Braces

One should always do exactly what God has designed one to do in Life for to do anything else is meaningless. The other things may be meaningful for others and may be a help to them, but in the long term, this is not good. Many people with good intentions have done much good throughout History, but good intentions are not synonymous with a good Life, nor to a Life as successful as one could and should have if one does what God has designed one to do.

Groucho Marx wanted to be a doctor. I'm glad he didn't.

When one does exactly what they're supposed to do in Life, one should not be surprised if there is a backlash from many close friends and family. If one stays close to God, then only that one truly knows what they should do in Life. For who knows the spirit of a man except God?

One can know a lot about somebody else's spirit, and can often have a pretty good idea of their Life's calling, but to pretend like you're the Holy Spirit is not a good idea. To tell somebody else what they should do in Life is wrong, unless the circumstances call for it, and those circumstances are very very rare, yet they occur. If this does occur, then your spirit will leap in unison with the words the other has confirmed to you. If this doesn't happen, and you are very close to God, though it does not appear that way to others, you should take what you hear with a grain a salt and measure their words very carefully to avoid a life of uselessness.

Many times people say things that appear helpful and seem right at the time, but down the road in Life, it eventually becomes obvious there was a bad decision made. Bad decisions lead to more bad decisions and lead to wrong choices and lead to chaos and leads to madness and leads to even more uselessness and meaninglessness and that leads to an early grave.

Which is not good.

So, what does one do if they find themselves in a situation they should not be in? One must ask God to put them on the right track. And if the right track, for a time, is very painful, one should not be surprised. Braces sometimes hurt, but lead to good results.

Orthodontists say this all the time.

Advice

Dear Old Man who just nearly ran over me whilst getting my mail,

I don't know you're name but you should really watch where you're driving that boat of yours.

And just for the record, just because you have silver in your hair, gold in your teeth, stones in your kidneys, lead in your feet, and are full of natural gas. . .does not mean you are as valuable as you think you are.

Sincerely,

Me

Four Eights

Volvos are good cars.

Not morally so. They're really amoral, not to be confused with immoral.

Anyways.

The thing is-are Volvos good because they're mechanically well-designed or because the typical Volvo driver is by nature an ideal driver? Volvo drivers tend to have a lot of sense, drive with common sense, and have lots of cents in their bank accounts, and truthfully, they probably have good scents too. Make sense?

When one loses touch with reality, one loses the ability to be effective in reality. Somebody out-of-touch with reality must live in a pseudo-reality-complete with their self-constructed worldview. A worldview that is complete with predictive powers, self-fulfilling prophecies, facts that support their paradigms. . .everything. And when something does not go according to plan, they even have a rational explanation to explain this apparent discrepancy.

After time, when apparently nothing goes according to plan, self-doubt settles in and they get depressed and cynical. Later, nothing really makes sense anymore and meaninglessness takes over.

I think this is the current state of China, more specifically the communist government. I'm amused to see the Olympics taking place in a totalitarian society. . .one that preaches openness.

Communism's days are numbered here, I hope.

Perry Ellis

A little while ago I spent about $60 to buy 16 gallons of gas and thought it was a good deal considering it only cost $3.71/gallon. . .but I still refuse to buy a Prius.

Also a little while ago, I did something quite remarkable for me. I went to an actual mall (I tend to avoid such places since I prefer outdoor woodsy areas and libraries.) I had no choice really as I needed a new watch battery and needed the services of this old fellow who cobbles shoes and fixes watches. Or is it-fixes shoes and is called a cobbler just because cobbler is a cool name to call oneself???

Later, I bought some clothes as most of mine look like something from the George Bush the First era. As I walked around the store, I noticed the men's clothing could be grouped into 4 main motifs.

1-the never-changing style of the old-man-golfer group. For reasons I do not fathom, this style doesn't seem to ever change. The color of the little horse guy on the tees might change, but really, how many colors do you expect Docker's pants to be? The old fellers know they're not going to be around much longer-so they might as well get what's comfortable.

2-the athletic section. Always always always dominated by Nike and Adidas.

3-the boys section (I didn't really notice what was going on here, except that it exists)

and

4-the what's currently popular style section. I don't really like what's in now. It looks like a rebellious, post-apocalyptic, vaguely militaristic motif that's popular now with the trend setters. Although something about the vague militaristic part appeals to me in a non-communist sort of way. I've always tended to dress this way at work. . .khakis and dark shirts. . .because experience has taught me that people always respect the lab tech more when dressed in combat-like wear. . .especially if they're holding a bottle of HCl or NaOH, are at the end of a 15 hour shift, and have a blood-caffeine index that is illegal in the Olympic games.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn died. I feel I should be somewhat morose as he is one of my favorite writers. And if you've never read the Gulag Archipelago- you should.

Glitterati

The Tree of Knowledge has sprouted and is flourishing quite well now.

Knowledge, facts, and information without the proper parallel of growth in morality leads to Chaos. Chaos is a trendy city where all one's desires can be fulfilled. A place where the void in one's soul can be saturated with things. Things that make you feel good, and medicated, and ease the mind. For when one's mind is ill at ease, what better to medicate it with than pleasure?

But soon the mind craves more sugar and sweets, and honey after awhile loses it's effect. So more things arrive in tan new packages, and are applied differently, and these dull the senses to bearable levels. But alas! Reality rears it's ugly head (once again) so, what does one do now?

Change Reality.

Or pay people to change reality for us. At least until the sun sets and night arrives with it's comforting shadows that veil those mean nasty Principles.

Ahh. . .the Night. Everybody loves the Knight and the masks. For who can stand the sight of old rotting bodies. Nobody really. But with knowledge comes botox to make us smile again. Of course, now we cannot stop smiling as our faces are set in permanent grins.

Are they grins though? Or are they leers?

Haunting leers of cadaverous jokers wandering the dark streets of plenty in the metropolis of Chaos. . .but happy because they've never met Joy. Is not happiness Joy?

Perhaps we should ask Wiki and the Televiserati. They know. They know everything.

Sign of the Times

Something I saw the other day.

Heircuts: $12

I promised to keep it in mind next time somebody asks me a good place to get the little prince circumcised.

Wonton Mechanics

This is the science of eating Chinese food and popcorn with chopsticks. . .in case you're interested.

I have not blogged in a week because I'm working nearly 70 hours/week and am working on a book project involving obsequious bourgeois proletarians, fast-food, tv, human evolution, and unidentified soaring objects. I can assure you I am eating healthy, getting plenty of rest, and spending more money at Exxon than is right.

to be continued. . .

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

There are good things in Life. There are bad things in Life. But rest assured,

Life Is For Everyone.

The Atkin's Diet: A bad thing in life. This is the diet where one eats meat, meat-like substances (Spam), cheese, pork rinds, grease, lard, and bacon.

All bad things.

After a few months your large intestines resemble an off-shore oil derrick and turns into a greasy slip-N-slide, which explains why you're always running to the porcelain goddess to make obeisance, thus committing idolatry-the most heinous of sins.

I tell people the Atkin's Diet is unhealthy, but for some reason they don't listen to me.

Does this make me a mean person? What can I say?

I step on kittens, turn right on red without signalling, drive an SUV, and voted for Bush in the last 2 elections.

A good thing in Life is hugging, though this seems to be somewhat a problem for men.

Some guys just can't do it-like two grizzly bears-they mosey on close to one another, snuffle around a bit. . .usually there's some coughing involved. . .then the creatures make contact for exactly 2 seconds (I timed them) and break.

Now. Observe.

When men hug, they imperceptibly tap one another on the back 3 times.

For all you female readers out there, this is man-speak. Translated-this means-this tapping.

Count em' 1. . .2. . .3. . .means. . .

I'm. Not. Gay.

Break.

Low Gas

Sometimes not passing gas is bad.

Today, the technician refilled the heat pump with freon, and that is cool with me.


When it is 3 AM, and you've drunk more coffee that is good for you, and have a mysterious compulsion to read St. Augustine's City of God, or the Book of Enoch, or Flavius Josephus' Antiquities of the Jews.

Click here.

