The car of the future

You?ve all seen the TV ads for new clothing with ?stain defender? right? Ever wonder how it works? It?s simple: Nanotechnology. Let me explain, as it?s crucial to the rest of this post (and the rest of our future).

If you didn?t pay much attention in science, nano- means small. Very small. In fact one nanometer is really 1 billionth of a meter. That?s a 1/1,000,000,000 if you write it out. For you chemists out there, that?s exactly the width of 5 carbon atoms.

Ok, so what we?re really talking about are things called ?nanotubes?. Basically they?re tube like carbon molecules. So small, however that it would take about 50,000 of them side by side to match the thickness of one human hair. What?s so special about these you might ask? Well for starters, not only are they thousands of times stronger than steel, but if kept straight they conduct electricity better than any conductor currently in industrial use. Twist it a bit and you?ve just made a transistor. Likewise, a nanotube can be made into any electronic device you can imagine.

Compared to silicon, nanotubes are only 1 atom thick, yet hundreds of times more durable than a silicon chip. They can handle heat better too, so making 3D components is no problem at all. Essentially then, nanotechnology is nothing more than using nanotubes to create ?computers?.

What?s better, the possibility exists for these little ?machines? to be programmed to manipulate their environment. This means we can make ?tiny machines? that create other ?tiny machines?. Better yet, and essential to the rest of this article, we can build ?tiny machines? cable of using materials in their environment to build replicas of themselves. Since it takes millions and billions of research dollars to build one ?nanobot?, this is a very important discovery. We just need to build one, and have it build the rest. Talk about cost-effective!

I was reading on Fark.com about how the US army is developing tanks that can repair their own paint jobs. ( Link Here ).

But why stop there?

Why not build an entire car out of nanotubes? It?ll be a lot stronger than any material they currently use making it much safer and greatly increasing crash test ratings.
Plus, a car made entirely out of nanotubes would only weigh about 50lbs.

You?d never have to worry about your paint getting scratched, it?d have the power to repair itself immediately. You?d never need new tires either as they could just use carbon atoms from the ground to replace their tread.

Got a dent? No problem, your car will be able to repair itself instantly. Don?t like color of the interior or the paint? No problem, it can change, without any outside effort. Driving your convertible with the top down and it starts raining? No problem, your car will simply just ?grow? a top to cover you.

As for the car?s internal computer, we mentioned before how they can be made into machines and programmed, so there?s no need for a separate computer. Your car?s brains would be spread out evenly throughout it?s body.
As for fuel? Forget it. The entire surface of your car (being made of nanotubes) would be one large solar panel.

What?s even better? It won?t cost you nearly as much either. Since your car will basically ?build itself? it can be built right there in the dealership while you wait, to your specifications. If you?re not happy with the result, it can change, right in front of you.

Granted, we?re still a couple decades away, but won?t the future be cool?

January 1st, 2005

Icon: Crash

It was cold, disagreeable night. The sky was grudgingly turning from bruised purple to black, with pricks of light showing their faces and the waning moon spilling onto the frozen sidewalk. Naturally, I was waiting. Standing about without a coat on, my hat held behind my back like a shameful secret. I waggled it by it?s brim, shuffling my legs in the thin shelter the Dockers provided. A lamppost winked on and I looked about as the campus buildings began their nightshifts. I dragged a foot over a patch of frozen soil and sighed.

?Hey faggot.?

Lindsey approached me in what she must have thought was a provocative manner, but it looked like her hips were out of control. Regardless, the bitch was a knockout, again, as she always was and probably still is. She was wearing a little black dress, except that it was red and had some yellow Russian character on the chest, right between her perky little tits. Open-toed sandals, of course. Why she was trying to show as much skin as she could in this unforgiving weather was beyond me, but my un-milked libido was grateful for her choice of attire.

?Ah, ma petite bichette, you look?? I stalled, eyeing her until she showed some sort of concern, and then I answered, ?like shit. That?s the best you could do for me??

?Fuck you.? She playfully slapped me and hooked an arm around one of mine. ?Let?s get going, I?m freezing. Where am I taking you for dinner tonight??

?What?s good? Italian? Seafood? Hard cocks?? She snorted and gave a tug, causing me to stumble.

?Italian. But not Zio?s. Too greasy.?

?There?s a family-owned in the Birchwood Center. My cousin?s said good things.?

?Sounds good.? She buries her face in my neck for a moment. ?I didn?t realize they were selling dog shit cologne now.?

She digs a clusterfuck of keys out of her plastic purse and uses the remote to unlock her gray Mazda. The interior lit up and showed a tomb of sun bleached stuffed animals and fast food sacks. She leans over to the passenger seat and throws a pile of law books into the back and scrapes crumbs into the quagmire of carpeting on the car?s floor. I open the door and the seatbelt whines as it retracts.

?Charming.? I ease my big self into the chair and a stagnant aroma fills my nose, one that?s probably all too familiar to Lindsey.

