tape recorder because it seemed like the thing to do, to save a piece of me. I’m going to get smashed or burned to death, but maybe this tape and my voice will stay without me. I don’t know. Maybe Cloverfield Godzilla whatever the fuck it is will be the end of everything and my stupid voice on this stupid tape won’t mean a Goddamn fuckin’ thing. I don’t know. I really don’t know much of anything after twenty-nine years. I wish I could laugh about this because it’s so absurd, but I can’t. I hear sirens and gunfire, smell smoke and a million dead fish. I’m going to die and I’m scared. I’m thinking about someone who isn’t here, someone I love so much. If you’re alive and you get to hear my voice on this tape, I love you and I wish we’d had more time. I know it’s pointless to say that, but it’s all I can think about just now.

I think I have time to polish off this vodka. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me after I close my eyes for the last time. I wish to God this would just stop, but You’re not going to do anything, are You, you fucker? Maybe You’re not even there and I’m just sitting here talking to no one. If You are there, and You are listening, I’m sorry. I don’t know, I really don’t know anything.

I don’t know what else to say, except, well, goodbye.

So, I’ve been writing this particular blog for two Julys now. Last July was definitely different. I posted about this song, but I was in a very different place. I wrote…

So, today’s the Fourth of July, another June has gone by.  When they light up our town I just think what a waste of gunpowder and sky…

That is the beginning of the saddest, most grammatically correct song ever written about the Fourth of July. It’s one of my favorite Aimee Mann songs. Last year, Sara and I were broken up for the Fourth. We broke up before the holiday, but that song was actually playing when she said her good-byes. Things are much better this year. We’re separated again, but only by physical distance. It’s weird, I’m not sure how to word this right, maybe I can’t. Being apart like this is a painful experience, I miss her on some level all the time, but it’s not an empty pain. It’s a pain that promises something better. It’s almost like getting a tattoo. It’s a constant stinging pain, but when it finally stops, you’re left with something beautiful. It’s a pain that’s a prelude to something that you know is worth anything. It’s not a loss, not an emptiness. It’s not Hell unending, the complete and total absence of God.

Life’s really not easy, but I think it’s always worth the trouble in the end. Happy Fourth…

Things have changed so much in two Julys. I didn’t end up with Sara, we broke up, again. Well, she broke up with me, again. After the second time, I really did feel empty. For a very long time, longer than I care to remember, it felt like endless emptiness, endless loneliness. They say that Hell is the absence of God, that is why Hell is supposed to be so bad. Supposedly, we are all a part of God, and without Him, it’s the worst pain, the worst emptiness, a feeling beyond our imagination. That’s how I felt every day without Sara, just lost and empty, for months and months. It really felt like it would never stop. I blamed myself, I thought of this song. I felt like I screwed everything up, again. I felt like I didn’t try hard enough, again. I felt like too much of a fuck up to be with anyone else.

It’s taken me almost a year to quit blaming myself, almost a year to start over and feel, not always better, but at least different. I know that I feel different about what happened, that it wasn’t my fault, not entirely. I did say to her, “what would it take?” I did everything I could, but it just didn’t work. I accept that now, because there are certain things a fellow just has to accept. I bet big on one person, and I lost big. It happens, you learn from it. I learned from it. I have the same goals, the same basic wants that I had last July. This July, I’m not as good as I want to be, but I’m not as bad as I was, not so empty. People go, new people come, and maybe the new people stay. The maybes are enough to wake up in the morning, not always, but usually. That’s as honest as I can be this 4th of July.

I have interesting things ahead, but they’re not ready to be written, not today.

My thumb seems to be getting progressively worse, my hand kind of feels like dead weight. At the moment, I’m rather lonely, uneasy. I’m often lonely, but this is worse because I physically can’t make it stop. I can’t type anything fast enough for a good conversation, people who are decent enough at the alphabet aren’t around. My going out assistant isn’t back yet, nor do I have a backup yet. I don’t get the NeuroSwitch for another two weeks, but I keep worrying that it won’t work. I can’t think of anything good or happy right now. كيفية لعب البوكر

I feel like much of this situation is my fault, and it’s possibly too late to fix things. I’m pretty sure I hurt my hand back in December when I checked myself into the hospital for depression and insomnia. I was depressed and not sleeping mostly because of my break-up with Sara. الرهانات I lost Sara because I made some bad choices last summer. It’s complicated and difficult to write, especially right now, but I broke two promises and they cost me. So, here I am, and it all seems so stupid. العاب استراتيجية اون لاين

So, Thursday I went to see The Wackness and it was pretty good. It wasn’t the best movie I’ve ever seen, but it sparked quite a bit of thinking in me. It’s about Luke Shapiro, a kid just out of high school, selling pot in New York City during the summer of 1994. One of his clients is a psychiatrist, doctor Squires, they trade pot for therapy. Luke also happens to be crazy about the good doctor’s step daughter. I’m not really here to review the movie, except that I did like it overall and I’m glad I saw it, despite the following really unfortunate line, “I see the dopeness in everything, and you just see the wackness.” Still, as bad as that line is, it struck me as true.