The Food of the Gods

(Note: not my actual backyard)

At 8 AM, the squirrels wake up and crawl along the tree limbs. Slowly, they make their way down the big Oak in my backyard-looking for cats, dogs, foxes, lawnmowers, and other dark creatures. . .and walnuts.

At 815 AM, they arrive at the base of the tree, face down, and slightly woozy. They look to the right, the left, the right again, left once more, and then after looking to the right yet again, carefully make their way into the grass in their daily pilgrimage for food.

The squirrels always keep an eye out for the mysterious two-legged god of the white building, who (rumor has it) is responsible for the strange salty hard objects on the concrete altar beside the black nylon throne.

The squirrels have no name for the salty objects. The great white god produces it from a metal can with a tuxedo-wearing peanut-a great mystery-but it tastes better than anything else.

If it only didn't make them so thirsty.

Unidentified AMC Pacers

When I was a very young small child roaming the hills and dales of West Virginia collecting grasshoppers, Japanese beetles, and honeybees-because I thought, eventually, if I caught enough I could eat honey, my parents had a friend who drove an AMC Pacer.

The machine transfixed me. It looked like a bio-dome experiment gone wrong. I kinda figured it was designed by some Dr. Franklyinsenseless auto engineer who got abducted by extra-terrestrials and was assembled by his trusty servant who moonlighted at the local cathedral ringing bells.

In my mind, the Pacer was a bona fide UFO on wheels, and naturally I asked the lady if I could sit in her car and watch Alpha Centauri for aliens. Soon after, my parents beat me and it was not until years later I found out what made Karen (not her real name) cry.

I don't know what ever happened to the Pacer, but where ever you are, may you rust in peace.

(picture courtesy of Money.CNN.com)

Shark Chow

I ate a shark for lunch today.

Not the entire shark, mind you, just the fins and some mushrooms in a soupy chicken broth-like mixture. It went well with the kim chee.

And what is kim chee, you ask?

Kim chee is the spiciest food in existence consisting of cabbage, seaweed (or something green and stringy. . .I hope it was seaweed), and the hottest spice on the planet.

Then I washed it down with Asian Red Bull. Asian Red Bull is like American Red Bull without the carbonation. It taste like Robotussin and is great for clearing sinuses.

Visitors to Virginia Beach this week should note that Virginia Beach is not really burning to the ground. The Great Dismal Swamp (down the road) is the place that is burning down. You wouldn't think a swamp could catch on fire and smoke like Vesuvius, but it is.

With all the tourist traffic, I tell myself I'm really in L.A.

Directions

Sage advice was given to me today by a co-worker.

He said, "when driving to Baltimore, always get directions from a man with no legs, because a man with no legs knows the quickest way to get there and back."

I have weird co-workers.

Speed and Mules

While trying to sleep the other night I started thinking about size of God, and people, and different species of animals-more specifically-mules.

Mules?

Yes-mules.

(When one lives 1/2 a mile from an Air Force base and listens to the rumble of F-16s every waking hour, this is to be expected)

If one takes a pencil and moves it back and forth quickly enough, between two fingers, the one pencil more-or-less touches both fingers simultaneously, but not quite. If you do it fast enough, then eventually the pencil will be both places at once. It will take up all the space between the two fingers.

Try it.

You'll find that you've a rather large pencil, see. Now we know that according to the Theory of Special Relativity, and the Einstein equation, as one approaches the speed of light (186,000 miles per sec), time slows down and your mass increases.

Unfortunately, people are not able to move their bodies that fast as this requires enormous amounts of energy. But if one converts one's body into energy, say photons, then this would be easier.

When a person dies, their body is really the only thing that dies. The soul (mind, will, emotions, intellect) and the spirit (the innermost self) does not die. It gets released into the pure energetic form, I'm explaining this badly-I know, that it has spent years being molded into. Now the soul and the spirit must be composed of particles that have the intrinsic property of being capable of moving faster than the speed of light. So, for all practical purposes, (this might be hard to visualize yet it must be true. . .or be close to the truth. . .it does not exist in time as we know it, nor does it occupy space as we know it. It must be capable of moving through walls and physical object composed of atoms without difficulty much as our bodies can move through clouds.

Everything here on Earth and in the universe must be ephemeral to our new improved Real bodies.

I notice sometimes while I'm trying to fall asleep to the sound of jet engines that my soul and spirit seem very very large. . .like they are really surrounding me and my physical body is at the center. Ever notice when some people enter the room, you feel their presence before seeing them with your eyes? I find this occurring more and more as I age.

When a person becomes a Christian, I think their spirit. . .which is like that little blue pilot light inside the stove. . .gets blown on by the breath of God and increases in size. And then the Holy Spirit keeps blowing on it like oxygen, which explains why some people seem enormous. This size difference is so profound that Christians and non-Christians are really two distinct species of human. It is true they can mate on the biological level, but at the other two levels there is no comparison.

This where the mules enter the picture.

Horses and donkeys are two different species but are capable of interbreeding. When they do, the offspring are mules. . .and mules are sterile. . .incapable of reproducing after themselves.

Cars-For Sale

My parents have a car restoration business that, originally was a hobby, but now seems to be a more or less second job. Most of these machines are Chevelles from 1967-1972.

Yes. . .Things are coming to a point

The end of this age is rapidly ending and all things are coming to a point. Instead of the Romans uniting the known world, this time it is Steve Jobs and Bill Gates in their respective coastal towns. This was the plan from the beginning and was written down by scribes and foretold by far-seeing men ages ago. . .and these types of men are still with us.

Chaos Theory

Why has it has been said a man who does his work with excellence and something like perfection will perform before princes and kings, not obscure people. Because the royalty know the difference between 2nd rate shoddy work and masterpieces. That's one reason why they're in the position they're in. God put them there for a reason. Order is better than Chaos and a bad government is better than none at all. Even a communist government has some useful functions like keeping the grass cut and forestalling the invasion of wild animals until good people arrive.

When there is no government, chaos reigns, and since people are inherently bent towards evil, (I should say bent creatures), riots and lootings should be expected. This is always the case in times of natural disaster given enough time. A watched pot never boils if kept under constant supervision by the proper authorities. This is not to say I advocate a police state, far from it. But a police state, or a society under martial law, does have its usefulness. . .for a time.

The question is. . .what does God want one to do in Life, what does He expect of me? Or rather, what has He designed me to do? When He designs somebody for some task or deed, He gives them the ability to do it. He expects them to succeed in their endeavor. The person will probably enjoy doing his job and find a sense of accomplishment from doing it, no matter how difficult, or boring, or bizaar others may see it. When a person is a Christian, over time, providing he is maturing properly, this calling will become clearer. What is often very confusing is determining whether one's calling in Life is what it actually is, or, oftentimes, the perks of another's calling.

For example, suppose man A enjoys traveling all about the country, sleeping in a different hotel each night, meeting new people everyday, seeing new landscapes. Man A is very introverted, but his calling requires him to speak in front of crowds. He hates the speeches, but loves the new and varies sights. Is he doing the will of God?

Man B is a general fix-it man for a small company. He doesn't make much money, but loves his job. He could work from sun-up to sun-down and be as happy as a lark. Is he doing the will of God?

Man C believes his lot in Life is walking all over the continent carrying a cross on wheels. To him, this is better than sliced bread and cannot understand why everyone else doesn't see it his way. Obviously this man is highly extroverted. This, btw, is a common theme in Life. The more out-going one is, the less time available for work requiring much alone time. Deep thinking requires time, usually by oneself. Extroverts get antsy when alone for long periods of time and fight to see people as often as possible. . .and they're correct to do so. Put an introvert in North Dakota and given enough time he'll probably end up crazy-it's his nature. You cannot put a trained sheep dog in the wilderness and expect it to herd sheep after a time. Nor can you put a mountain lion in a cage and keep it in the backyard and expect it to live very long. It is just too much stress.

Introverts and extroverts really do not think and act alike.