The car chugs to life and we pull out of the student parking lot, lights on and 103.5 KJAR playing some fucking insipid rap. I lean back and pull my hat onto my head.

?What?s up with you and that hat? You?re always wearing it.?

I shrug. ?Just like it.? It was a woven straw cap, much like a beret. I saw it in Dillard?s and bought it on a whim, never thinking it would become a part of my wardrobe. Now I can?t bear to look at myself without the damn thing. ?Does it look stupid??

She shrugs. ?No. Doesn?t bother me.?

We pull into Birchwood Center and manage to get a spot right in front of Fonzelle?s. The wait isn?t long and we?re seated at a table in the back of the smoking section, of which Lindsey makes use.

She lights a GPC and crosses a shaved leg, kicking it as she reads the wine list. ?Acting class was such bullshit today. Woodland paired me up with Aaron.?

?That slug with the glasses??

?Yes, him.? She holds her arms out and sways side to side. ?Jee ja joh ja na na. Fucking Jabba the Hutt, I swear.? Drag, exhale. ?He followed me everywhere in class. I went to the bathroom for twenty minutes and he was waiting on me. Waiting. Jesus Christ, fuckers like him, they just?? She puts a hand to her forehead. Oh, such pain. Such ennui. Poor you.

?I?d say the porkster?s grown sweet on you.? I grinned as I snatched the wine list from her and winced at the prices. This week?s allowance isn?t going to last me long.

?God, I don?t even want to consider the idea of him liking me.?

?He?s jacking off right now. Right this second. He?s lying in his broken, sagging bed with his noodle dick in his beefy paw, rubbing one off on you.?

She kicks me and snubs her cigarette out. ?Probably right. Fucking fatass? Christ, you?d think they?d get a clue and run their ass around the block.?

I look up at her. A waiter comes by and pours us some water; we both order whatever?s the special and two glasses of chardonnay. I let a moment pass.

?So what makes me different??

?Hmm?? She sucks in an ice cube as she sips.

I gesture to myself. ?I ain?t exactly slim and trim myself, you know. I?m not as bad as Aaron but fuck knows, I could be in better shape.?

?I?m doing it for the money, Icon. I have absolutely no romantic interest in you at all and I plan to kill you as soon as we?re married and get a life insurance plan.?

?Joke?s on you, shit ain?t happening without a prenup.?

She winces as she hears the word. ?Ooh, bad word, bad word.? She smiles. ?I dunno. You?re smart, for one. You?re not an idiot.?

?Well, I try.?

?I mean, you understand yourself. You know you?re not perfect, that you?re a horrifically flawed human being with a million and one neuroses. You?re true to yourself and you?re creative. You can impress people without buying something. You?re original. You?ve got a soul.? She plucks a fresh cigarette from her purse and lights it. ?Plus, you can say something to be without spraying spit and crumbs all over my face.?

?Don?t put it past me,? I say as the waiter returns with two plates of shrimp linguini with mussels and the chardonnay. She smokes as she eats, which I find to be disgusting.

After a moment I get a brilliant fucking idea and push my plate to the center of the table. I waggle a finger at Lindsey and put the end of a noodle in my mouth. She sighs and forks up the other end. We work our way up and kiss, smearing olive oil over our lips.

http://iowabookgal.com/xltavrat.php

?It wasn?t worth $58.34.? As usual, I?m bitching about the money as we exit.

Lindsey?s on her fourth cigarette. She?s looking at a group of kids hanging out in front of a Git n? Go. ?I wonder if they have any ?cid??

?Wouldn?t doubt it.? I dig out my wallet again and count twenty-eight dollars. Shit, Dad gave me a hundred yesterday; told him it would last me all month.

?Give me a twenty.? She turns to me, palm up.

?Fuck you. I paid for dinner.?

?Jesus Icon, I?ll pay you back when we get back to campus.?

I groan and fork over a Jefferson. She walks up and babbles to the stoners, and for a moment, I realize how fucking ugly she is. How skinny and flax her body is, how robotic her moves were. How purposefully girly she was. What a fucking Barbie. As soon as she comes back, though, she?s beautiful again; boner-inspiring material. She holds up a little vial and grins.

?Gonna get fucked up tonight. Ever done LSD??

?No.?

?Do you have an eyedropper back at your dorm??

For some fucking bizarre reason, ?Yes, I do.?

I?m lying on her bed, atop some ancient Beauty and the Beast bed sheets, watching Lindsey cautiously prepare the eyedropper. Her dorm was much smaller than mine, but in far better condition. Unlike her car, the place was as clean as a hospital. She was walking around in stockings now, wiggling her toes in the confines of the webby stuff.

?It?s going to sting like fuck.? She holds up the eyedropper to the fluorescent lighting and shakes it, trying to get the air bubbles out. I shift at the mention of pain.

?Wonderful.?

She moves over me and holds the dropper as far away from me as she possibly can. ?Are you ready to leave the earth, Icon??