I’ve been there, I’ve lived that line so many times. I’ve tried over and over to convince someone that things will work out and life can be something great, but they don’t really buy it. They see problems, obstacles, endless disaster. Trying to talk someone out of that is fucking exhausting. It wears you out until you start to buy it yourself. I should have told her how I felt, rather than hide it. I was just always afraid of losing her, of not being what she needed. 

I actually went into the movie pretty down on myself, like I was kind of a fuck up immature failure. I’ve been fighting that idea for awhile, fighting it and losing. Then, sitting in that dark theater, analyzing that movie and myself, I slowly started feeling better. A big theme was self-medicating through pain; drinking, drugs, sex, whatever. Anything to escape the shit that life can definitely bring. I liked drugs to escape, and when I drank it was less to permanently escape than take a temporary vacation from things that scared me. Either way, being numb isn’t the answer for me. It’s anyone’s choice, but it’s not the one I’m making. Being numb only prolongs a bad situation. I quit the drinking not because people told me to, or to please anyone. I quit because I realized it took the fight out of me and I can’t afford not to fight.

I’ve also realized that I’ve spent too much time fighting the wrong things and feeling bad because I haven’t been winning quickly enough. The life that I want isn’t crazy, or wrong and it’s definitely not impossible, but I felt like a failure because I’m not there yet, I’ve stumbled. Lately I have felt really bad, probably worse than when I got home from the hospital in ’07. About a month ago I got the idea that I was failing and felt that it was entirely my fault. I’ve been really down about it, lately crying about it if I thought about the last few weeks too much. I’m not proud of this, but I have to write about it anyway. I’d sob and say to myself, “Wow, you fucker. Look at yourself. What are you doing? You totally fucked things up.” Watching that movie and thinking about something a friend said, I realized that I’ve done so much to change my life in the last three years and it’s okay to stumble so long as I’m honest. I’m not a failure until I quit trying to have what I want. Three years ago I couldn’t sit in the van by myself without having a massive panic attack. I couldn’t go to a club, or a concert without freaking out. I didn’t leave the house without someone from my family. I’ve changed all of that and more. I’m 27 trying to do things my brother did at 18, but he was expected to do them. He just had to pack some bags and go. I wasn’t necessarily discouraged, but I wasn’t encouraged either. Nobody expected me to have or even want a different life. That I’d want a lover, my own space. Yet, that is exactly what I want and I have been rearranging my entire life to have it, and I’m doing so with a deck that is stacked against me. The idea that I’m too slow or a failure just isn’t right. I started 2007 in a coma, spent months in the hospital. I lost the ability to talk, not gradually like everything else, but abruptly and totally unexpectedly. I lived all my personal nightmares. I’ve had to make so many adjustments, but I make them. I know people who would have handled what I’ve handled far worse than me. I haven’t quit, I’m not going to quit, but I no longer feel afraid to make mistakes and be honest. 

The Wackness didn’t change my life, but it started a train of thought that ended in a good place.

So, I’m returning to the blog with a rant.

I am sick unto death of people acting like their phones and computers are simply Social Media Machines, Machines that are really sort of a burden. We have all these national “unplug” days, people gush about how freeing it is to put away their devices to get away from Twitter, Facebook et al, “and just curl up on the sofa with a book!” Because, you know digital books are a myth, our devices are simply locked Social Media kiosks. It reminds me of the Seinfeld episode in which Jerry buys his dad one of the early digital organizers; it was an address book, a dictionary, an alarm clock, a date book, and a tip calculator. It had all sorts of functions, but as far as Jerry’s dad was concerned, it was ONLY a tip calculator. A really expensive tip calculator. So, Jerry eventually screams in frustration, “It does other things!” Whenever I hear someone say with relief, and a certain smugness, how amazing it is to unplug, to put away their technology, thus unchaining themselves from Facebook, I just want to scream, “It does other things!”

First, if you’ve allowed technology to become a burden, you’ve fucked up. If you spend six hours arguing about politics on Facebook, or uploading selfies to Instagram only to feel miserable, that’s on you. People blame Social Media for eating so much time, but that isn’t Social Media’s fault. Social Media is only a misery if you make it a misery. Also, if you look at your iPhone or MacBook or whatever with dread because you fear getting sucked into some Social Media vortex, remember, it does other things!