The Lewd Rude Crude Dude Society

In Virginia, we've a state law stating all vehicles must pass an inspection at a state registered facility in order to legally drive. All the inspection stations know this. Furthermore, they all know that if anybody wants to make a few extra dollars, it is almost inevitable somebody will walk through their doors, whom they have never seen before, who has money in their pocket, and must get this little inspection sticker for a mere 16 bucks. And even more furthermore, even though the car, or truck, or motorcycle, or 2003 silver Mazda B3000 with 57,000 miles has nothing wrong with it, it could potentially have some things wrong with it that do not necessarily need replaced, but because they have the power invested with-in them to put a 'failed' inspection sticker on one's windshield, one that attracts police officers from Richmond to the North Carolina state line, and makes one appear to be a cast-off vagabond derelict of society hanging onto the last dregs of society like a beggar from a Dicken's novel, all because one may be two weeks late after the yearly deadline (and really has no choice in the matter), they quite often make up a checklist of necessary items to be fixed-or-replaced and hand it to you along with an invoice should you in fact decide to fix or replace all the not quite necessarily need to be fixed or replaced entities on the said list. And furthermore on top of that, if one proceeds to debate the necessity of the entities on the list using what certainly appears to be an objective mind, they oftentimes get confused and flustered and adjust the numbers to account for labor. . .and pain.

Red Bull Feeders

You know. . .replacing that sugar solution in the hummingbird feeder with Red Bull was probably not a good idea.

What a gas!

I spent $46.24 at a vending machine today. . .buying something to drink that's not even edible. I didn't think much of it, which is strange, considering last year I could have purchased twice as much for the same amount of money.

Advice

Sometimes, when eating large quantities of sausage, fried eggs, greasy bread, and coffee. . .whilst simultaneously eating large quantities of acetaminophen, aspirin, and ibuprofen because one must eat even if suffering from a migraine. . .it pays to move very slowly so as to give everything ample opportunity to dissolve into their constituent parts and exit the stomach into the intestines. Lest the stomach become confused and angry and tries to force it's occupants up the esophagus. . .which is most certainly not the opening you want these substances to exit. Because if this happens, your day will be ruined, even if you have lots of mouthwash. A car accident is not the only way to get whiplash you know.

The trick is knowing your body well enough to not allow alternative whiplash. One of the hints is when copious amounts of saliva and other acidic substances appear in the mouth. Just take everything nice, and slow, and eaaaaasssyyy. . .make no sudden jerks. . .and most definitely do not lay flat on your back since everybody knows fluids always rise to the lowest levels.

The Wiggle has spoken.

Return of the Blogger

Today's Weather in Virginia Beach, America: HI 100°F

The new house: The previous occupants here tamed the squirrels to eat out of your hand. They did this using peanuts. Now, when one sits in the backyard reading the newspaper, three or four little gray squirrels scamper around looking at you with little brown eyes wondering when you're going to break out the Planters. I gave them some dry-honey roasted soy beans, but apparently they're not proper nuts.

There's also an Asian market nearby. An amazing place where one can buy dry salted cuttlefish, seaweed burritos the size of a stove top, rotisserie ducks hanging upside down in what looks to be a refurbished industrial-sized popcorn popper (with the beaks still attached), and lots of fish and rice. It's also a good place to buy China.

The mailbox is also home to a large brown bird, which makes sense, since it resembles a white barn. You have to be very careful when getting the mail. . .like tapping on the roof first so as to not startle the bird. . .lest the creature fly at you. Something tells me it will be moving soon.

A Moving Picture Show

While shaving under the influence of coffee and humming a song concerning rhombuses at precisely 6 AM, I received a revelation about God concerning calculus, the 4th dimension, and boluses (circles.)

No, I wasn't smoking anything.

It's amazing what the mind thinks of on precious little sleep.

The reason you ask?

I'm moving again. Tomorrow really. At least I hope so. It's not actually official yet, but I've a verbal commitment. Which is good. . .considering the lease is up in 3 and 1/2 hours. . .officially.

Did I mention how incredibly tired I am right now? Not even sure why or what exactly I'm typing here. Someday I'll read what I wrote and wonder why. Anyways, boluses.

Or circles. A circle rotating around it's axis as observed 4-dimensionally is really a globe. If it's rotating fast enough, it is for all practical purposes, a globe in 3-dimensions. But when you look at it, it still looks like a circle. . .and this is because the human eye can only see one plane of an object at one instant of time. The universe is a very much more interesting place when observed from, say, a 10-dimensional viewpoint. Something that just popped into my mind. . .humans are ephemeral creatures that literally are just blurbs on the screen of ultimate reality. Does Jason really think this? Yes and no. The part of humans that is composed of matter says yes, but the part of Jason that is composed of non-material matter says no. A materialists should be concerned, however. For a materialist, if they actually do believe in materialism, and I really don't think that's possible-for there are some things a person simply cannot not know-their existence must constantly be in a state of flux. If their hand gets chopped off, are they the same person? A materialist, if one carries their argument to it's logical conclusion, must say no. In fact, a materialist must always be a different person from the one they were a second ago, since atoms are constantly coming and going to their body. But the thing is-they will tell you you are confused if you tell them this-or accuse you of playing on words.

Let's see here. Click on 'publish post' Jason while you're still awake.

Visitors

Some geese decided to visit our workplace today. At one point, there must have been 50

of these little guys pecking through our front yard. It didn't hurt that some of the guys were luring them closer with cereal. And if that wasn't enough, two cardinals stopped by later, hopped their way inside, and watched us work for a few minutes.

Nun-Dating

Attila the Nun, was a swell l'il hon'
Of whom, I asked out on a date.

With her hair in a bun, and a dress of homespun,
we left at a quarter of eight.

I ordered a pasta, made with ricotta,
to go with the steak well-done.

She said, "I'm glad to meet ya,
but, you see, I work for PETA,
and sirloin isn't my idea of fun."

It went downhill from there,
let the reader be aware,
as I became her persona non grata.

Which is why you should never ever,
even if she's clever,
go out with Attila the Nun.

Pi

My favorite number and, no, I'm not being irrational.

Billy was a chemist,
now he is no more.

Cause when he drank some H20
was really H2SO4.

Information.

The soul is an amazing part of man. It never forgets. Never. It's intrinsically impossible.

It's been said when a person dies, all their memories come flooding forth.

So, what really happens?

I think all these stored memories are being faxed to another, more concrete, existence. Into a higher dimensional world. I don't know how everything is stored. Perhaps the brain stockpiles this informatin in the form of matter and as it exits the body at death, this flooding forth of memories is the observance of mass changing into energy.

E=mC2

Or rather,

(Kinetic Energy-Potential Energy) is interconvertible with matter (multiplied by the square of the speed of light.)

Since at subluminal velocities, light speed is negligible, all we observe is matter. . .the touchable stuff.

The memories are stored by a certain arrangement of atoms-you're stockpiling potential (non-moving) energy and at death it is released as kinetic (moving) energy into another, more real, world and reassembling it into a more real person.

Sort of like DNA works.

After all, don't all natural laws foreshadow all spritual laws?

New Book Alert

Puddleglum's W...

A blog

By Jason Michael Par...

Book Preview

If one looks to the right, a green square should be readily visible. It's from a cool web site that enables one to convert a blog into a book.

I encourage everybody to buy a copy. . .or copies. . .in bulk, so that I can afford my new castle in Morocco overlooking the Gibralter.

short novel excerpt

This is an excerpt I sent to helium writer's

I should note I'm not going to use the word 'humanzee' in the final draft. It's one of those 'filler' words one uses until something better turns up.

Suggestions appreciated.


At 4 AM, Michael swallowed his second caffeine tablet, a yellow one, timed for release in three hours. Then, he settled down for a nap. The caffeine, he knew, would wake him up at precisely 7 AM-when the humanzees left the pit. Outside, the snufflings and scratching sounds continued. The humanzees kept busy at their digging. Digging for what, he did not know. He felt assured the creatures could not penetrate his concrete bunker with their primitive tools.

There was no moon. The humanzees grunted as they dug. After a time, a pattern to their digging and earth removal became apparent. Though without speech, the humanzees had an order. Like a hive of ants, they moved and worked as one organism. What would they do if they struck concrete?

The creatures left during the heat of day and returned to their caves overlooking the opposite side of the road. Silence. A fair-sized wind blew sand over their tracks concealing most of their tracks. Michael felt certain the humanzees slept during the day, but didn't know if they kept a watch from their caves. He descended the spiral staircase and crawled through the nearest escape hatch. He emerged a hundred yards from the edge of the clearing, hesitated, then walked to their pit.