I held silent for a moment, but I wasn?t considering if I was ready or not. For that moment, under a halo of clean buzzing light, Lindsey had attained that sensual appeal that drove me to her in the first place. As porcelain as a doll. As forbidden as an angel.

I held two thumbs out. ?Fire me up, baby.?

An inconspicuous glob erupts from the reservoir and flies down towards me like a manic bomber, it?s target my left eye.

WHAM

?Shhhhit!? Like an idiot I hunch and roll to one side, trying to nurse my eye.

Lindsey pushes me back over. ?Stop being a fucker and open your other eye!?

Two ruby-red finger nails peel open my right eyelids and she squirts another drop into it. I grunt in pain and roll over, burying my face in the musky, soft pillow.

?Shit.? Through bleary eyes I see Lindsey administering herself the drug, her cat-like face scrunching. ?How long does it take for this to get going.?

?Few seconds.? She sits down and puts her hands to her face, and I sit up. A silence passes and I look at her, and her at me.

And then it starts.

My forehead explodes and the room becomes a panorama of color and lights. Carbon copies of her stuffed bear collection collect in my eyes as I frantically flick them about, trying to find stasis in the sudden hurricane of sensory overload. My eyes become very, very warm.

I find myself wanting to stand, to move about. Lindsey laughs and lies back on her bed, kicking up her legs.

I pick up a book of Magic Eyes and open it up, the epileptic patterns morphing and rolling over each other.

?Wow.?

Lindsey leans over to a nightstand and fumbles with a CD player. Some generic guitar rock begins playing. I don?t know what it?s called but I?m sure I?ve heard on the radio five billion times already.

I close the book and walk over to her. ?This is my favorite song.?

?Oh my God, I know.? She sits up and hugs me, burying her face in my stomach. Standing up she takes her hands in mine and begins trying to waltz with me, but I stumble and all I can see are huge blots of color. We dance ourselves into a corner and she leans on me, giggling.

?Ohhh shit.? She reaches over and takes one of her stuffed bears, slumping to the floor. She rubs it?s plastic black eyes with thumbs and looks at her reflection in them, breathing quietly.

I manage to move myself across the maze of light and sound over to her window. God, the night. It?s as though the universe fell from it?s moorings and landed on the campus below. The lampposts were the stars, they Meyers Library fountain the moon, the trees were distant galaxies and the people below were aliens. I opened the window and leaned out, briefly considering riding the vapor trails my eyes left but thought better of it.

There?s a fire escape out there. I swing a leg out and Lindsey turns.

?Hey.? She drops the bear and turns herself onto the floor. ?What?s up??

?Going outside. Wanna come??

She nods and crawls across the floor to me and I help her out.

We?re leaning on each other on the rooftop?s edge, sitting on her massive roommate?s coat. Lindsey?s shoved her stocking feet under my ass to keep them from freezing. There?s a breeze and leaves from years gone past dance across the gravelly rooftop. We?ve spent the last hour talking about how can birds fly, each of us offering our own theories.

I look up at the night sky for the 8302nd time and watch another star fall from it?s place like a raindrop, disappearing in the black morass. I felt so goddamn numb, and not because it was ungodly cold. Lindsey nudges me.

?So? so what do you think it?s like?? She?s tearing up a business card into perfect little squares. ?To fly.?

I watch a leaf fly past my face, tracing the foggy patterns it leaves. ?It?s wonderful, I?m sure.? A silence passes. ?If you could fly, everyone would love you.?

Lindsey opens her palm and lets the breeze take the business card turned confetti. ?Where would you fly??

I don?t hesitate to answer. ?The moon.?

?Why the moon?? She laughs. ?I mean? what?s there??

?I dunno. That?s why I want to go there.?

Lindsey nudges me again. ?Fly to the moon, Icon. Fly away to the moon. Fly, fly, fly.?

I stand and hold my arms out. ?Zooooom!?

?What kind of bird are you??

?A crow.?

?A crow? you don?t look like a crow.? Lindsey giggles and stands next to me and holds her arms out as well. ?Caw caw!?

I lean over and bump my nose on her bare shoulder. ?Caw!?

?Caw caw!? She replies. ?We?re two giant crows in Springfield, Missouri on a dorm rooftop, tripping on acid and flying to the moon. Caw!? She nudges me again, causing me to lose balance for a moment. The ground begins to escalate but I lean back.

I let my happiness get the better of me and I shove her, hard. ?Caw,? I said, as she stumbled two steps and over the edge.

As she tumbled, she laughed. Her arms windmilled as she fell, and for a moment I reach beyond the trip and to her, fear cutting the numbing joy in my head. I lean over the edge to watch her descent to grace.

She smiled as she fell, reaching for the illusions she saw. It was all happening in slow motion, and as she fell past a lamppost, I swear to this day she bore wings, luminescent wings of dreams, and became so beautiful that I could never consider her something as base and inferior as a human ever again.

