Mitch Hedberg (RIP)

082308
Woke up this morning with quite a shiver, so I headed to the other end of the house to oust Sean Puffy from his resting place among the other coats. His down interior was sure to provide the loft I needed to trap warmth against my goosebumps.
Mitch Hedberg (RIP) complained about odd dreams, like making a go-kart with his landlord. It took a walk to the kitchen, and a glimpse of Udo to drag up the dream I had last night. Instead of making a go-kart, we composted. You know you're going crazy when you dream about composting with your landlord. He showed me how to lay Moutainlaurel Leaves like shingles on top of a full box. He showed me how to dig small rectangular holes of specified inches, and I remember being amazed at how flawlessly the cut sides of the hole held their PERFECT shape. Then I stooped to tie my shoe, and noticed that the side of the composting box was transparent. The compost was gone, and the edges of the holes formed perfect 3-D rectangles which hung in space. The dimensions of the holes varied slightly. At the center of each of these volumes was a point, connected to all the other points in other volumes. I was mesmerized by the concoction of sea-urchin tentacles and chop-stick boxes, which was about when Udo yelled at me for not paying attention. So I stood back up (can't remember if I managed to finish securing the loops in the lace) and he resumed his instruction on composting. Something's wrong with me I know it!
***
PARSING THE REASONS:
I find if I enquire,
About a thing which I desire,
I find a peak on a mountain small,
Through which I climb, or through which I'll crawl.
But then the justification comes,
The pros are added; the cons are summed.
Then I'm left with a rationally based decision,
A clear road to follow, a fabulously vivid vision.
Then the vision takes over, and I'm left with desire,
Which snatches mental notes, and burns them with fire.
So I'm left to the whims of just what I'll do next,
It's probably no good, most of the time, I expect.
But the thought of climbing the mountain is voluntary,
Even if I must do it unsupported, in deep solitary.
Half the fun of the climbing is lacing up shoes,
The other half finding, that you have to push through.
And eventually you'll make it. What a view there is in store!
And you're desire becomes a memory of yours, forever more.

ALONE
Alone is when you haven't reason to fear,
Of anyone, or anything prowling near.
Alone is faster than the rest of them all,
Alone is the death at the end of a fall.
Alone bring home bags, all hands are employed,
Alone is that comradeship feeling destroyed.
Alone fills the spaces with calm and with quiet.
Alone brashly brings up your love and defies it.
But alone is a word with a feeling attached,
And it's easily chased, even "easierly" matched.
Alone is a challenge, and a thing to be tested.
Alone is a daunting, large beast to be bested!
I know that I'll feel, alone till I'm dead.
But that feeling is shrunken with a good thought in my head.
And I find with the thought, there comes action, and reprise.
Then I find I LOVE life, and tears stream down from my eyes.

COMFORT IN GRAFFITI
When I feel all confused,
And my head begins to whirl,
I head out on the town,
In search of a thing, not a girl.

I'm searching for a darkened place,
Or one which reaches light.
I'm looking for harkened space,
My eyes, its colors, quickly bite.

A spot there 'neath the bridge there is,
And one outside my door,
Like someone's organized the leaves,
From beneath the trees of October's forest floor.

The leaves are paint which twists and curves,
I have this sole undying entreaty,
To find where they hide, to see them all,
The grandeur that is quality graffiti.

HISTORICIZING
You're just broken down scum,
And your lips are cracked,
You're a dark rugged one,
Ain't no matter of fact.
You're a pirate, and I love you,
For all that you are.
Take ME as your prisoner,
And we'll travel far.

Show ME the high seas.
I'll teach you to read,
And we'll rend through rich men,
String hammocks in the trees.

Then one day when you're old,
All your tales have been told,
And you're mind is still bold,
We'll ponder things we have stold.

And no more in this world,
Shall our lungs take their breath.
You shoot ME in the eye,
I'll hang you 'till your death.

The stories of exploits:
Rather far, and with sails,
Of great wealth, and great death.
Of the escapes, and dark jails,

Shall drift like a leaf
To the bottom and sit,
In the minds of the children,
'Till the campfire is lit.

Then flames will flash broken,
On the face of one telling.
Sweet anxiety ebbing,
And oh! For the swelling!

'Till our stories are told,
And our lives all dismembered.
Those lives don't mean much,
'Till they're recounted and REMEMBERED.

PERPETUAL PERCEPTUAL
Hell wonders if there is a heaven up there,
And heaven is sure there's a low step in the stair.
But then good and then evil, seem to live in their places;
Given life by old men with big hats, and sad faces.

When your wonder transitions to questioned confusion,
Don't apply faith-based reasoning, all are fallacies, and illusions.
Let thinking be thoughtful, rationality flow,
You just "sold your soul" if you don't use ALL you know.

Instead just keep trying, 'till you're old and you're dying.
On your deathbed you'll find yourself happily lying.
When the end comes, you're finished, and you'll know WHAT you've given:
You've navigated life's roads, if some wrong ones you'd driven.

But faith makes the mind dull. Leaves one "lofty." Ungrounded.
After QUESTIONING, with learners and thinkers you're surrounded!
Such a task undertaken, leaves the Bank of Known shaken,
For it wouldn't have made it through the night without breaking,

If upon which it laid, was the ritual observance,
To an unchanging promise of fake postmortem life insurance.
The Known Bank takes transactions, and deposits galore,
With a strict bottom line to grow and restore!

It's novelty changes, as fast as tomorrow,
And leads not to chanting, and worship, and sorrow.

So you're never alone, being part of the Known.
And you need not pay heed to a "god" so enthroned.
What matters are questions, posed by YOU to the world,
That ensures you're connected, immortality UNFURLED.

++++++++++

Oh RedBull,
My mind is active and fulfilled,
With a beverage lightly carbonated,
And apparently best served chilled.

I'm not sure I left the house for more than a short while today. The rest of it was spent setting up my Study, installing the printer, fighting with the scanner program, and wondering why I dreamt of composting. Composting is Eco, and that's good.

I went out last night, and noticed I was absolutely comfortable with the roads on the way. It's taken about six weeks to get comfortable with Germany. But I feel I am now settled, and will learn of the things I don't now know. Plus I still have to get furniture from IKEA, and other similar places with good prices.

Since I received it from MTP on Thursday Evening (2 full days ago), I've watched the movie RENT 5 times, once with the director's commentary augmentation. Needless to say, I'm now obsessed with the music, lyrics, and most scenes in the movie.

Bo Diddly is pulling his weight with large days full of hours. He's learning much, and meeting people from Egypt. Right now we're on a tear of religious discourse, and he's thankfully extending it to those acquaintances from northern Africa. Just so sipped beer and lovely waitresses may be added to a thorough discussion, he said he'll fill me in upon his return.

I think all the universe is perfectly fractal, which gives it some unity. So speaking is like exocytosis? Sure. Perhaps the basis for something extremely complex can be found in a detailed magnification of something simpler. I don't know if it's supportable, but I just feel it's somewhere in the ball park, and worth analysis. Proud to say I studied. To bed now.