The sand was deep, but compact enough to walk with little effort. He removed his sand goggles and saw their picks and shovels lying about. Apparently, they weren't too concerned about thieves. The diggings appeared to be done half-hazardly. Piles of rock surrounded holes in the ground, but the holes, some as large as a car, formed no discernible pattern. In what was more or less the center of the area, a large wooden crate rested with two poles on either side. He peered inside. Bits and pieces of an old farmhouse filled the bottom half of the bin. He recognized broken cups, bits of old newsprint-one of the dates read 7 July 1987-a part-eroded picture of an old man and woman standing by a tractor, a Mason jar full of seeds, and a some tin cans.

The desert had once been a prairie dotted here and there with farms, but that did not explain why they were obsessed with unearthing and collecting these trinkets. He trekked back to the escape hatch an hour later, giving ample time for the wind to cover his tracks.

At dusk, they returned. Michael kept his vigil from the aperture. Slowly, methodically, like mice creeping from their holes they resumed their drudgery. Most were employed digging. Some carted of the soil to mounds, and some spent the entire time on hands and knees brushing dirt from some farm artifact. When something was partly unearthed, the brusher tugged until it pried loose-then off to the bin it went. The creatures spent little time looking at what they retrieved.

For seven days, Michael watched and for seven afternoons he peered into their cart hoping to discover anything of interest. He was disappointed at seeing much of the same implements day after wearying day.

On day eight, as he was about to leave, he saw a line of dust on the horizon in the direction of Macrobia. As the dust swirl neared, he saw two heavily-plated motorcycles. Half a mile away, they slowed considerably, and when they came to the point where the humanzee's path crossed the road leading to their caves, they stopped their engines and walked the bikes to the cart. The riders wore no insignia, nor could Michael see if they did as they were coated with a thin film of sand and grit. The bikes were white, most likely, and then he saw an insignia-the official emblem of Macrobia on its side. They were Sweep Patrollers.


One rider reached into the bin, pulled out one of the tins and something else, and returned quickly to the bikes. They left. They were hardly out of site when Michael ran to the bin and peered in. Strangely enough, the only thing missing was the jar of seeds.

"Why does the Prime Minister want seeds?" he thought. Macrobia has all the food it needs for a self-sustaining city-state. He knew from his days in Z-Tec Genomics, Macrobia kept a seed bank in case of another nuclear catastrophe. So, why the interest in 150-year-old seeds? He felt he knew the answer-that it should be obvious, but nothing came to mind.

The answer came in a dream. The Hives were inoculation centers to prevent the spread of the newest wave of virus. The Prime Minister wanted the seeds, not because of the lack of seeds, but because the seeds for the Macrobian food supply were so genetically-altered for maximum growth, they were susceptible to many diseases. He made an intuitive leap and knew a deadly new virus was apparently spreading in the city. Like the Bubonic Plague of ancient history, this new virus had no known cure. The buried seeds would not be genetically-altered, what biologists called the wild-type, and hence were more viable. Michael turned toward the underground bunker. He had never been here this late in the afternoon and felt certain the humanzees were still asleep.

He was wrong.

At the edge of the clearing stood a five-foot-tall young male humanzee. The two eyed one another for perhaps ten seconds. The humanzee cocked his head sideways and approached. Michael sidled his way from the center bin towards the bunker. The creature followed him. No other creatures were in sight and this one seemed unarmed-but was it friendly?

His mind told him no. Although no logical reason suggested otherwise, he thought any creature that ugly must be evil. The Sweep Patrollers seemed apprehensive too. He didn't wait to find out.

Keeping one eye on the humanzee, he carefully made his way back to the hatch. The creature followed, but kept the same distance. Halfway there, it dawned on him he couldn't outrun a humanzee and for certain could not overpower one in a fight. Closer and closer-the door seemed an eternity away. Sweat soaked his brow as he fought the urge to bolt and run. "Just pull the lever hidden in the wall and close the door-so simple, he thought." Moments later, he pulled the lever, the door opened, and he sat inside panting. Half a minute later the rapping began.

Tap. . .tap. . .tap. . .tap.'

The humanzees understood doors.

Moanbak S’mores

A visitor to West Virginia will be surprised to learn that moanbak s’mores are not edible, unlike, say squirrels.

Moanbak s’mores are what we say when giving directions to Bob the beer truck driver.

It’s like a chant.

Moanbak. . .moanbak. . .moanbak. . .s’more
Moanbak. . .moanbak. . .moanbak. . .s’more
Moanbak. . .moanbak. . .moanbak. . .s’more

Then, we spit.

Confused?

Don’t be.

Squirrels, btw, do not taste like chicken. Opossums on the other hand. . .

And now. . .some wisdom:

When working in a chemistry lab, if one has two machines that measure the same parameter, one would expect them to yield similar results on the same sample. Right? Nope, doesn’t happen. Entropy, the 2nd Law of Thermodynamics, and gremlins will see this does not occur. However, (and this is where the wisdom comes in,) if one’s results are wrong, but consistent, one can insert a correction factor to account for the not-working-like-it-should-machine.

Linques and Tornadoes

When I moved to Virginia 3+ years ago, I worked in Suffolk and drove on this road everyday.



Yesterday, a tornado came through and destroyed 140 houses. . .which makes me glad I don't work in Suffolk anymore.

Because I am very tired now and don't feel like writing, I've done what all bloggers do. . .post links.

This site belongs to my sister. She designs cakes, so if Bill Gates or you fellows at the NSA (I know you're watching me) want a cake made, then by all means click here.

Christian Ethereal Classics This web site has many many many good books-online-written by people who have been dead for a very long time and should be read by more people. . .especially G.K. Chesterton.

First Things This is another excellent web site for thinkers and ponderers. Many must reads aqui.

Man

Man is a unique creature that spends his entire life being caught in a tug-of-war between morphing into an animal or changing into something super-natural.

(I am using the word 'man' here in the generic sense. If this offends anyone, I am not sorry. You should stop reading here and go watch MTV or old Michael Jackson videos on YouTube.)

Most people are turning into Mr. Hyde, a card-carrying member of the dark side of the universe. The rest are turning into something like the elves of Middle-Earth. . .without the pointy ears.

Nobody is caught in neutral for very long. I must imagine what it would have been like to observe Eve the moment she bit into the apple. I wonder if the serpent got happy. . .do serpents even smile? They don't seem to have much of an expression, unlike dogs and cats.

Something I find interesting in Genesis is how Adam takes it for granted that serpents can talk. . .or at least communicate. Personally, if my wife came home and told me she spent the afternoon conversing with a serpent, I would treat her with a great deal of respect, pat her on the head, and keep her out of the public eye lest she start striking up conversations with, oh, say squirrels.

Man was probably meant to train the animals into acquiring speech. . .or some other form of communication. . .so that the two species could converse and perhaps exchange ideas. . .or sensations.

Animals left on their own tend to become barbaric and go extinct. Man is no exception. Men, left to their natural desires, naturally begin to revert to mere animals. So, it should not be surprising when we see mobs roaming the streets and looting stores after floods and earthquakes, engaging in non-marital sex, eating as much as possible, or a thousand other things. It's only natural. To expect somebody that has given himself over to the Hyde nature to understand and comprehend the super-natural is akin to expecting one's German Shepherd to understand driving.

This is one reason why Rome fell into barbarism and why manners are important.

In a society populated by a majority of supernatural-evolving people, most laws are understood implicitly. People don't look for loopholes, nor should they, as the Natural Law need not be explained. It is part of their nature not to torture babies and marry the same gender-if this is even possible.

An increasingly litigious society is a flashing warning sign of a crumbling society.

I should mention when I say 'supernaturally-evolving,' I do not mean most attribute any unexplained phenomena to gods, demons, spirits, or fate. What I mean is a people going through Life doing what their intuition tells their mind to do with their bodies inevitably following after. Since their intuition is on the same wavelength with the God who created everything from Logic to Creativity.

Evil people are dull. Have you noticed?