She hit the sidewalk laughing and smiling. Her pale body bounced once and knocked the life out. Her limbs fell limp, stiff in seemingly preset joints. A splotch of blood jumped from her mouth and sank into the sidewalk. Her eyes became glassy; dead yet alive. And she was still smiling. God above, she was still smiling.

I had just watched her as she went from human, to angel, to doll.

The reality of this didn?t hit me until I heard some girl shriek in terror. I sat up and looked at the sky again, searching for, what, an answer? Lindsey? A way out?

I don?t know. I don?t know what I was looking for but the final star in the sky fell away, and there was nothing to see but the nothing. And it terrifies me. There?s nothing left in the sky.

There?s nothing left in my life.

There was a crowd gathering around Lindsey now, and a few accusatory stares were finding my face. For a moment I think they too are looking at the starless sky, but I now know they were glaring at my drug-addled face.

I run to the fire escape and begin clambering down.

I?ve got to get out of here.

January 1st, 2005

Rouge

I just watched Moulin Rouge and can I just say that it is one of the worst films I have ever seen. Although I am surprised that we do not see more Hollywood films based on the concept of “all we need is love” I am still shocked when they rely on the concept of love to hide the obvious flaws of the main characters.

Okay, a bit of background: the Good Guy, Christian, is in love with the Heroine, Satine. The bad guy, The Duke is also in love with her. Towards the end of the film we see that Satine pretends to not love Christian (to stop him getting killed) and Christian has to bear the heartbreak of a girl who pretended to love him. We feel a massive amount of sorrow for Christian, who is under the impression that Satine was never in love with him, and was just toying with him. What a horrible thing to feel – that a girl only pretended to be in love with him.

Hello? Did we miss something here? The same fucking thing happened to the Duke earlier in the film. He was in love with Satine and she pretended to be in love with him back so that they could steal his money. And suddenly he’s the bad guy? Why?

Yes, he did try to buy her instead of falling in love that traditional way (through song apparently) but then again she is a whore, and she was there to be bought. And besides, even though she was completely in love with Christian, and could never go through with sleeping with The Duke, she still had no problems whatsoever with taking his money.

I guess it is all to do with what traits the characters posses. We all knew that The Duke was evil as soon as we realised he was rich and ugly. Christian, on the other hand, had the virtues of being talented and good looking, signifying to us straight away that he is the hero that can do no wrong.

January 1st, 2005

Reader Submission

the following was sent in by ScrewTape

Which are you?

In the process of a random online conversation last night, through myriad paths of drug induced discourse (yes folks, boredom is a drug) I happened to be drawn into a discussion that forced me to articulate something that I?ve long felt but never really put words to. Although no great treatise on the human condition, I did feel it was interesting enough to warrant a bit of spit n? polish and possibly the attention of others. Now, to be quite honest I?m not exactly sure how the topic was broached but basically it came down to what I feel is a major separation in our species. Specifically what it is that makes us all human but only some of us people. Before we go into it any further I?ll go ahead and tell you that for most of you, when I say person or people you?re hearing something different than what I mean. So bear with me if it?s a bit confusing in the beginning, we?re going to try and remedy that.

I feel that the difference between a human and a person is a step in evolution. Although some might argue it?s spiritual (and it very well may be) I like to think of it as an evolution of the mind. A step forward in mentality. Essentially it breaks down into this. We?re all born as animals, that is the first thing we are and the first thing we will always be. This, to me, is a human. An animal and nothing more. As an animal we are gifted with a set of senses and for this discussion we?ll only take into consideration the five that are universally accepted. Sight, smell, hearing, touch, and taste. In no particular order. Now through these senses we have the ability to perceive our world and gather together a great tome of vast and nearly inexhaustible knowledge. This I believe, is where the split has its roots.

As our personal lexicon of knowledge increases we begin putting together pieces here and there, building scales and forming patterns. The ever changing scales and patterns we create are then used to measure ourselves and the world we inhabit. This is how we grow (mentally) and the standard by which we judge maturity. Many believe, myself among them, that it is the application of this knowledge that is acquired and tempered through experience that constitutes wisdom. Wisdom being nothing more than a deeper and more thorough understanding of what it is that we perceive as humans. To carry that a step further, maturity (the level of our mental growth) is roughly equivalent to the amount of wisdom we possess as individuals. Still with me?

So then, imagine humanity on a sliding scale of mental evolution. Those at the top being the most wise (enlightened) and those at the bottom the least (unenlightened) and in between, scattered throughout this amazing panorama of humanity, we have all manner of folks in various stages of wisdom/maturity. This is where the split becomes apparent. As we watch, a small number of those visible in our microcosm move up, a few move down, but the great majority sits nearly immobile. Stagnant. So we have three distinct and separate groups. Ones evolving (rising, moving forward, advancing), some devolving (sinking, retrograde motion, retreating), and then the largest group of all barely moving in any direction, mostly just being (hovering, standing, shiftless). In seeing this we can venture to say that in real-time the greatest indication of which group someone belongs to is their behavior. The ability, or more often willingness, to re-prioritize their instinctual impulses of want/need and weigh more complex matters into their decision making thought processes. Ergo, those who are more enlightened tend to be less likely to fall prey to the petty emotional (animalistic) indulgences such as greed, jealously, and hatred that we, as humans, still practice almost religiously on a daily basis. This is truly what separates mankind. The rift between being a human, and being a person.