I spend… a lot of time with my Macs, and Social Media is just a tiny fraction of what I do. Our devices are libraries full of books, movie theaters that only show the movies we love best, concert venues where our favorite artists are always there to play. Our devices allow us to create art, visual art, word art, art for our ears. Our devices let us say, I love you, to that one person who means everything, even if they’ve gone far away. Our devices do so much, way more than Social Media, or calculating tips.

So, two Saturdays ago I got to scratch another item from my Things to Do list, and it was quite the ballyhoo; I went to a local shooting range, Reload, and I got to fire a Glock 17 with my switch. Now, for those unfamiliar, a switch is a piece of assistive technology that I use to control my various Macs by way of wiggling my eyebrows to operate an on-screen keyboard. Let’s get all the technical stuff out of the way before I go on about anything else.

The gun firing scheme was created by an absolute fucking genius, Bill Binko, from ATMakers.org. The really hard part was finding something to safely, firmly hold the gun in place during the firing. The good folks at Ransom International were kind enough to send us a Ransom Rest, basically a sort of vice specifically designed for holding guns in place for precision aiming. The Rest is used in ballistics testing, it’s been used on MythBusters, it’s a well-respected tool. Also, I didn’t get just any Rest, I got the very first Rest, created by the late Chuck Ransom. He was the only person to ever use said Rest, it was kept in a glass case at the home-office with a little plaque bearing Chuck Ransom’s name. Well, by now it’s back in its case, and my name is being added to the plaque. Very unnecessary, and very nice. I was also given a bullet from a totally kind smith at Ground Zero Reloading; I fired this round first. All that taken care of, Bill created a little piece robotics for pulling the trigger, it was a little robotic arm attached to a chain attached to the trigger. The arm was controlled over wi-fi via a hand-coded web interface; I pointed Safari toward the robot’s IP address, got a camera view over the gun barrel and two buttons to arm then fire the gun. A Glock 17 doesn’t need cocked, the “arm” button was simply there for safety purposes, just so everybody was absolutely 250% certain the gun wouldn’t go off accidentally. Bill didn’t know my level of gun awareness… better safe than having me blow off Bill’s fingers! Using a web interface is ideal for this sort of project, the gun could be fired from any platform. I used a MacBook running macOS High Sierra, but I could have used anything.

Gun Interface

At any rate, that, in a nutshell, is how I fired a gun with a switch. Of course, most people want to know the why…

I’m an ultra-liberal, anti-National Rifle Association, anti-all things Trumpian. I think our antiquated gun laws are disgusting. It seems that in America, a person’s right to obtain any sort of gun as quickly and easily as possible is more important than the lives of children. The Second Amendment was written during a time of muskets, not AR-15s, Glock 17s, it’s time to completely overhaul our gun laws. Guns are too readily available, our background check system is a joke, we don’t require psychological testing for gun buyers, we allow civilians to own military-grade weapons, we are irresponsible about gun control. I understand guns aren’t our only problem, but they are a problem, a problem that needs addressed. So, these being my firm beliefs, why would I want anywhere near something I’m so against?

The short answer is, I’m not against guns. I’m against our irresponsible gun laws, I’m against our lax gun regulation, I’m against people using guns for ill, but I’m not against guns. I’ve been a fan of Star Wars, Alien, Tarantino films, Predator (though Predators is probably my personal favorite Predator movie), any zombie movie, whatever, forever. As a kid, my mom never censored my fiction, I learned right and wrong, fake and real. I didn’t need censored. Thus, guns as part of fiction, guns as objects have always fascinated me. As real-world pieces of engineering, as props in films and video games, I’ve always loved guns. I mean, when someone cocks a shotgun before they relieve a zombie of its head, that click-click sound is cool. Lately, I really dig the John Wick movies; Keanu Reeves is a top-tier assassin who rains vengeance down upon an underworld that wronged him, using gorgeously engineered firearms. I think you can admire a gun as an object, as something used for fun, and still be strongly against the ways in which people use guns to perpetrate absolutely vile acts of cruelty.

Life isn’t black-and-white, it’s gray. Guns are surrounded in gray. When John Wick throws his empty gun at a guy’s face, draws a fresh one, then puts the guy down permanent-like, it’s so over the top it’s laughable. If you firmly grasp the difference between reality and fiction, it’s possible to see the humor in John Wick, while feeling empathy and disgust when a cop shoots an unarmed black man ten times in the back. You can hold guns in your mind and see them in two totally separate ways. Taking a Glock 17 to a range and blowing holes in paper targets using my assistive technology was spectacularly fun, and I don’t regret it, yet if I had to point said gun at a living being I’d be sick to my stomach. Again, fiction vs. reality comes into play.