The offal stink of the 2-headed beast from Hillobama

. . .did not cease as of the 15th, when I mailed my gal Iris a letter that made me weep. Every April, she'd give me a gift delivered by snails, but not this time around. For as I drove to the office, A. Picket Sine met me proclaiming 'Free Stamps.' Mr. Stamps must have not paid his dues and now sits in a cold, dark, dank, dungeon cursing Gates. Allen wrenches his heart of steel and. . .I should really limit my caffeine intake.

I have been thinking about the Ideal Gas Law and prophecy.

When one has a few million atoms at their disposal, one can generally predict their behavior at standard temperature and pressure. Especially, if they are low atomic weight atoms like Hydrogen. Individual atoms seem to have a life of their own, something like free-will, and somehow seem to know the existence of every other Hydrogen atom which is a little freaky if one thinks about it. Nevertheless, the single and double-slit experiments done in physics labs all over this planet confirm this as a fact of nature.

Populations of humans seem to act as Hydrogen gas en masse as well. So, it makes sense that when the population of a group of people is large enough, one can predict what they will do given the right circumstances. . .even though the individuals have free-will.

The analogy is not perfect, but I think that their is a correlation between all the natural laws of chemistry and physics and all the supernatural laws of nature.

It's true that one cannot really measure a supernatural event as they're not exactly able to be empirically tested over and over again as scientists would love to do.

Even Ester-C on 04-22-2008 at 8

I do is the shortest phrase in the English language . . .
Someone once said 'I will' is the longest sentence.

I wonder what they were talking about?


Once upon a time on the 5th day of the 5th month of the 5th year of the century, there lived a man called Joey Cee. His nickname was Joe, after his favorite drink, iced mocha cappuccino.

Made by the fellows at Nestle.

Joey Cee, which wasn't his real name, preferred to call himself another sea-faring name, Nemo...latin for 'No Man.' Joey Cee was in a bit of a pickle, and like Puff who lived by the sea, was hungry due to a strange new illness, called by some Nemo's Revenge, and by others, the 7 year itch.

A most strange malady.

Now in his castle, a dark grim fortress, down next by the sea. Joey had a very old parchment purchased from the local merchants who sold their goods and wares at market every 5th day, using letters corresponding to numbers, as counting wasn't their specialty.

In this case the letter 'E.'

Later, they decided to simply call the market 'E' and in due time it became popular among the traders to call the entire sea coast town, by the bay, 'E.' Although some maps still refer to it as E Bay.

Coincidentally.

On the 5th line of the parchment, Joey Cee found a cure for Nemo's Revenge. But the cure called for a magical herb, a mystical plant unknown to any of his friends. After consulting the village elders, he decided to undertake a long journey to the Land of Nod. Day and night he traveled, toiling through swamps, raging rivers, torrid deserts, and high mountains. At long last, he arrived in the Land of Nod. And there, in a cave, atop a lonely mountain peak, stood a princess gazing into a large black cauldron. Joey Cee cleared his throat. He'd heard about this wily princess and was on his guard, all defenses up.

He asked "Can you help me?"

The princess looked up from her boiling cauldron, wiped the sweat off her brow, and said ever so subtly.

"I know what you are looking for. The plant...it's called Four Star Bane. I keep a store in my satchel, just picked some this morning, see?"

"Why...why...thank you!...But I have one more question, you creature of mystery."

She nodded and said "one more."

"What is your name, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

"My name?"

"Yes...your name?"

"Well......my friends call me crazy, but you can call me Esther, see?"

On dating

And now here's something you'll really like. . .

Storge(affection)...two syllables and the ‘g' is hard.

The warm fuzzy feeling you get when hugging someone with a wool sweater, your feelings for a koala, pet dogs, or favorite pair of slippers. The object of your affection is simply familiar with you. That's the only requirement. It can be ugly, or old, new, refined, obtuse, cranky, warm, or slightly schizophrenic, as long as it's familiar.

Agape(what some call motherly love, selfless love, the God kind of love, loving someone unconditionally, for who they are, not for what they've done or can do or should do, just because)...and the accent is on the 1st ‘a,' not the second.

This is unqualified, unconditional, keeps no record of wrong, and is the strongest of the four types. It keeps people married when they want to do bodily harm after arguing over the thermostat. A good picture is the story of the prodigal son; the father (God) ran out to meet his runaway son (us) and killed the fattened calf.

Or what else? Say a child has no arms and legs, is blind and deaf, has leprosy, and just got word that they missed the school bus. I daresay he would have few friends in this world...that's just how people are...unfortunately. However, his mother would still have a keen awareness of his deepest needs, wants, and desires and would provide for him.

Philia (friendship) Brotherly love, where Philadelphia gets its name.

Let’s see...some examples. The local women's group that meets monthly to talk about quilting, Elks clubs or whatever the club is that attracts those old men together that drive those mini-race cars at 4th of July parades...you know, the guys with the earrings and fezzes with Osiris embroidered on the front-those guys, 3 old men reminiscing about WWII over drinks in a dingy pub, a girl's slumber party, it's me and the guys playing war, camping out, and shooting horses with pellet guns because were not smart enough to know any better (we were very young), it's a young couple exploring a museum together, pen pals. Two or more people doing something they both enjoy, and the more people doing it, the better, like going to a football game, the better...up to a point. In friendship, we don't (normally) place much importance on who the other person(s) is/are. It's the doing of the thing that matters. So long as they're doing the thing they enjoy, together...the love called Philia lives. We acquire new and lose...or rather change...our friendships over the course of our lives. Most of the time, friends are of the same gender, sometimes they're not. If not, then Philia will have an excellent opportunity to experience the 4th really close encounter type. . .the one that everyone croons about. That's right boys and girls...we're talking about Eros. The love where people not only enjoy what it is that brought them together, they look at one another. Philia almost never does. It's awkward. And in affection, the object may not even know of your existence.

Eros (erotic love) the wholly inclusive intense physical attraction between a man and woman of which sex is merely a part...not to be confused with lust.

Eros wants the beloved, Eros makes a man really want, not A woman, but one particular woman. Lust wants it, Eros wants her... in complete totality. Lust is a perverted form of Eros, much as an orc is a perverted form of an elf, or a demon the perverted angel. Actually, all evil is good perverted. That's why God has no equal. Satan is the opposite of Michael the Archangel, not God. (Michael is also my middle name).

I'm sure you're quite familiar with Eros. It's a wild untamed god who delights in mischief. It doesn't always strike two people simultaneously, when it does...its helloooo hormones, intensely dangerous, very playful, and beyond pleasurable. Like Niagara, it can't be stopped once turned on. Eros in the marital covenant should be a frenzied madness. That is how God designed it. This is the type of love God told me to let sleep until the proper time.

I avoid dating, at least one-on-one dating...I've gone out with groups of people...strictly to avoid arousing feelings of intense passion for the opposite sex. But believe me, though the god is sleeping, one day he'll awake and some special girl will discover this part of Jason that's been wandering in the wilderness. Monks make pretty good lovers you know.

Solomon said ‘Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires.'

This is why I do the things I do. I'm inclined to believe the old boy was right. He had lots of experience...700 wives, 300 concubines...lots of headaches...So, believe me. I don't have anything against hugging, kissing, and cuddling. These are all needed, especially in woman. They'll die for the lack of it, and it is one reason why bodice-busting romance novels are popular among the fairer sex. Physical intimacy is as vital to women as rotisserie chicken is to me.

Perhaps, I've been overly cautious in this area. I could be you know. Even though people view me as some kind of icon of stoic, I've really a very tender heart. But I really don't trust Eros. He's dangerous. He's wily. Loves to strike when you're not looking. If I avoid him altogether, there's no fear. If I remove any temptation, I've nothing to worry about. Sure, it's not for everyone, but I don't trust myself. A candle is easy to put out; a campfire harder still; a forest fire can really mess you up. Instead of playing with matches, I avoid them. I blow up enough stuff at the lab here the way it is (I'm writing this at 300 AM at work). I REALLY do blow up stuff. It's neat. It's fun. And makes the boss happy. Does this make any sense to you, O' Gentle Reader, or have I constructed an elaborate system of self-preservation at all cost?

I'm not immune to self-delusion.

If anybody has an extra $2,500 they're not needing. . .