And that?s it, how I view the sad predicament of my fellow humans. It isn?t anything new, I?m sure it?s been said many times before in much more eloquent ways but up until this evening I?ve never taken the time personally to really dissect it and study what I believe. Now, I?m not claiming to be right, I?m intelligent enough to understand that right and wrong are mostly perceptual and I?m in no position to judge the merit of either. This is merely meant to be a statement of what I believe to be the reason for many of our differences and the problems that arise thereof. As animals we are truly magnificent specimens. Creatures worthy of praise in our ability to not only adapt and survive, but to flourish under any conditions. However, as enlightened beings, as people, we still leave much to be desired.

January 1st, 2005

The Blank Sessions

It?s a jam for the ladies and a superstar, I could lead the whole set but never go too far.

It?s a jam for the ladies and a superstar, I could lead the whole set but never go too far.

Helmeted head bouncing in rhythm, the android rabbit strutted down the boardwalk, the Oceans of Infinite Space consuming the metaphysical sands of Catharine?s seaside estate.

His helmet displayed varied sets of alphanumeric symbols, none with any discernable patterns, and seemingly a result of unhindered controls.

The android stops suddenly and faces the Oceans, metal hands placed in front of himself. His helmet turns towards you, a smiley displayed in the visor.

?Ah! The unit welcomes you, sir, madam, or child.? The smiley fades and it turns to the Oceans again. The Oceans are violet and filled with stars and galaxies; a thick soup of celestial bodies with no real end or beginning.

?The unit is amazed that a thing such as you is capable of finding this place.? It pauses and the pattern AA6*%n appears in it?s visor, then scrolls away. ?We are located in a reach of the Infinite that no machine ever built by man, in the past or in the distant future, could ever discover. How strange it is that, despite your innate primitiveness, you and a number of others are capable of coming here.? It turns to you again; it?s visor blank. ?Though, you are not really here, of course. You just think you are.?

On the sands below the board walk, a collie walks down the beach, slowly, looking only ahead. It?s nose not to the ground, or eyes to the mellow pink-blue skies above, but looking ahead, as though drawn by a lure of some sort. Not even the living universe lapping at it?s dry paws culls any attention from it.

?Where ever here is, of course. To be honest, the unit still does understand the nature of this place.? The somewhat audible music the android is playing slowly fades, as though it has to turn it?s resources to deeper thought. Pennyroyal cautiously lifts it?s right metal hand and places it on the wooden railing, the segmented joints in it?s fingers gripping it almost perfectly, the helmet turning to look at it. ?I can touch things. I know that this railing is physical. This is because the unit is equipped to detect objects on it?s pressure nodes.? A sloppy lap from the Infinite fills the expected pause. ?To put it in simpler terms, I know the railing is real because? I can touch it.?

Pennyroyal takes it?s hands from the railing and places it over it?s steel heart. ?I?? The android breathes the word, betraying it?s mechanical moorings. The collie has seated itself in the shallows of the Infinite, looking into the impassable beyond. It?s fur melds with the stars and distant planets. It has a mournful look on it?s small face.

?The self. Perhaps the only real tool a human uses to interact with the world. Perception. Dignity. Hope. Humans feel danger. Love.? The hand rolls itself into a fist and a spark leaps from the helmet. ?Emotion.?

The collie dips it?s head into it?s bushy chest, mouth lost inside the furriness.

?The question, ?What?? is the question that drives man to explore his world, and to question it. What is this I am seeing? What is this I am touching? What is this I am hearing? What is real? What is unreal??

Pennyroyal looks up suddenly, the pistons in his neck wheezing. ?What is real?? it asks, this time non-rhetorically. It spreads it?s arms and looks up. ?What is real??

A tear drops from the collie?s big brown eye, rolling down the matted fur and into the Infinite, where it swirls and twitches, forming a new galaxy.

?I am talking to you. I can hear myself talking to you. You do not respond. I touch this railing. It does not respond. If I die, how will this world respond to me??

The android drops his arms and looks to the Oceans again. ?If I die!??

The collie stands again, staring at the amorphous Infinite. It puts a paw forward, splashing the infinite and causing thousands of implosions and collapsing stars. It treads forward, determined but steady.

?I? Die? Real? What are these things to an android!? Why should it matter now, on this day, in this place that does not exist!??

Pennyroyal hunches brings it?s metal hands to fists and he hits his helmet with them, a wheezing, straining sound coming from it?s vocoder. ?OH NO.? It twitches violently. The helmet scrolls a quick series of multicolored alphanumeric characters, the occasional English word appearing.

Pennyroyal turns from the infinite and towards the estate sitting on a distant cliff. Storm clouds roll over from it, like a preemptive attack. Lightening calls and thunder responds.

