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magistrate, a computer virus

January 31, 2017
Introspection, Uncategorized
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I spent several days running different kinds of antivirus and restorative techniques. But it was super fucked beyond my competency to repair. Rather the correct and safest thing to do with an infected “black box” is wipe it clean. So I junked it for Ubuntu. Not just to be practical; the power port is still broken and the specs are obsolete, this is not a practical machine.

His login was “Magistrate”, which was particular about him. It belonged to the lexicon of words we used as children in play. Canonical cool words. I did everything in my power to preserve this Windows instance so his username remained in existence. Ultimately I wiped the thing.

Now when I see that machine, it’s empty. Bland, dull. A thing that is there. Like a body bereft its soul. So I have this tension surrounding “Magistrate” that persists within me. Into my memories, my thoughts.

I caught a computer virus.

Mindfulness and metaphors

April 18, 2013
Uncategorized
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I sit behind a couple laptops running windows vista. Across the room on display is our product offering, featuring both current and discontinued devices. A TV commercial silently plays on repeat all day, even though nothing on it is relevant today.

The floor is huge, and bright green, and people bustle by the front doors on their way to other venues in the mall. It’s a huge space, and quiet, though it echoes of greater things past. This used to be a major operation. The back space is twice as big as the floor, including two offices and a half kitchen.

This place has offered me refuge after hours, like when I locked my phone and keys in my car and needed a phone. Or while I was in school I’d come and study late, somewhere quiet and clean. Stuff like that. With all the time spent here, and privacy, it’s homey.

Just me and my castle. Safe, comfortable, alone.

Plenty of time to fuck around and binge on netflix. Sometimes I’ll pace about, or sit and stare into space. Sometimes my eyes are drawn to the looping TV commercial like a moth. That’s how I watch football.

And then a sale here and there, which is fun. The challenge is preserving a certain intensity. The physical act of making the sales is, oddly the easiest part of the job, and also the only reason why they pay me to be here. Though they have announced the pending merger with another company.

So really, one specific metaphor is what I started with, and where I will end: Patterns recur in your life because of the energy you put off into the universe.

I’m alone in this town which is stagnant, and also alone at work, and my company is stagnant. And I’m just comfortable enough to get by, but I am not thriving, and my work is just profitable to survive but faces total collapse.

So I am leaving for Seattle in two days.

locus of creativity

March 28, 2012
Introspection
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Ideas are born in a very different way from which they are commonly portrayed. I’m talking about the  “light bulb” that goes off in your head; sharp, crisp, concise, instant. Certainly that moment exists, once the critical mass of clarity is achieved. My point is that idea genesis is a process.

“Too often we are so preoccupied with the destination, we forget the journey.” -Some unknown on Google who was more articulate than the others

Writing entries such as this, for me, is, in part, to tap into the locus of creativity. Not that I’m writing creative things, but that the act pours out my consciousness into an abstraction; indexing and documenting it. In mapping my consciousness, I may be become closer to mastery of this creative complex.

And so the formation of an idea must first be understood. This is my attempt:

An idea is like the bursting of a bubble in a boiling vat of tar that is your subconscious.

Certainly there is more charismatic imagery to make this metaphor (See ‘lightbulb.’ Also, yes I know it’s a simile). However this prompted me to write in the first place, and has many effective aspects.

  • It concedes to the arbitrary nature of inspiration, in that the bubble may surface anywhere in the reservoir. The convergence of whatever microcosms in the conscious pallet are temporal and corporeal (experience, environment); yet unplanned exactly how they converge.
  • There is a simmering period whereupon the idea is formed over time.
  • The motion of “bursting” is the unfurling of the idea from the mind, suddenly visible and apparent for what it is.
  • There is a heat source, or source of the fumes — the point is there is a “source.” This is the creative locus.

Really I should have used a solar flare for this entry, come to think of it.

Anyways, that last bullet point is the main point. Beneath the entire conscious being is a source that drives the entropy of creativity. It’s not the point to direct this creativity; the dialectic of randomness and thought occupations are what define the “bubbles.” The goal is to have more source energy, to create more bubbles.