On the Norfolk Craigslist:

48,000 Books - $2500 (Norfolk)

Relations, Kin, and such like

I've been working on a family tree, and thought, perhaps, I would share some family photos with the blogging community.



Bobby “Bones” Jones: Bones is my older brother currently working as a part-time night janitor at Alabama University. He is a man of few words and a master of monosyllabic replies.


Some uncles: Beef and Goose. . .(Nobody remembers their real 1st names)
Beef and Goose worked for the FBI in surveillance from 67' to 83.' Last I heard from them, they was consultants to Verizon and now live at 67 Newberry St, Ct, 34687 under the federal witness protection program under the aliases Theodore Eisenstein and Nigel Thornsworth.




Horseshoe pitching with Charley Joe and J.B. “Moose” Lee


Weedeater: The family goat



Billy E. Lee: Big Bill is another cousin who owns a string of restaurants. He studied fashion design in college, but dropped out because his major professor felt that man-bra's (bros) were too risque




Scooter and Jim Bob: These here are my two twin cousins from Chatanooga. There was a 3rd twin, but he got himself adopted by a nice mormon couple out Utah ways as a young un’ and we haven’t heard from him since. Scoot and Jim Bob work on cars and remodeling old houses. They’re seriously considering starting up some kind of fix-it show with Willie ‘Bulldog’ Frank to make ends meet.



Uncle Buck: Uncle Buck is no longer with us. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t really with us for the last 25 years of his life as he was fond of something called grand theft larceny. I'm not saying he was slow, but if the Devil got sick, he's the one you'd send for the doctor.




Self Portrait: This here is me as the caption indicates. I don’t usually post pics online of myself (not being photogenetical and all), but this was one of my better hair days.



Clara Lee Sarah Bell and Nellie Rose Allie May: On a hot summer day.



Willie ‘Bulldog’ Frank: Willie made it to the big time. He currently lives in Nashville and hangs with all the big dog country singers. His claim to fame is the writer to the song 'If you wanna keep the beer cold, put it next to my ex-wife's heart.'




Hoss Jones: Hoss is a professional barn painter by trade and a world-renowned expert in imported and exported beers.





Grandpappy: Him’s the one who started it all.




“Scrap Iron,” Benji, and Ida May Nellie Rose-Iron: On their wedding day: Scrap Iron and Ida got married after 8 long years of dating and courting. Benji is still looking for a mate. Him’s the dog, btw.


Iron's wedding cake.

This might possibly be an April Fool's Day prank

Cats, and bats, and things like that

Ever get the feeling that before humans started running the place, angels used to and, like immortal elves, one of them screwed up, (we’ll call him Morgoth,) then God made a law stating the next level in the Great Chain of Being is now at bat and furthermore, all the angels will be invisible, and that we’re all sort of like the angel’s pets now, their cats and dogs, (cats-you know-consider their human caretakers to be other cats as the cat brain is unable to think otherwise), and that perhaps not everybody you see is really human. . .right?

If so, then this explains baldness in men. Since males are more doggy and females more catty, most angels tend to pat guys on the head, like people do dogs, because when you think about it. Your first instinct when seeing a small furry mammal is to pat it on the head, whether it be a dog, fox, squirrel, rabbit, baby goat, and in some cases-wolverine.

Another of Life’s mysteries explained.

A Tale of the Springtide

About the hour for the kindling of candles, the beasts returned. Their lowings and brayings could be heard, and indeed almost felt, as they danced upon their homeland shore. Now after a time, it came to me that such an incessant lowing was abhorrent to mine ears. I girded up my loins and spake to the creatures words of deepest wisdom to comfort their feeble minds. But alas! They did not hearken unto reason for their minds were dark and wisdom rested not upon their brows. My anger became aroused and a great fire leapt into my breast as I considered their fell deeds, and dark thoughts crept into my soul.

Then I, Jason of the East, sought war.

I descended to my dwellings below and contrived, by magic as if it were, the operation of many machines so that straightaway the airs filled themselves with much clamor and the silence of the deep was broken. The beasts heard the noises of my labours and repented of their ardors and ceased their wailings.

And lo, I was avenged.

(But the next time those yahoo neighbors of mine start partying like it's 1985, well. . .I'm calling the landlord. . .sheesh!)

Pre-history

24 March 2008, 7:45 PM.

The vast majority of the planet has little knowledge of how incredibly different the next millennium on Earth will be. As things currently stand, most people are sincerely screwed up. The East-coasters are in a bad condition; the West-coasters even worse. The middle part of the country is better than the rest, especially the Houston, Dallas, San Antonio, Tulsa regions. (Mainly due to the larger percentage of Christians here.) The next decade, I predict, will be violent and catastrophic. I hope I am wrong, but I know people by nature usually require something catastrophic to jerk them to their senses.

I have seen in my mind’s eye a windstorm, perhaps in the middle of the United States, that has the highest recorded winds and that most everything was leveled.

I have also seen things hidden under the Antarctic ice caps that will be discovered and these things will astound humanity, though not in the same way some human’s abilities will astound the planet. These things were buried thousands of years ago and to see them thawed will be something like surrealistic. I see people staring at them for hours saying little, and when they do speak-say, “so, that’s what they looked like.”

I have seen where God is literally preserving the southern polar ice cap for this last millennium. For I deem there are things buried there that will save many lives due to their isolation from the rest of the planet for such a long period of time.

Another thing I saw was a day in which the sky was grey, as if an intensely thick cloud covered the entire earth. The sun could be viewed with the naked eye and it was during the summer season in the northern hemisphere. It was eerie. Lurid. Later, something about the stars did not seem quite right.

It is now 8:10 PM on 24 March 2008 A.D. (when these words were written by me, Jason Michael Parrish)

Time is most certainly short-have you noticed?

Harried Horton

They’re not angry, it just seems that way.

It comes from the mixed Irish and Italian ancestry 99.9 % of them share.

When West Virginians speak, at first one thinks they’re angry. Then, the animated pseudo-angriness wears off and evolves into a long drawl, gets slower and slower, until it finally ends in a series of grunts, uh-huhs, and indescribable noises most associate with Cro-Magnon at Thanksgiving.

For example: picture two mountain men talking by a pick-up truck.

Mm1: (in a loud voice) “YEP. Me and the little woman are gonna go to town and see that new SEUSS movie. Ya know. One about that HORTON fellow. HOOTIN’ HORTON hears WHOs. I mean, Harried Horton hears hooters hootin’. (voice gets lower) Err, Hort and Harry hears a hootin’. . .or hears a hooter. . .no. . .that’s uh. . .ah. . .heck. Ya know. . .one bout’ them hootin’ who’s and Horton hearing. . .uh. . .hearing . . hootin’ hooters. . .or something ahootin’ and ahollerin’. . . .down town. . . .and. . .and. . .yeah. . .gonna watch Horton. . . .uh-huh. . . . . . . .yeah. . . . . . . s’whut we’re gonna do. . . .see H. . . . . . ummm. . .

I dreamt I was in space

. . .or possibly standing on the boundary of the cosmos.

I saw the fabric of the universe being stretched. The fabric was black and looked something like a spider web, but there were no empty spaces between the threads. The entire fabric was in a state of constant flux with something channels or tunnels forming and rapidly dissolving. It seemed mathematical to me, sort of like being on the edge of an enormous electron cloud. What I believe I was seeing was how reality, a higher dimensional reality, looks like. Perhaps this was a fifth-dimensional reality.

The soul and spirit of a man cannot be composed of empirically-detectable matter using our current technology, but they exist and cannot be un-made. Whatever they are composed of will last eternally. That’s not to say it will remain in its current state of organization and order.

Is it pure energy?

The new body can pass through walls and be illuminated, so perhaps it is some form of energy, or a particle with the intrinsic property of moving faster than the speed of light. It may be light itself, only at a different wavelength.

So, what happens when a Christian dies?

His body is shed like a cicada’s carapace and he becomes completely human, or more human, which is not as most would expect-biological. It must be a different sort of life and existence. One can think of our earthly life as being something like an embryo and everything we do now is mere preparation or practice for the post embryonic life.

And if one is not a Christian?