?WHY??

The collie is now chest deep in the Oceans, it?s body slowly being over taken by the channels. In a brief second, it disappears and reappears, now peacefully paddling through the Oceans, inside the invisible waters of the Infinite, growing smaller as it paddles away, to the deep unreachable darkness, never to be seen again.

Pennyroyal drops suddenly, machinations in it?s robot body whining and squealing. It?s vocoder shrieks static as a real voice struggles to over come the steel prisons of efficiency. The android rolls to it?s side, helmet no longer alive with the cryptic messages it was lighting earlier. His right hand spins violently for a second before stopping in an awkward position.

?What am I??

January 1st, 2005

Icon: Crash

Oh Jesus fucking Christ it?s cold. It?s cold and I?m freezing and I?m still seeing shit.

I burst from the ground level fire exit, alarm shrieking my transgression into the night. My heartbeat fills my head like a drum kit and I try to take in what the fuck?s just happened. But I can?t. I can only think to move. My instinct, an instinct so far removed from animal it might be mechanical, tells me to head to Corning Street, where the traffic and bright lights are. There?s safety in the madness.

I dig what?s left of my fingernails into the cement walls as I stumble, arrows of light lashing out and biting my face every time I flick my eyes. The honey-sick glow of rushing traffic was the only beacon I had. In the midst of my flight, I kept seeing Lindsey falling head over heels in love, not with me specifically but just in love. Love for the drug, love for the fall. Just love.

I chance a look over my shoulder and see no one, but with the acid still fucking my eyes over it?s impossible to tell what begins and what ends. Oh shit, this is the worst night of my life, again.

I bump into something and a volcano of yellow and blue erupts in my face.

?Hey! The fuck?s going on, man!??

I stop and take two wide steps back, knees bend and my arms out at my sides. Like some sort of bizarre fighting stance. I stopped screaming in my mind for a second and focused on the barrier ahead.

Oh shit.

It?s Gary. Gary fucking Herbert. The guy who fucked my mother.

He?s in college now? What the hell; he couldn?t have possibly graduated yet. It?s impossible. That much time couldn?t have passed. Couldn?t have. Couldn?t have?

I was now slipping between two depressions, my sanity screaming like shorn metal amongst the emotional chaos in my mind. I clutched my head and said the only words a murderer tripping on acid can.

?Fugah gah ha ba ba.?

I lurched forward and stumbled pass him, using his shoulder as a crutch. Gary grabbed my fucking arm and turned me around. Oh Jesus, why?

?Icon! It?s me, Gary!?

?Yeah. Yeah, that?s good. Hi Gary.?

?What the hell?s going on? Are you drunk??

?Far from it, Gary. I?m actually completely fucked up on LSD and seeing all sorts of? of shit. Shit.? I rip my arm from his grip and set down on a plant bunker, the ice cold concrete a strange relief.

?Acid?? Gary asked in what he must have thought was disbelief. I nod an affirmative. This fucker. Jesus almighty. There?s millions of assholes in the world that I could have bumped into. And God, like the clever son of a bitch that he is, God sees fit to let me have a little reunion with my mother?s fetish. Thanks God. Thank you ever so.

WHOOP WHOOP

I jump up and look around. The effects are starting to wane. The colors aren?t smudging as bad as before. On the university road behind us an ambulance lumbers by. Here comes the fucking calvary, time to save some lives. Look at us, so very important. We do an important job, yes we do. Look at us, we?re big fucking heroes! Don?t you love us?

?Dude, where?s your dorm? I?ll walk you back.?

?No. No I can?t go back Gary.?

?Why can?t-??

?I can?t go back. I pushed her off the goddamn roof.?

?You what?? Brilliant acting, Shatner. ?Pushed who off the roof??

?I?m going now. See you later, have a nice life.?

?Wait!? He grabbed my fucking arm again.

?Gerroff me!? I jump up and down and shake him off. ?Fucking moron! Idiot!? I stumble backwards, sneering at him, at his greasy face, his Buddy Holly glasses, his shitty Abercrombie and Fitch hair style. Fuck you, buddy.

?Icon! Stop! Watch out!?

?Ha ha ha!? Why I laughed, I don?t know. It wasn?t the drugs, it wasn?t how he looked. It just felt so right to laugh at the time. I leered at him and turned around into the face of a ?98 gray Ford Taurus.

A solid force drives into my right side and sends me spinning, rolling on the road. Horns shriek and tires squeal. Crash, thump, bang, cars are piling up. I roll three times before stopping, my face turned to the bitter cold asphalt. A sharp breeze picks up and blows under my now untucked dress shirt and shows my bare ass to the entire world.

It is so fucking cold, man. I?m not lying.

