I’m in an old house, trying to sleep but I wake up to the sound of water dripping from the ceiling. There is a giant circle full of nearly ready drops of water, waiting to splash down.
“It’s from the rain.” Someone says.
“But it’s not raining…” I reply.
Downstairs, I’m in the kitchen, trying to get a drink of water and I notice that the middle of the kitchen floor is full of moss and clovers growing out of the ground. I seem to like it and decide not to try to remove any of it. At the sink, there are insects flying all around and I see one that looks like a swan. It’s about the size of a dragonfly but it’s softly feathered and has a long curved neck. It warps a little and now appears to be a small flying woman with no arms. But then I see she is only holding her arms up and over her head. I smile and move out of the kitchen, into the living room and stare at the ceiling, where down here too there is a big circle, dripping water and filth onto the floor. The water seems to be pooling up and soaking into the floor, then trickling down floor by floor.

Outside, I head to the bookshop, where many people are speaking about historical texts and how they relate to religion in modern times.

There is a boy who is studying Abraxas but he starts to follow a path that is being generated in front of him. A large stepping stone appears inches from his feet and as soon as he steps onto it, another appears in front of that one. He keeps this going until he is almost all the way around the world, traversing oceans and mountains with the steps rising and lowering to fit the terrain. When he is almost around the world the steps begin to go upward at an alarming pace, the boy just barely able to climb up to each next step. Before long, he is walking outside of the atmosphere, no problem breathing, circling the earth.

Narrowly avoiding the boy, a space Winnebago cruses into orbit and slams into the atmosphere, prepared to land in the city where I am watching this. The robot gets out of the machine and now it’s me. I am the robot. I am from space, looking for a new ride. Mine is old and won’t get me back into space.

On the next block, I see a real, honest space missile full of tourists, prepared to take off. It also looks like a Winnebago but when I sneak inside and the thrusters start up, i realize it isn’t as spacious as mine. There is only one seat I can fit into and it’s crammed up against a steering wheel. Nevertheless, I shoot up into space.

The missile doesn’t make it all the way and we land in the ocean near Russia. Swimming through dark waters, we find ourselves near ocean oil storage. There are vast pools of crude oil just floating in the waters, held together only by the chemicals own attraction to itself. When fish swim through it, the disturb it’s purity and get coated in the black sludge. A tanker is on its way to siphon some of the oil. It doesn’t matter how pure it is. It will get whatever it can and sell it at a discount.

We board the barge and when we get to land, everyone is fighting. It’s night and all I can see is fire and red hot pellets whizzing by our heads, shot from the pistols of the enemy. We have archaic weapons but they fire quickly. I’m reaching a tube into my pocket to fill it with tiny pellets, to reload my gun. It fires rapidly, randomly, into the wall of men. Like a fully automatic minuteman, I’m taking them down in seconds. We continue to march, just walking straight into the line of fire, gunning for the front line.

When the smoke clears and the bodies fall, we find ourselves in a theme park. The boy following the trail of stones is here. I tell my group we should go see an attraction that I remembered from a dream I had a few months ago. Behind one of the members of my group, I see floating islands with fortresses on them and a pair of noblemen battling each other on one of the island edges.

“There it is!” I point.

Well, I appear to have spilled the beans in my new blog by adding the wrong RSS feed in the toolbox, temporarily pointing users here. So for you early adopters via RSS, this is not the blog you may have thought you were going to get–and you know too much and will therefore have to die.
In the meantime (while you are still alive), you may be interested in viewing my sleep graph, which I will someday port over to the new blog persona.

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/text/2008085333_murdersuicide01m.html

This really bothers me. Obviously, court protection orders aren’t worth the paper they are printed on. If you are threatening murder/suicide, you probably don’t care that some authoritative agency suggests you don’t go near your target. In fact, it will probably just drive the urgency of your desire. Why can’t court protection orders also come with a GPS bracelet, just like those they put on people after they get out of jail so they don’t leave their houses? Only, this version would detect when you come within the limits of your order and notify authorities, who would hopefully come quickly enough. Just goes to show how broken and poisoned our society can be that a guy can go out and buy a gun, get a court order against him and still achieve his dark desires–and that we, as a society, let that happen, made it happen, grew this mindset.

Being a new dad, this stuff worries me.

I just got the news that two days ago, one of my ex-coworkers (at the company I work for now) was murdered: Seattle Times News Article

Melissa was fun and kind. She will be missed by many. I will always think of her when I see LOL cats.
This ones for you, Floxx:

This post has been moved to a new super secret web identity. Want to know where and who I am now? ask in the comments, I’ll get back to you.

Ok, I haven’t been officially on a polyphasic system for a while (although Ilya has definitely brought my sleep average down to a polyphasic level). Regardless, today marks day 1,000 of my sleep logging. View graphs here. At some point, I’m going to make a better graph that utilizes the data format of my sleep log. Although you can’t tell by the graph (where it appears I just note total sleep for the night), I record start and finish times for all sleep sessions for the 24 hour period of the day, so if I sleep in 4 different segments throughout the day, I have 4 logs for that day.