They still will exist, although I doubt if it will be in a. . .more human-like condition. Separation from God means they will finally experience an existence of their very own. Ashes come to mind. When a log is tossed to the flames, the wood is burnt, but there are the ashes. The ashes are like the remains of the aborted could-have-been-truly-human. The ashes cannot be destroyed. A very imperfect analogy to be sure, but I think you get the idea.

It could only happen in a trailer

According to CNN.com, this apparently happened in America.

I'm not sure if this is the most depressing news I've heard all day, or the most oppressing news I've heard all day.

It's certainly the most impressive news I've heard all day.

Animal Farm

Do angels pat us on the head like puppies when we sleep? I kind of think they do things like this more than we realize. After all, they're invisible and more powerful than us. Why not? It would be neat to pet a lion without it not knowing.

Now, something like philosophy.

-Dogs are boys, cats are girls.
-Snakes are cursed, but not evil.
-Apes and monkeys are caricatures of humanity. Like clowns, but funny.
-Owls are smart, eagles are loners, and badgers are gruff old men who smoke pipes, read the paper, and wear slippers while they sit by the fireplace in their big leather chairs.
-Golden Retrievers, if they could talk,would chatter constantly, though not as much as squirrels. Squirrels tend to study journalism and want to work for CNN where they can live happily ever after.
-Pigs are usually frat boys who wear sports jerseys, hang out in bars, and consume mass quantities of potato chips, hot wings, and beer. Most of them are male, but few are female. They burp alot.
-Tortoises are shy and read novels. They can be funny, but have a dry sense of humor. They make good CPAs and have names like Aldo, Clarence, Leopold, or Terrance.
-Bears drive trucks and live in Oregon.
-Ants have no personality.
-I've only seen one armadillo in my life,(at NASA in Cape Canaveral), and it seemed like it was going to a business meeting. I don't think this was typical though.
-Cows are sleepy creatures who drive pick-up trucks and work mundane jobs. Dairy cows are old woman with glasses and aprons. They make homemade cookies, but never let you eat them until they cool down. Sometimes they'll let you lick the batter of the spoons.
-Whatever it is rabbits do, they think it is the most important thing in the world.
-Fish were made to be eaten, unless they're pastel-colored.
-Horses are moody and inquisitive. They also enjoy Powerbars. I know. I fed a horse a Powerbar and it wouldn't leave me alone the rest of the afternoon.
-Sea Lions are from New Jersey as they constantly bark and annoy anything and everything within earshot.
-Beagles are noble beasts, as are some camels. All beagles are British, and some camels too, but most camels are Egyptian.

A Day in the Life of Johan Mikael Parishnikov

Wake up at 5:11 AM and drive to Texaco.
Purchase 1 Rockstar Energy drink, 1 egg/sausage/cheese biscuit, and $30 of highly processed plant remains to put into an aluminum tank built by a Japanese company.
Drive to a laboratory, type in security code, turn on a bunch of machines, and proceed to work exactly 47 minutes because the other two fellows did most of the work yesterday and didn’t call me. . .which did not bother me in the least since I don’t work on Sundays. . .unless you count running a TV camera work.
Drink energy drink after mixing it with bottled water and chit-chat with two sleep-eyed co-workers just arriving.
Leave the lab, drive through a tunnel under the Chesapeake Bay, see pelicans swooping on the mouth of the James River and think how much they resemble pterodactyls.
Notice a large hawk scoping out traffic whilst sitting on a cell phone tower.
Check e-mail, read some blogs, CNN, letsrun.com, MSNBC, and search for Volvos on Craigslist.
Take shower.
Make a cup of Earl Grey tea, mashed potatoes and gravy, and eat a handful of tortilla chips.
Transfer a purple fish to a Mason jar and start dishwasher.
Call two people, leave messages, and re-check e-mail.
Spend next few hours looking at tiny water-creatures under a microscope.
Take a nap and dream about apocalyptic events in the future which seems to be a trend in my life.
Make coffee, 2 tuna sandwiches on rye bread, read snail and e-mail, eat the remains of lettuce with 3 types of balsamic vinegar dressing (microwaved)
Look at more water-creatures.
Read about Israelites eating manna in Deuteronomy and wonder what manna bread tastes like and whether or not manna burgers were the new beef circa 1,500 B.C. . .also wonder if quail tastes like Cornish game hens.
Run 4 miles.
Spend 2 whole minutes observing a squirrel scamper around the parking lot and eat a nut under my car.
Lift weights.
Re-re-check e-mail.
Write 3 pages.
Grow just a little older.

Uncoolness

I was cooler.

Men in masks

(Eds. Note) Though the following post was written after 6 long weeks in a pretty cool mental institution, the author assures the reader it is an accurate depiction of reality and not simply the mad ravings of a quote ‘clinically-depressed paranoid schizophrenic with delusions of grandeur’ unquote. Besides, how can one be paranoid if THEY really are following you???

It’s a vast medical conspiracy.

Surgeons really don’t know what they’re doing when they operate. That’s why they wear masks and gloves. The masks hide their identity and the gloves leave no fingerprints. They put you to sleep to discuss how to get money from you.

All those tools one sees laying sterilized on those trays? Well, it’s not easy to explain because that requires lots of higher math and statistics, but it’s no coincidence most of those ‘tools’ are knives. According to Cosmopolitan, studies with rabbits have shown that when knives are flashed at baby rabbits, there is a tendency to freeze up and be paralyzed.

Knives and daggers.

Blades.

After you’re sedated, the chanting begins.

‘Scalpel. . .suture. . .sponge. . .slice’
‘Scalpel. . .suture. . .sponge. . .slice’
‘Scalpel. . .suture. . .sponge. . .slice’

Slowly, at first. Then, as the blood starts flowing, Dr. Sabu and co. chant faster. . .and faster.

‘Scalpel. . .suture. . .sponge. . .slice’
‘Scalpel. . .suture. . .sponge. . .slice’
‘Scalpel. . .suture. . .sponge. . .slice’

Then. . .they rest.

Time for the medicine men to recoup. But their twisted minds cannot. The mantra re-starts.

‘Scalpel. . .suture. . .sponge. . .slice’
‘Scalpel. . .suture. . .sponge. . .slice’
‘Scalpel. . .suture. . .sponge. . .slice’

Sometimes the hooded bandits forget the mantra and ponder dinner.

Scallops, salad, Spanish rice?
Chinese take-out with fried rice?

If one wakes during surgery, as 1-2% of all people do, they shine a bright light in your eyes and turn on NPR to trick you into believing you’ve arrived in heaven.

So, Mr. Puddleglum, are all surgeons as you suggest?

Truly, no. Like car mechanics and lawyers, they're are some good ones out there. You just have to search for them.

And remember to keep both eyes wide-open before choosing, and both half-shut after.

Sort-of like, you know, marriage.

Book Alert

It won't the Pulitzer, but it still is a page turner.

Wonton Mechanics

This is the science of eating Chinese food and popcorn with chopsticks. . .in case you're interested.

I have not blogged in a week because I'm working nearly 70 hours/week and am working on a book project involving obsequious bourgeois proletarians, fast-food, tv, human evolution, and unidentified soaring objects.

I can assure you I am eating healthy, getting plenty of rest, and spending more money at Exxon than is right.

to be continued. . .

A light post

It is difficult for some people to maintain what most others call 'normal.'

For example.

The other day while running along the beach, I saw a seagull pecking at a washed up shark. Washed up in the location sense, not the social sense.

Immediately my mind made the connection between telepathy, the explanation behind dark matter, the true nature of light, woman's' intuition, and neuronal atrophication of cerabellas in equatorial climates. . .using quantum mechanics and the first chapter of Genesis.

Life.

Complicated.

Very.

And when one tries to explain this revelation they invariably stare at you and ask how long's it been since you've had a girlfriend.

Light, you see, must. . .must. . .must be what everything in the universe is made of. Everything that is composed of atoms, that is. Dark matter isn't necessarily made up of atoms, but we know it exists. It has too exist. I don't know why it has too, but it must. One's spirit and soul isn't composed of light, yet it interacts with light like magnets interact with iron filings.

