The rain is cold. The wind pushes it over the hills from the coast rattling
on the south windows here in the Crow's Nest. Imagine a 10 by 10 glass
walled box stuck up on the third floor, outside. The morning sun glows up
from behind Mt Hood, shining on the market screens. Hot coffee, fresh or
yesterday's, we sip Jamaican Blue Mountian, so some first cups have a
different bite. Early e-mail reads bring in yesterdays' market news,
portents of the activity for the day, friends, chatter's clatter, junk-trash
and like a rock that I keep stubbing a sore toe upon, that MOQ essay gies.
Well, I did sign on with this crew, don't like the rules, but what the hell,
still need to keep the balance up and rubber on the road. Bought another
copy of Lila from Amazon.com for $6.95 and I've been reading, underlining
and dog earring, just a way to delay exposing my core, center, self.
Buffy the Dog slayer is setting on the phone again making it beep boop and
buzz for the kitten of it. She is no bigger than a minute, has complete
autonomy of the house, she squared the corners on our other cats and Roxie
the german sheppard rolls over on her back when the kitten frizzes by.
Buffy has not found the cat door in the Crow's Nest, yet. The cats go in
and out, up and down a tree, sometimes they bring gifts of mice. The wind
blows the cat door and the chill runs across the rug into the red and green
striped cast on my left leg. The cast covering the last, final, finis
operation to return the leg and my left side to walking status.
"That limits me in a lot of ways. There's so much I can't say. But it's
better to know a lot and say little, I think, than to know little and say a
lot...Don't you agree?" Page 36 The assignment troubles me, it requires me,
just plain straight heart me. I don't get to be self righteous, angry,
analytic, I don't get to fight with someone over the bones of meaning in a
passage or an idea. I just say straight out what I like and why. Take
Cherokee, Negro, Dutch, German stir well in the gene pool and you have me,
an Arky. Here I thought it was just me. The Indian connection in ZMM
considering ghosts and the connetion in Lila both resonate solidly with me,
I like them.
My sweetheart just brought me another cup-o-jo, a bottle of water(the drugs
make me thirsty) and picked up the pee-bottle to empty. It is a long three
years on a relationship, lift and tote for a guy that is broken. It invites
me to wonder, about the elasticity of the human spirit and how she has stood
to hang in there for the whining and paining, a debt with no payment
possible.
We are all human, same basic wiring, same needs, different variations on a
fundamental design. I trained as an engineer for years, computers, hardware,
software, systems and I finally reached a personal place where I chose to
take over my own programming, NeuroLinguistic programming, mind models,
language, hypnosis, meditation, sound balancing the brain(Hemi-Sync), the
source code has been highjacked by Memes, MetaMemes, advertising, calls for
a real house cleaning when and as I can discern the gold from the trash. It
looks to me to be a rest-o-life task of recognition of the low-quality
source code patches and a high-quality rewrite, now if I can just recognize
a really good quality mind specificiation to write to...Indians, hmmmm.
Gary just called with a system problem. His Win95 "old" 100Mhz Pentium
system has two disk drives and was giving him a First Aid warning that he
only had 10% left on the C drive. This occurred during internet/Web
sessions. So he used Clean Sweep to clean up the C drive. He hit an
immovable file, #175 data file. We kinda hit these on occasion in our daily
lives as well, you know the ones that just set there and won't go away. Well
he tried a work around in DOS of copying the file to disk and doing a manual
delete on C drive. Now his sysem will not boot to recognize the presence of
the C drive and of course Win95 boot is nothing but a wishful memory...seems
that some data files in Windows are essential, don't touch on pain of
rebuild. I wonder if we have built in files that we are not meant to touch?
I was wondering about how to tell what a Madman is the other night and I
could only come up with ways to say what is missing in the quality of a man
that he would be called mad.
Gary found one for Win95. We Q and A ed the symptoms, the steps he took, the
results he acheived, see the system always does exactly what it is supposed
to do, it's just that we don't always know what it is that the system does
or will do. The crash originated from some very simple conditions, Win95
can get a system on the net, as Web pages are processed a really big data
bag gets filled up taking up for-real "Virtual" space on the hard drive,
when the "Virtual" space bag gets full the system barfs and issues an
obscure error message. The problem is a little known fundamental problem
that occurs as a result of the way the OS interacts with the Internet Usage.
Of course the tools that are put on the system are designed to interpret the
error message and help but only end up compounding the problem because we do
what is logical and rational to do to fix the problem(fix as in make
permanent).
If Gary had ignored the First Aid warning and not taken any action his
system would still be intact and functioning, seems the signposts are not
always what we think that they are. Indians are supposed to have respected a
Madman as a message bearer. Four to six hours in a sweat lodge can leave me
just a might light headed and somewhat perspective, I wonder how the metal
in my leg will hold up to the heat? Black Eagle died of cancer last year
and I really feel uncomfortable with the college kids that use the lodge
now. The hot tub is something I can stand, I wonder? We will do an up grade
to Win98 and later version Internet Access together and Gary will get back
up on the web.
Serendipity plays a key role in how my life goes on. Gary is recovering
from surgery on his right ankle to relieve arthritis. He takes TNF, a fancy
gene derived protein, to make life with osteoporosis bearable. Between us
we have two good legs! Things do not just happen, things happen and conform
to a pattern, it may be dynamically fractal but I am convinced it is a
quality pattern. Gary does pottery, is like saying a $100 bill is made up of
pennies. After we fix his computer up to snuff, he will let me play at
throwing a pot or two, I"LL BE GETTING BACK TO TRYING TO THROW POTS! This
will get me out of the house afternoons and into a n0-brainer activity.
Well, page 36, Indians, I like it. Stack of books, Direct TV(Markets,
entertainment), best stock picks for 2000 and beyond, the daily market(real
dynamic). So, serendipity, mind-source-code,high country quality from the
Church of Reason, Buffy buzzing the phone, Roxy barking at the black lab
across the way, the rain rattling on the windows in the Crow's Nest, life
sure is interesting.
Best of the season to all...
bens
------- End of forwarded message -------
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