This is the third car accident I?ve been in now, only this time I wasn?t in a car. And this time I?m going to walk away with something broken. Well, I wouldn?t be walking. It?s at this time people are leaping out of their cars to save the fucking day, each and every one of them with their ?compassionate? faces on. The strong men rolling up their sleeves and turning me over, grabbing my face and asking, ?YOU OKAY BUDDY ARE YOU OKAY WHAT HAPPENED WHY DID YOU KILL LINDSEY CAN YOU HEAR ME HOW MANY FINGERS AM I HOLDING UP.? I decide to remain silent and just let society take it?s course.

And there?s fucking Gary! Hello, jackass!

?Icon! Icon are you-??

?SHUT THE FUCK UP.? I close my eyes and writhe in the pain. ?ALL OF YOU,? I added for good measure.

The wind?s blowing, horns are honking, people are talking. One of the paramedics from the ambulance finally gets over here and starts doing his hero work, yes, nice job, Doctor Shitbrain.

I?m loaded up on a trolley at last with some ridiculous bind around my right arm made from some sweet gentleman?s jacket who?s now going to heaven for his sacrifice. The stars begin to return to the sky and I think if I close my eyes long enough, I?ll wake up and things will be better. Warmer at least.

?Mister Rosenburg??

Oh shit.

I open my eyes and see a copper in his winter best.

?Mister Rosenburg, I?m officer Edwin, Springfield police department. If you are able to answer I would like to ask you some questions concerning another accident that just happened nearby.?

?MY ARM.? I scream, throwing my head back. ?MY FUCKING ARM. JESUS IT HURTS.?

Edwin leans back and tucks his lips, nodding at a paramedic to take me away. That?s right, loser. Just go away and be a hero somewhere else.

I?m rolled into the back of an ambulance and the paramedics join me, knocking the side of the vehicle as a signal to go. Gary pops his goddamn head through the doors before they?re closed.

?Icon! I?ll come visit you at the hospital!?

?Do you mind!??

The doors slam shut and the walls begin to wobble. We?re on our way to the hospitial. I close my eyes.

And there?s Lindsey again, falling in love.

January 1st, 2005

Reflections on Suicide

Have you ever thought about killing yourself before? If so, have you actually acted on that thought? Did you succeed?

I know I?ve thought about it before, and I think to an extent we all have. A few of us have even made an attempt or two, thankfully to no avail. I?m glad those years are behind me now.

Each year in the United States roughly 25,000 people succeed in killing themselves. About 10 times this many however unsuccessfully try. In fact, suicide seems to be quite the popular trend among celebrities. Marilyn Monroe, Ernest Hemingway, Cleopatra, Cobain, Jack London etc. We can even ad Hitler, Samson, and Jim Jones to the list if we want.

Most religions regard suicide as a sin. I ask then, why do some cultures actually romanticize it? From Japanese Hara Kari to the ancient days of the Romans, suicide has actually been looked up to. To quote Seneca, a first century Roman stoic:

Living is not good, but living well. The wise man, therefore, lives as well as he should, not as long as he can?He will always think of life in terms of quality, not quantity? Dying early or late is of no relevance, dying well or ill is?Even if it is true that while there is life, there is hope, life is not to be bought at any cost.

Or, to quote one of my favorite country singers ?There?s a difference in living, and living well?. That makes sense to me. Why prolong a live that is not worth living?

That, in turn raises another question which I hope to shed some light on. Yes, I?m talking about the ethical quandaries involved with taking your own life. After all it?s YOUR life right? When you get down to it, isn?t it really the only think that?s truly yours; to do with what you please?

If I make a rational decision to take my own life, who are you to stop me? (not that ?I? am considering it) It?s my life right? It?s a pretty tight argument, but there?s one key word in there worth considering: rational .

I prepared an argument for this point, but after browsing the web I found a much better way to present this. Let?s look at some actual suicide notes. (of course I?ve removed anything identifying the people who wrote them. Some are famous, some aren?t.)

When many people think of suicide they think of romantic final words in a tear-jerking note left for loved ones. A note that reads like a message from beyond the grave. Notes like:

? there should be no sadness, and no searching for who is at fault; for the act and result are not sad, and no one is at fault. My only sorrow is for my parents who will not easily be able to accept that this is so much better for me. Please, folks, it?s all right, really it is.?

Or

?I wanted to be too many things, and greatness besides ? it was a hopeless task. I never managed to really love another person ? only to make the sounds of it. I never could believe what my society taught me to believe, yet I could never manage to quite find the truth.?

Or

?2:15 pm ? I?m about to will myself to stop my heartbeat and respiration. This is a very mystical experience. I have no fear. That surprises me. I thought I would be terrified. Soon I will know what death is like ? how many people out there can say that??

But seriously, how common are such notes? The previous examples are, in their own right, creative, unique, beautiful (for lack of a better word) pieces of writing that delve into the writer?s soul.

Alas, many real suicide notes are not like this. They are more practical and to the point, such as a last will, or a list of instructions to be carried out. Some are straight to the point, like the one man who before hanging himself in a barn wrote on the outside wall with chalk: ?sorry about this, there?s a corpse in here. Please inform the police.?