Light, all the light in the universe, is really a single discrete entity. We see different aspects of it depending on how we interact with it. When one turns on a flashlight, one distorts one aspect of the whole. Or, when one throws a rock at a house, the only apparent thing that happens is a broken window, but really the entire house moves (that is sort of what happens, but not quite.) And this train of thought led naturally to praying-and how God must know when we pray.

In the beginning, God said, "Let there be light." And then the light appeared, or came from God. Then God made everything from this light. Twisted and bent it into shape. Squeezed it. Modified it. Then, made more complicated stuff from it called atoms- from which all matter is made.

Then He made people and gave them the gift of speech. We talk to an invisible God and He hears us.

Why?

Talking distorts the very fabric of the space-time continuum (composed of light.) Modifies it in a way that the resulting effect is a pattern that God recognizes as Susie Q praying.

Yes, but how does women's intuition fit into it?

Light was made before land was made before plants was made before animals was made before Adam was made before Eve.

Get the pattern?

Less complex to more complex. Basic to complicated. Lower to higher. Less refined to more refined.

Eve (and all women) are slightly more (in both a biological sense and mindful sense) in tune with universe than man. Their way they are constructed gives them an increased ability to perceive how everything fits together. That's how they know things that guys debate about and write theses on.

And the neuronal atrophication of cerabellas in equatorial climates?

Too much light, or rather, high frequency radiation from the sun on a more acute angle, disrupts the DNA in the brain at a higher frequency. Since DNA is the material that holds the directions on how to make more cells, the resulting cells don't work quite right which leads to problems at a younger age than people living up North. And they age quicker and die younger.

But eating shark cartilage helps.

Movin' on

I don't know what to think of this video.

It is supposed to be actual footage (on a home video camera) of an electron moving through liquid helium.

According to the article, the time it takes an electron to circumnavigate the nucleus is 10-18 seconds. Which, if converted to a single second, is the supposed age of the universe.

There's a moon out tonight. . .

And it's going to be copper.

9:01 PM here on the East coast of North America is when the eclipse begins.

Old Oxford and the agony of defeat

Old Oxford was a merry ole' sole,
And a marryin' old soul was he.

He lived with his wives, all thirty and three,
In a shoe called the 'Rescue Me.'

Every morning at six, he arose from his fix,
And worked like a good bourgeoisie.

And produced a mountain of nikes, for his 101 tikes,
With feet like an anthropoid ape.

His wives told him, "chimps don't have souls,or feet like moles!"
but alas, their advice he did not keep.

So with a big hoo-doo, his brides left the shoe,
And moved to the blue Galilee.

Where they set up shop, called 'The New IHOP,'
Selling Oxford's useless leather crop.

And made a fortune in cash, from the old leather stash,
(Which was using great wisdom. . .don't ya see)

Along came a spider, ordered a cider,
And asked if any soles were to be had.

They pointed up North, to which he directed his course,
said to the black widow from the thirty and three.

Which is what you'd expect, if you'd fail to neglect,
advice from your thirty and three.

Life in Bible Days

I had a dream.

The year was 3,000 B.C. (so said the calendar on the wall.) It was my third day in Tel-Aven, a suburb of Jericho, and I was going to town.

As I walked to the marketplace, it seemed a little odd that everybody I saw wore bathrobes and carried sticks. Most of the older men had beards, yet somehow the hair didn't seem natural. One fellow, who called himself Bob, (a strange name for a sheepherder), said his wife bought his beard at a flea market.

The women were barefoot-every last one of them. But the strange thing was, there was no dirt on their feet. . .another mystery.

I continued on. Looking around, I was amazed by all the sheep and horses grazing. They were quietly nibbling, never making any noise, not so much as a bleat.

And everybody was mellow. . .like it was the day after a really wild party kind of mellow. You would think that being a middle-eastern country, everyone's skin would be dark. . .or at least olive-skinned.

Not so. All the Tel-Avenites looked like natives from some future society where everyone's skin is white. . .scandinavian white.

An angel showed up. Apparently, they were more common in 3,000 B.C. I knew it was an angel because he was wearing a white toga with a golden sash and had a halo around his head.

"Hark!" he cried. (Another giveaway. . .nobody else ever said hark, except angels).

"Who hast given thou permission to tread upon the land of Aven?"

"Nobody really," I replied. "Actually, I'm just dreaming."

Then, like the vanishing hitchhiker, the angel disappeared.

Did I mention how incredibly quiet everything was? No planes, trains, or automobiles. No cell phones, computers, timers, buzzers, microwaves. A lot less people. The only music people played were these quirky little tunes on small harps and flutes. Long drawn out music too. . .reminded me vaguely of an opera.

It was funny seeing women wearing no make-up. For reasons I am unable to explain, some of the guys put this dark make-up stuff on their faces. . .like tanning cream. . .but only on their faces. Then they went around looking more somber than usual.

At this time I woke up.

"Was this really how people lived back then?"

Will Seattle survive?

According to this, every Starbucks in the country will close it's doors for three hours. Not only will the doors be closed, but they'll be locked as well.

Why?

Apparently mediocrity has reared it'd ugly head and the servers have forgotten how to make the perfect coffee.

Three hours. Three hours of darkness in which the sun will be darkened, and the sea turned to blood. A day of apocalypticism. A caffeine-free era never experienced by those under 20-years-old.

Will Seattle survive?

They survived a Super Bowl loss and Mount St. Helens.

But Starbucks?

We shall see.

Life after Bracton

Now that I'm in Belbury. . .on Valentine's Day Eve. . .sans Jane. . .I do hope the end comes soon.

I had an extraordinarily vivid dream last night about the future of America. I was riding in a van full of bloggers, people's blogs I read, and we were somewhere in the mid-west. . .a flat place, like North Dakota or Kansas, and tornadoes were literally forming before our very eyes. There was a new one created every minute. . .with winds far exceeding the natural. And two thoughts crossed my mind,

1-this is very interesting, and

2-are you getting this on camera (to a girl in the back of the bus holding a camera)

Sometimes in Life, one must stir people up, or act a little crazy, to attain a desired goal. This is one reason why Moses went to Pharaoh.

Sometimes God will stir up people to get you out of a bad situation. The key is maintaining your sanity (and tongue) until the proper time.

Easier for some than others. It's the people with lotsa patience that speak softly and carry big sticks that one must watch.

Another dream I had. In a room filled with evil spirits and fallen men, they perceived me as a black panther. I was thirsty and couldn't speak, so I growled at them. The men got frightened and the evil spirits left.

Some people, very very few people, are like wild animals. . .like cheetahs. You think you can tame them, and honestly believe that they are tame if one keeps them in a cage with plenty food and water. And try to make them fat and sleepy.

Inevitably, somebody with little sense starts messing with the. . .tame. . .cheetah. Then, for no apparent reason, the cheetah turns on the foolish man and smacks his head a good one. And no human, especially a stupid one, stands a chance fighting a full-grown cheetah. It's simple see. You are fighting the cheetah on his terms, not yours.

Some people would be wise not to mess with things that they have no business messing with. Patience is a virtue, but usually has a finite limit.

Patient Moses

If one were to ask Mr. Jason Michael Parrish how work is going he would reply by saying,

"God. . .is. . .inciting. . .Pharaoh. . .against. . .Moses."

And that's all I'm going to say about that.

So everybody else on the planet. Did your day go well today?

(I should really not grit my teeth so much. It's hard on the enamel)

Moray Eel - $200

One of the more interesting things on the Virginia Beach Craigslist

An untitled post

AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


(stress. . .you know)

Hobbit mom

Apparently my mom is a hobbit. . .



They say you shrink as you age. . .hmmmmmm

I should call home more often.

Today

New job
New York Giants win
No longer on night shift
New table in my bedroom
Spaghetti and two cans of RockStar for breakfast
No lunch
An afternoon snack on pepperjack cheese
A fixed washer/dryer
A hungry Betta
Looking for a Jetta
Spaghetti and spinach with horseradish sauce for dinner
And one updated blog entry

Current thought: Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

Rivendell?

When J.R.R. Tolkien was 19-years-old, he spent some time trekking through Switzerland. One web site I found had a drawing of Rivendell by the author compared to this valley in Switzerland and thought Tolkien got his idea for the Elven home here. I modified the picture and posted it here. You be the judge.