Silly Grins

Thursday, October 31, 2013

The Read Pill

The 'red pill' is not read. In it's natural state, it looks quite green, and muddy brown after it's been boiled down for a few days. As a crystal, they say it has a yellow tinge. What do you think?

Friday, October 4, 2013

Friday, August 23, 2013

The Way Some Things Work

Games and Puzzles: The Way Some Things Work

This post serves a number of purposes in that it is 'designed' to address the people who have commented over the life-cycle of this 'blog'. Yeah, the tenth stage of a life-cycle that I have only recently learned about through interaction with a beloved elder who, despite the medication, was well aware he was at Stage X, the transitory phase that includes mottling and cyanosis... his extremities had begun to cool.

We said goodbye.

Talk about...

under pressure
(and morphine).

Thursday, August 8, 2013

Jane Doe 183

Jane Doe? That means she’s dead, right?

“No, that’s not her posthumous ‘name’. She’s been off the radar for quite some time now. An intentional move. A choice. She could possibly still be alive... maybe in a shelter.”

You’re talking about one of your aunts?


Not the one who married the Fro…

“No. From the other side... from out of the light, not the shadows.”

Go on.

“What I still find peculiar is the way things have kind of just happened. Like the last time I saw her, I don’t remember her even speaking to me. I could hardly recognize her through the window. Not that the fasting had changed her looks other than making her appear painfully thin, almost skeletal if it weren’t for her healthy color.

You see, she still was good about nutrition. Very careful in fact.

The 'her' I didn’t not recognize didn’t acknowledge me. We had no conversation that I can recall.

But, as it turns out, she’d remembered me because she left this…

Here’s her writing on the inside cover. 

Her message... her ‘recognition’ of me comes mainly from a time before I was even ten years old. And she still pegged it. Even after all that time... and this time.

When she first came to visit, before I was ten, her presence was discovered quite by accident. Behind a closed door of the spare bedroom was a steady and indecipherable voice that, to a child’s mind, at first sounded like some kind of alien.

"Pasted on the inside of the book was 'everyone'"

Despite being scared, we opened up the door anyway. Kneeling on the floor, hands on in the ‘prayer position’ on the bed, was a woman with her eyes closed and speaking in tongues. She was kind enough to explain that a little later when she had finished her communion or whatever it was.

During her ‘visit’...”

Wait, I thought you said she was homeless?

“Yeah, she’s been homeless for as long as I can remember. Homeless in the sense of having no fixed address and no more possessions than what she carries with her. Admittedly, she has taken advantage of shelters from time to time. Or a family’s hospitality. She knew people.”

About that visit?

“Okay... yeah… that visit. That was probably the first time I met her. Or even knew that she existed. Definitely different. Different for a number of reasons. But before I get into those, I have to thank her for taking the time out to recognize who I was, even at that age. I mean, nearly ten and with no brother around, I had no one to wrestle with. Wasn’t about to try that with Step-dad-one. At that age, most adults wouldn’t rough house with kids. But she would. Tough and strong. Now that I think about it, her survival routine would have kept her in very good shape. At least when she wasn't 'sick'.”

You once said she’d taught you things?

“Yeah. She taught me about carob and how to sing הבה נגילה.”

But you are גוי?

“Yeah, I guess. But there was other stuff.”

Like what?

“The big words that named the problems. Kind of like the art she left, pasted on the inside of the book.”

And she left you that book the last time you met?

“Yeah, the last time we met. When she didn’t even acknowledge me, so I thought. But she was speaking to her little sister, the one who ended up taking care of everyone. And I still haven’t got the stories straight.”


“Yeah. Like how nervous breakdowns seem to run in the family. 183’s father was 160, or somewhere around there. He’d actually belonged to the club, that roundtable where ‘intelligent’ people are supposed to sit. Only thing is, people were waaay too far into their own heads to really know how to communicate. No one would listen. Not where he was.”

That’s funny.

“Yeah. Peculiar. 183 was even brighter. Which is somehow related to her idiosyncrasies, her choice to ‘not belong’ to society. Now, her navigational skills may seem fairly remarkable to some, but when you live on the streets, you pay attention to when libraries are open where there is plenty of time for reflection. And she could and did read. Areas with mild climates allowed her to ‘live in the hills’ with nothing more than maybe a tarp.”

You’re laughing.

“Yeah. Just remembered how her younger sister said we weren’t to use the plastic blue sheet when we were painting. 183 had complained we were messing up her home. Apparently, that was her shelter for the hills. Where she lived.”

Why now? Why all these thoughts and memories?

“If I could answer that question… no… it doesn’t need answering. What’s important is that I am able to have these thoughts and memories. I hadn’t seen that book, really opened it, in quite some time. Only now am I able to kind of understand where everyone was coming from.”