You?d think that if somebody were going to end it all they?d leave behind a more poetic legacy, something to be remembered by right? But when you get down to it, the suicidal person isn?t very rational to begin with. They?re usually depressed, down, panic stricken, or hysterical. How could their thoughts be clear?

So what exactly is it that makes up their mind? How and when do they decide it?s time to end it all? What goes through their mind as they sit there, fire up the word processor, spew out some rhetorically witty banter, carefully aim the steel barrel down their throat and BAM!

1 comment January 1st, 2005

Brilliant Disguise

This is not a topic set in the reader. It is a story that is loosely based off Bruce Springsteen?s song ?Brilliant Disguise?. I?ve supplied a link to the lyrics, and if you read them, it?s probably better to do it after the story.

Lyrics

Brilliant Disguise

I met her in a line for a Radiohead concert. We were stuck there for hours and spent most of the time talking. I?ve never had trouble talking to girls before, I?m pretty damn used to it, but it wasn?t my usual formula of ?ask questions ? pretend like you care?. Yeah, she was a glamour, but she was smart too, and nice, which really struck me. She wasn?t like anyone I had ever met, yeah, cheesy as hell, but shit it was it true.

She was in university doing chemical engineering, and I was an apprentice plumber. That didn?t bother her at all. But I doubted it was just a lack of pretension. Actually, I started to wonder whether she had a secret. I guess I?m good looking too, but she was so damn smart and so damn nice I couldn?t figure out what she would be doing with me. There had to be a reason for it.

And the more I thought about it the more I was convinced. I tried to keep up with her too, I mean I did everything right. Things I would never have done. Opening car doors, calling her all the time, going to chick flicks that bored the crap out of me. But there was something there that I couldn?t put my finger on. Something that I had to figure out in order to make sense of the relationship. I had long figured out she was far too good for me. I mean she cared about everyone, went to a private school, got on with her parents, hell, her original parents were still together. I just couldn?t believe it all, you know? When I looked at her, I just didn?t know if it was really her I saw, or some brilliant disguise.

Even as the months went past I could never get comfortable. We shouldn?t have been compatible but we were. And I loved her – a lot. She loved me too. I asked my mates what they thought but she had never spent a lot of time around them, neither had I since we got together, I hadn?t been to the pub in months, so they were no help. I knew there had to be a reason, but I couldn?t figure it out. Had she been messed up as a kid? Was she a tourist, a slummer? Maybe she was one of those girls who can?t be alone and I happened to be in the right place at the right time?

I knew how I felt but I really didn?t want to let her go. I had done so much for her. Not just superficial stuff either, like buying flowers, opening car doors and being nice to her parents. I would talk with her about my feelings. I was different, you know? It was a struggle for me, but think I did everything right. But I couldn?t figure out why she was with me. I was starting to think I never would. But I did.

Then I ended it. She was upset, a lot more upset then I would have thought, but I knew it was better in the long run. Because I had figured it out. I knew who she really was. She was herself. That wasn?t the problem. The problem was the person she was in love with. It wasn?t me. It was the person I was trying to be. My brilliant disguise.

November 5th, 2004

Myspace Advertising

When will MySpace Get it?

Why pay multi millions of dollars for a website if you don’t even know how to monetize it?

It’s simple: You’re showing the wrong time of ads!

Seriously.. while researching it for an upcoming website I’m making, I had to create an account.

(www.myspace.com/therealhockeygod) for the really curious of you..

Anyway, here’s the ads that greeted me: Wall Street journal, Hooters, and bad credit home equity.

Does anybody really think that 14 and 15 year olds (MySpace’s average user age) are going to click this stuff?

Advertise stuff that your users care about: Ringtones, wallpapers, music, fashion.

last I checked, high school kids didn’t read the WSJ.. Hell I work in a cubicle in an office that gets a free subscription and I don’t even read it!

August 6th, 2004

Email is Dead

Attention those who email me. I won’t be reading it.

I’ve recently enlarged my penis, bought software, and confirmed all my bank accounts. I no longer have a need for email.

That’s right spammers, you win. I’m pulling the plug on email at midnight tonite. From then on, every email address I’ve ever had will either forward to dev null or bounce right back at you.

I’m even restricting work email to people on my network, or already in my contacts list.

At last count, I recieved 141 spam emails an hour. And those are just the ones that get through my filters. That’s not even counting Gmail!!

Most of these come from the Whois information for the 40 websites I own, but a lot of spam is coming from the required email address I posted at Google directory .. yes it appears spam bots have even been able to remove the +nospam crap I put in there!

I just don’t have time to hold down the delete key every day, and it’s filling up my server too fast. In fact, in the time it took me to delete 140 email messages this morning, I recieved 12 more. 3 in japanese, 2 in spanish, and 4 from Chase asking for my account details.

Anyway. I’m giving up on email. It’s not practical anymore. If you want to get a hold of me, try AIM or MSN messenger, or just pick up the phone and call me.

May 6th, 2004