Appended 2008.07.24: Skye asked about the format of my logs so I took a screenshot of the first 30 entries. In later entries I started tracking what movies I watched in the awake time before the nap, whether I worked, played, etc…

The air is humid. I run and the wind screams passed my ears like a whistle full of steam. There is no direction but forward, like I’m shot from the belly of a plane, face-first and fearless. There is no turning back, no resistance to the inevitable. My legs begin to feel fluid, elastic. I fold into my torso, triggering the wheels in my kneecaps, elbows and wrists. Bending lower my kneewheels hit first, followed by my banded and wheeled hands. The elbows catch the ground simply as a navigational aid, bouncing on and off as needed. The ground flow is slightly uneven and the momentum of my fall leaves me with the need to continue rolling over onto my back. With a simple twist of my shoulders, I tilt and the sensors in my body armor eject wheels out from my shoulder blades, moving my kneewheels down to the heels and projecting a ferrofluid bearing helmet over my scalp. I always feel like closing my eyes for a second or two when I enter this position at such velocity. It’s a long time pleasure that I grant myself every chance I get. Just feeling the motion of the road under my body, I almost drift asleep. But the momentum continues. As the road approaches a right hand turn, I rotate and shoot my left hand out at the ground, gripping tight, pushing off, my legs go over head and for an instant I’m gliding with so much speed, upside down, watching the pedestrians in there civil suits, scornfully bemoaning my invasion in their walk space.
“Watch it there Insect!” One shouts.

After reading this Marginal Revolution post on the male and female privilege checklist, I noticed a few things the following lists were missing:

• Amptoons Male List
• Feminist Critics Female List
• Women in Higher Education Female List

First, let me say, I oppose assigning values to this items and comparing whether it’s better to be one sex over the other. Once someone tallied up and said “ok, the score leans to side X”, it’s going to start an endless battle of finding another thing that one sex has over the other. And really, what makes what list and what gets which value, is preposterously arbitrary.
Also, I consider myself a feminist. My additions are not intended to skew to one side or the other. Comment if you like with your additions. Mostly this is just a humorous but honest observation on some inequality in modern day USA culture and in nature. These lists do not include racial or sexual preference advantages.
I avoided mentioning things that are obviously benefits and hinderances at the same time (e.g. men are expected to be better drivers than women–this is sometimes to the benefit of the male and sometimes to the benefit of a female).

anyway, here are my additions:

Male:

• I can pee standing up, which allows me to pee just about anywhere without pulling my pants down (e.g. in a bottle on a road trip)
• I don’t have to deal with monthly bleeding
• If I rise high in my career, I can be comfortable that people will not think I got there through supplying sexual favors to my superiors
• I can run without worrying about long term damage to pectoral perkiness
• Video games are more likely to be tailored to my interests and playing style
• I can compete in sports without people questioning my sexual preference
• I can have a child without damaging my body in labor
• I don’t have to get routine pap-smears
• As I get older, my attractiveness increases (to a point) to younger members of the opposite sex.
• I am not pressured to feel guilty about what I eat (until I get old)
• In a crisis situation, someone from my gender is likely to be given (or to take) command

Female:

• Public restrooms for my gender are likely to be cleaner, some having couches and other luxuries
• If I am caring for a baby in public, my restroom is more likely to have a changing table
• I can receive student financial aid without having to ‘volunteer’ for Selective Services (the Draft)
• If I am moderately attractive, I can advance my career (or begin one) by emphasizing this quality
• When on a date or with a friend of the opposite sex, it is likely that I will not be expected to pay for anything–regardless of my income level
• I can display the uninhibited enthusiasm of a child without people questioning my intelligence or sexuality
• I am not expected to be athletic, lest my value as a member of my sex be questioned
• when sitting on any splayed-legged object (horse, bike, unicycle, etc…), I don’t have to worry about getting ‘racked’
• I am not expected to have to deal with spiders, snakes, worms or anything else that may be dangerous or gross (with the exception of snot, vomit, and poop in regard to my own children)
• Bars and clubs frequently have a weekly night where I get in free. If not, I can probably get someone from the opposite sex to pay for my entrance anyway (and likely some drinks as well).
• I can dance anywhere with a low probability that people will question my sexuality or sanity

Shimmy-down the syntax.
Print-out a verbal fax.
Dish-out the dealy-O.
Spit-cast the buffer overflow.
Out-cast the PC lingo.
Bypass the verbal underpass.
Make way for the super-flyway.
Pepper-spray the secret-sauce.

I’m up in a skyscraper that scrapes the ionosphere. It’s mostly under construction on the bottom of the tower but it’s all finished and full of people up top. There are escalators everywhere and I’m running down them. My Heely skate shoes come in handy as I round the corner and glide down one of the special wheelchair ramp escalators. It’s totally flat but it moves me faster than I can run. When I hit the bottom of the ramp I grab hold of a metal bar encircling the next escalator and I jump up through the opening that separates the pedestrian walkway from the pedestrian freeway. Now I’m flying. My feet tap every fiftieth step on the electric stairway, just enough to keep my momentum but the angle of descent is enough for me to nearly free-fall down dozens of floors.
Although I’m going fast, I know they are not far behind me, Yakuza, gokudō, but not bōryokudan–this group isn’t violent by nature. I think they just want to question me, why, I don’t know but I’m running anyway. It’s not that I mind answering questions, I just like to answer questions with all my fingers intact at the end of the conversation.
In almost no time at all, I’m nearing the underdeveloped part of the tower. The are no longer any escalators and I must take one of the large elevators they use to cart equipment. It also carries a lot of people on sometimes, like tonight, where countless tuxedo and gown clad citizens celebrate on the roof, gazing at the less distant stars, getting drunk off of the high altitude.
For a second, I worry that they may have someone stationed in the lift. Luckily, they had flown in and landed on the roof. They must not have had anyone come from the ground, yet. The elevator takes me all the way down to the basement level, my ears popping all the way. In the lowest level of the building, there are even more people than on the roof. They are getting ready for a Cirque performance of some kind.
I grab a seat, trying to be inconspicuous. The show starts and immediately I am unimpressed. They have giraffe unicycle magicians catching fine pieces of cloth, which are being projected out of thin air, but I can see a black gloved hand throwing them from behind an even blacker drapery. The contortionists are weak and the jugglers falter.