2023-10-04

/blah/2023-10-04.html

2023-09-28 I woke up a little after midnight at my workplace to my coworkers

finishing close. I put my backpack on and scooted out and down the hill to find

the old lookout point one of my former roommates had mentioned once.

The path was blocked by three boulders placed so as to prevent automobile

through-traffic. I walked by them and up the hill through the path. The

streetlight faded behind me and soon I was alone among the dark silence save

for the chatter of the crickets and varied twig-snapping of unseen nocturnal

creatures, the friends of Nowhere, Maine.

I came to a pile of strewn trash among, if it had been warmer, which would have

been flies I suppose and bits of nastiness that are begotten by nastiness.

Hoping this was the only bit decrepid in this desolation I walked further. It

was cold and I was tired so when I saw the needles and blood I made no reaction

even after my slow realization of what had happened there.

It was not a place of honor, there was nothing to be had or found there, and

had I known better I would have fled immediately to avoid the fate that had

befallen what was left of whomever that had found ruin among the brush and

uncaring wilderness. This was the fate of the addict when they find an

apathetic owner of a chainsaw and these were the pieces that, should I chose to

indulge in mainlined drugs, will compose myself as well. Dogs or cats or foxes

or wolves had got to what was left but what had happened was apparent. The baby

stroller and diapers and formula pouches told the rest of the story. I stood

for a while comprehending this mess, processing without being able to process.

Nor it being safe to do so.

My grandmother has no sympathy for addicts though even she wishes they'd get

better and supports the free dispersal of naloxone for those that need it. She

doesn't see why an addict should redose rather than purchase warmth or water,

not to mention inhabit a crack shack rather than find work and hearth and life.

She's smart. She's never looked down drunkenly at an empty bottle or

experienced lethargic purple haze and stupefied daze that accompanies the

shortening of a rolled joint. She's never craved a cigarette like I have. She

couldn't imagine it. She couldn't imagine my knowing the feeling. She can't

answer my questions for her - how sober lukewarm shelter could compare to pure

happiness coursing through a vein, or how hydration could compare to not

needing to care about any need, physical or emotional. Perhaps money can't buy

one love, but there are things a person enjoys more. At least at first.

I've been through the downward spiral slipping from shelter to smaller shelter

like a sieve, looking only for acceptance and a place to sleep and finding

scarce the former and only more expensive the latter while my pay doesn't

increase nearly as quickly as the cost to live. One shot would kill me years

later after hundreds more, perhaps not as directly the first as the last, but

the first would be my death all the same. I know this. The sound ice makes when

it hits water and feels the sharp difference in temperature accompanied by the

whoosh of butane and naked laugh of the crazed fiend hungry for more pleasure,

more solace, a hoard of catharsis never to be experienced, only kept like a rat

keeps food for winter, and the drawing in of the needle and the flick and snap

of the glass and rubber band and push of it in and the mind out and let the

reason bleed out of you in transparent drool and snot and let the eyes droop

and heart swell with unearned passion. As much as it would be my comfort then

it is my recurring nightmare now. And it's not inevitable, because I will make

it out of this hell before it chains me and loses the key.

Hyperlinks relating to moulage

https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/narrenturm

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moulage

https://www.unmc.edu/newsroom/2014/01/07/unmc-history-101-medicine-in-wax/

https://blog.unmc.edu/2013/09/04

/dan-brick-lays-the-foundation-for-realistic-simulation/

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/bd

/The_Dead_Pearl_Diver_by_Benjamin_Paul_Akers_2.jpg

https://www.aoc.gov/explore-capitol-campus/art/ulysses-s-grant-statue

Hyperlinks relating to CrowPi2 programming

https://github.com/WiringPi/WiringPi

http://wiringpi.com/examples/blink/

https://github.com/Elecrow-RD/CrowPi2/tree/main/known_issues

https://github.com/Elecrow-RD/CrowPi/blob/master/Examples/segment.py

https://www.adafruit.com/product/877#description

https://github.com/adafruit/Adafruit_LED_Backpack

https://cdn-shop.adafruit.com/datasheets/ht16K33v110.pdf

http://wiringpi.com/reference/i2c-library/

[Xlib](https://www.x.org/releases/X11R7.7/doc/libX11/libX11/libX11.html)

/blah/2023-10-03.html

everything sucks so fucking hard

So. Roommates got evicted. Seeing the writing on the wall I packed my shit up

and left. Now that my repack's done I am now comfortably contained in a

backpack with strapped on sleeping bag and scooter on my shoulder. Where to go

next, though, was complicated.

2023-09-26 I got out of work and went back to my roommates. They were squatting

and for lack of space elsewhere I slept in the kitchen in my clothes and jacket

next to the litter box. The cats kept staring at me. It smelled like shit and

piss and the cats would paw at the litter to toss it on me. I got an hour of

sleep and went to work early.

2023-09-27 I got out of work and scooted up the street to a Dollar Tree around

which I scooted and found a nice clear area behind a railing next to a parking

lot. At work I had debated leaving the scooter. It's weight and something else

to carry. Eventually I just brought it though and it lay next to me in the

brush.