I don’t see enjoying guns for their own sake as morally wrong, intent is critical. My personal intent regarding guns is simply fun, and to exercise an aesthete’s taste in fancy weapons. That’s why I wanted to fire a gun with a switch, I like them. I understand their power, their ability to end lives en masse, but I don’t think guns themselves are the problem. The problem is that the gun-lobby has D.C. in a death-grip, we haven’t seen meaningful gun legislation in thirty-some years. You know, cars used to be really fucking dangerous; seatbelts were optional, a fender-bender could become an inferno because of faulty gas tanks, cheap parts and cut-corners were a-okay! It took legislation to make cars better than coffins-on-wheels. Guns are too potentially deadly to go unregulated, it’s our moral failing as American voters that we have yet to demand that our legislators do the job they aren’t doing.

At any rate, everybody involved in my gun firing quest was super nice. The folks at Reload closed off an entire room for us on a very busy Saturday. The good folks at Ransom International sent us the key piece of hardware that was the foundation for the other pieces of our project. Ground Zero Reloading took the time to craft me my first round. Then, of course, Bill Binko, the genius who not only solved the puzzle, but also crafted most of the pieces. Absolutely everyone who took part in this project has my thank you!

It’s a little fatey that I should fire a Glock 17… Way back when DVDs were a thing, one night Sara brought out the boxed set of this BBC show by Simon Pegg, Spaced. The show pretty much encapsulates everything I love (it also made me fall even harder for Sara), it’s like, Simon Pegg in Sandbox Mode. Spaced was basically just practice for his eventual films. Anyway, watch episode 2 and you’ll get it about the Glock 17.

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So, health care reform was always sort of a political white whale; Presidents chased it, but President Barack Obama was the first to successfully run it down. The Affordable Care Act (ACA) completely changed the American health care system, it was a big deal. President Obama tried really hard to pass a bill that would get Americans health insurance, particularly those who couldn’t have afford it. The ACA has done a great deal of good, and helped a great many people over the last seven years. Still, not everything President Obama promised worked out, for SOME people the ACA has been a hindrance. Now, this post isn’t about the nuances of the ACA, it’s about a piece of shit con-man calling an honorable man a liar, but to set the stage it’s important to note that the ACA developed flaws, and President Obama made promises that went wrong.

Okay, yesterday I’m watching MSNBC, Trump is going on and on about the greatness of the Republican health care bill, just typical Trumpian nonsense. Then I hear something jarring, something that really gets my heart going. Trump says, the ACA was a “giant lie.” He says, when President Obama made certain promises they were lies, that President Obama knew he was lying to America. I’m listening to Donald J. Trump, a con-man who lies easy as breathing, often stupid lies, lies that can be found out by a simple Google search, and he has the nerve to call President Obama a liar… I’m so livid I want to put my fist through the tv.

President Obama governed for eight years without a scandal. I had no need of MSNBC, not during the Obama Administration. He never did anything outrageous, he definitely never did anything stupid. He was bad business for the late-night comics, he gave them nothing to work with, absolutely no material. He was the first President I ever truly respected, truly admired. President Obama governed with a steady hand, he was thoughtful and deliberate… He was not a liar. Maybe because Trump has never spent an honest day in his entire life, he doesn’t understand the difference between lying and beings wrong.

The ACA is a large, complex piece of legislation, something nobody ever successfully enacted. President Obama signed the bill with the best intentions, he told the American people how he thought the bill was going to work. He made promises he thought he could keep. I’m sure there were promises he refused to make because he was certain he couldn’t keep them. He’d never knowingly mislead the American people, his sense of morality wouldn’t allow it. Another concept Trump couldn’t possibly understand. At any rate, the ACA didn’t work exactly as planned, President Obama couldn’t keep every promise. He was wrong on some key points. What Trump didn’t mention in his nonsense speech was that President Obama owned his mistakes. He acknowledged the ACA’s flaws and took full responsibility for them. Above all, he wanted to fix the ACA, but the Republican majority felt that it was better to waste six years trying to kill it. Trump didn’t mention that either.

President Obama never lied about the ACA, he simply ended up being wrong where he meant to be right.

Trump’s default position is LIE, a moral failing he likes to project onto others.

Today sucked, tomorrow will suck,  and it’s my Goddamn fucking fault. I’m just stupid.