I laid out my sleeping bag, opened a book on my tablet, and silently and

comfortably if a little bit chilly read Hulk comics until I heard a distant

yell.

You mother fuck!

I looked up but I couldn't see the source.

Get out of here!

Perhaps it was voices. Perhaps it was a trick of the air. I laid back down. I

was wearing all black and my bivy was green against the olive brush. They

couldn't see me.

I see you out there! If you're still there I'm going to fucking kill you!

Night had by this time fallen. I sat up and got out my telescope.

At work I had also considered leaving it behind.

Two camoflouged cameras against the walls and two doors. The second one opened

and then closed. I was visible and I had probably been made. I began to pack my

stuff, quickly. Then the SUV arrived. Black, big, and it circled the parking

lot like a cat about to pounce on me. It's at this point I strap my sleeping

bag on halfway and with a glance at my former spot I got on my scooter and

sped. It started following me.

I scooted for a cliff, jumped off my scooter and jumped down onto the wet grass

sliding to a stop. I took the time to strap the rest of my sleeping bag on and

then from that ledge jumped down and scooted down a side street. Left. Right.

Left. Right. Left onto Lisbon St and eventually I was back at work.

[10:46 PM] trinity: outran an suv on a kick scooter

[10:46 PM] trinity: i am so swag

[11:03 PM] [..1]: i read that in your voice and it made me smile

[11:05 PM] [..2]: gayass

I was huffing and puffing and tuned my UV-5R to the county dispatch but there

was nothing, city dispatch is encrypted and I don't wanna bother figuring it

out so I assume whoever was after me was not police.

2023-03-06

post meta coital meta cigarette

pixelated bodies having meta sex

meta kids meta hacking both our meta eyes

peeping meta Toms in the same meta lie

/blah/2023-09-26.html

01 "It's pretty nice." Nice didn't begin to cut it. In fact, it was the

most beautiful wax sculpture I had ever seen. It depicted a life-sized nude

woman with intricate detail: hair so fine you could trace individual strands

down to their split ends, make out the scoring of her flesh and the lines in

her palms - including wrinkling that on the animate would indicate lack of

moisture. "Why the injury?"

3: Is your dog nice?

?: All dogs are nice.

3: Like. Can I pet your dog?

?: That's up to the dog.

 @ -1928,6 +1928,174 @@ If I don't, escalate the issue to the host of this site (this can also be found
 </HTML>
 /blah/2023-10-04.html
 -09-28 I woke up a little after midnight at my workplace to my coworkers
 finishing close. I put my backpack on and scooted out and down the hill to find
 the old lookout point one of my former roommates had mentioned once.
 The path was blocked by three boulders placed so as to prevent automobile
 through-traffic. I walked by them and up the hill through the path. The
 streetlight faded behind me and soon I was alone among the dark silence save
 for the chatter of the crickets and varied twig-snapping of unseen nocturnal
 creatures, the friends of Nowhere, Maine.
 I came to a pile of strewn trash among, if it had been warmer, which would have
 been flies I suppose and bits of nastiness that are begotten by nastiness.
 Hoping this was the only bit decrepid in this desolation I walked further. It
 was cold and I was tired so when I saw the needles and blood I made no reaction
 even after my slow realization of what had happened there.
 It was not a place of honor, there was nothing to be had or found there, and
 had I known better I would have fled immediately to avoid the fate that had
 befallen what was left of whomever that had found ruin among the brush and
 uncaring wilderness. This was the fate of the addict when they find an
 apathetic owner of a chainsaw and these were the pieces that, should I chose to
 indulge in mainlined drugs, will compose myself as well. Dogs or cats or foxes
 or wolves had got to what was left but what had happened was apparent. The baby
 stroller and diapers and formula pouches told the rest of the story. I stood
 for a while comprehending this mess, processing without being able to process.
 Nor it being safe to do so.
 My grandmother has no sympathy for addicts though even she wishes they'd get
 better and supports the free dispersal of naloxone for those that need it. She
 doesn't see why an addict should redose rather than purchase warmth or water,
 not to mention inhabit a crack shack rather than find work and hearth and life.
 She's smart. She's never looked down drunkenly at an empty bottle or
 experienced lethargic purple haze and stupefied daze that accompanies the
 shortening of a rolled joint. She's never craved a cigarette like I have. She
 couldn't imagine it. She couldn't imagine my knowing the feeling. She can't
 answer my questions for her - how sober lukewarm shelter could compare to pure
 happiness coursing through a vein, or how hydration could compare to not
 needing to care about any need, physical or emotional. Perhaps money can't buy
 one love, but there are things a person enjoys more. At least at first.
 I've been through the downward spiral slipping from shelter to smaller shelter
 like a sieve, looking only for acceptance and a place to sleep and finding
 scarce the former and only more expensive the latter while my pay doesn't
 increase nearly as quickly as the cost to live. One shot would kill me years
 later after hundreds more, perhaps not as directly the first as the last, but
 the first would be my death all the same. I know this. The sound ice makes when
 it hits water and feels the sharp difference in temperature accompanied by the
 whoosh of butane and naked laugh of the crazed fiend hungry for more pleasure,
 more solace, a hoard of catharsis never to be experienced, only kept like a rat
 keeps food for winter, and the drawing in of the needle and the flick and snap
 of the glass and rubber band and push of it in and the mind out and let the
 reason bleed out of you in transparent drool and snot and let the eyes droop
 and heart swell with unearned passion. As much as it would be my comfort then
 it is my recurring nightmare now. And it's not inevitable, because I will make
 it out of this hell before it chains me and loses the key.
 Hyperlinks relating to moulage
 https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/narrenturm
 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moulage
 https://www.unmc.edu/newsroom/2014/01/07/unmc-history-101-medicine-in-wax/
 https://blog.unmc.edu/2013/09/04
 	/dan-brick-lays-the-foundation-for-realistic-simulation/
 https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/bd
 	/The_Dead_Pearl_Diver_by_Benjamin_Paul_Akers_2.jpg
 https://www.aoc.gov/explore-capitol-campus/art/ulysses-s-grant-statue
 Hyperlinks relating to CrowPi2 programming
 https://github.com/WiringPi/WiringPi
 http://wiringpi.com/examples/blink/
 https://github.com/Elecrow-RD/CrowPi2/tree/main/known_issues
 https://github.com/Elecrow-RD/CrowPi/blob/master/Examples/segment.py
 https://www.adafruit.com/product/877#description
 https://github.com/adafruit/Adafruit_LED_Backpack
 https://cdn-shop.adafruit.com/datasheets/ht16K33v110.pdf
 http://wiringpi.com/reference/i2c-library/
 [Xlib](https://www.x.org/releases/X11R7.7/doc/libX11/libX11/libX11.html)
 /blah/2023-10-03.html
 everything sucks so fucking hard
 So. Roommates got evicted. Seeing the writing on the wall I packed my shit up
 and left. Now that my repack's done I am now comfortably contained in a
 backpack with strapped on sleeping bag and scooter on my shoulder. Where to go
 next, though, was complicated.
 -09-26 I got out of work and went back to my roommates. They were squatting
 and for lack of space elsewhere I slept in the kitchen in my clothes and jacket
 next to the litter box. The cats kept staring at me. It smelled like shit and
 piss and the cats would paw at the litter to toss it on me. I got an hour of
 sleep and went to work early.
 -09-27 I got out of work and scooted up the street to a Dollar Tree around
 which I scooted and found a nice clear area behind a railing next to a parking
 lot. At work I had debated leaving the scooter. It's weight and something else
 to carry. Eventually I just brought it though and it lay next to me in the
 brush.
 I laid out my sleeping bag, opened a book on my tablet, and silently and
 comfortably if a little bit chilly read Hulk comics until I heard a distant
 yell.
 You mother fuck!
 I looked up but I couldn't see the source.
 Get out of here!
 Perhaps it was voices. Perhaps it was a trick of the air. I laid back down. I
 was wearing all black and my bivy was green against the olive brush. They
 couldn't see me.
 I see you out there! If you're still there I'm going to fucking kill you!
 Night had by this time fallen. I sat up and got out my telescope.
 At work I had also considered leaving it behind.
 Two camoflouged cameras against the walls and two doors. The second one opened
 and then closed. I was visible and I had probably been made. I began to pack my
 stuff, quickly. Then the SUV arrived. Black, big, and it circled the parking
 lot like a cat about to pounce on me. It's at this point I strap my sleeping
 bag on halfway and with a glance at my former spot I got on my scooter and
 sped. It started following me.
 I scooted for a cliff, jumped off my scooter and jumped down onto the wet grass
 sliding to a stop. I took the time to strap the rest of my sleeping bag on and
 then from that ledge jumped down and scooted down a side street. Left. Right.
 Left. Right. Left onto Lisbon St and eventually I was back at work.
 [10:46 PM] trinity: outran an suv on a kick scooter
 [10:46 PM] trinity: i am so swag
 [11:03 PM] [..1]: i read that in your voice and it made me smile
 [11:05 PM] [..2]: gayass
 I was huffing and puffing and tuned my UV-5R to the county dispatch but there
 was nothing, city dispatch is encrypted and I don't wanna bother figuring it
 out so I assume whoever was after me was not police.
 -03-06
 post meta coital meta cigarette
 pixelated bodies having meta sex
 meta kids meta hacking both our meta eyes
 peeping meta Toms in the same meta lie
 /blah/2023-09-26.html
 	"It's pretty nice." Nice didn't begin to cut it. In fact, it was the
 most beautiful wax sculpture I had ever seen. It depicted a life-sized nude
 woman with intricate detail: hair so fine you could trace individual strands
 down to their split ends, make out the scoring of her flesh and the lines in
 her palms - including wrinkling that on the animate would indicate lack of
 moisture. "Why the injury?"
 : Is your dog nice?
 ?: All dogs are nice.
 : Like. Can I pet your dog?
 ?: That's up to the dog.
 /blah/2023-09-25.html
 horizontal six letters; poly pollinators

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