Because everybody’s clock keeps a different time?

Yeah, and maybe this one too:


Something in the climate of a hammer
Struck him when young. Call a
Sparrow a lamp, you’ll still need
The liking of chairs to settle
What is at bottom only painted over
Cloth; and that flat cunning of plates,
How little it speaks above the soup’s
So roundly directional bravura. Count the sky
A pan, you’ll still be hard put to find
Any flash in its like. But ah, alas, alas,
Lottipo . . . the mushy marshes, those tree-lined woods,
The so-small journeying, and the trivial occupants thereof . . .
There, too, and all else, alas, are only real. So may we
Remember once again how the grasses cause the wind to move . . .
Ah, alas, dear Toppilo, what then is this realm that seems
So like a cell, without jail or judge, or witness even . . .?
And that we love! Is this not proof of something?
No, I admit – not necessarily of heaven . . .

 And now, for that song..."

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Sid was not vi[s]cious...

Their once was a Rottweiler named ‘Sid’
A pure-hearted dog
With the heart of a kid

When he’d make his rounds
He’d put on that sad and lonely frown of his

You could hear his plea
As if to say
‘What about meeee?Aawwwe’

As he sat by the back door
And begged for just a little more

But not too much

He’d get a few pieces meant for the table
A scratch behind the ears
And pat on his fat back
Then he’d be off again

Places to go

To the next place
Wherever that was

He was the neighborhood bum
And we all sure enjoyed enabling that one

Man, that dog sure could eat.

Living in a kind of more rural area where your neighbor might be an acre or so away, most people had the habit of leaving their doors open. Doesn’t really make sense to lock anything when you spend most of your time outside anyway.

In the evenings, before the bugs came out, the top part of the door was usually open when dinner was being made. Last minute salads were picked from the garden throughout most of the year. Miss those Such a nice place.


Well, usually near dinner time, this big thug of a dog who could’ve probably afforded to loose a bit of that extra weight… Sid, he’d kind of slowly find his way up onto the back porch and stand there for a few minutes.

If no one was giving him any attention or at least pretending not to notice, he’d start to whine a little, kind of lettin’ folks know that he was stopping by and would sure appreciate one of them special dog biscuits we’d somehow not forgotten to picked up just for him.

Nobody really remembers when he first started showing up. We never really knew where he lived. And it’s not like he wasn’t well fed. He was kind of known for making the rounds in a way that made you smile when he came by. He’d hang out for just a little while, long enough to charm his way into your heart for those few scraps of whatever you might not really need.

No, never did figure out where he lived.

But we know where he died.

There was a school not too far away where people really should have been minding the speed limit when they drove by. No matter how big those yellow signs were, people just couldn’t slow down.

Funny thing about Sid, he wasn’t shy about holding up traffic even after he’d left a dent or two.

Word was, someone heard another screech from the wheels of a pickup truck that really should have been going a hell of a lot slower.  Instead of the usual follow up of profanity, that final day, the skid marks were punctuated with a pretty solid thud.

Yeah, Sid was a good dog.

Remembering him still brings back a smile.

Sunday, June 16, 2013

F*cking Fathers' Day

 F*cking Fathers' Day: Axes to Grind


Let the good times roll...

Let them knock you around...

"Good evening."

"Good evening Lloyd." 


"What will it be?"

"The usual."

Let the good times roll...

Monday, June 10, 2013

Amphibious Approach

Guided by decades of seasons
Meekly approaching
Only under the cover of night
She lands

Her last obstacle overcome
Her clutch deposited


She returns to that big blue forever
Her solution

Some say
Going by the sheer 
weight of numbers 


The odds are






Thursday, June 6, 2013

June 3, 2013

June 3, 2013: A [t]Raining Day

Small Pri..
(This post has been written with the expectation that there are very few people who will easily 'get it' all on the fist read through. Contained within are a number of links, each intended to supplement the post in providing specific examples of what is being introduced and to show what connections are being made. Allowing for the videos, the only thing required on the part of the reader is roughly ten minutes of valued time for the first look. Throughout the post, there are a number of questions you may choose to answer. This is not an empathy test; it's not even a test. Everything after ***** is extra. There are no 'Easter eggs' hidden in this post - not in a technical sense.)

You are under no obligation to solve or unlock this post. However, you may wish to read the directions first. 

Directions (optional): 

1. Read through without clicking, except where there is an asterisk *. 
2. Read through again, clicking where supplemental information is necessary. 
3. Leave a comment. 

(Addendum: Comments will be responded to in order received with individual consideration applied to each.) 


Just recently, a now-more-famous-than-ever politician from Osaka had said some things that have stirred up a bit of controversy. Quite frankly, I'm pleased to see that people are questioning their perception of where they live. 


In the context of living in Japan, I  was asking myself, “What would make a person not simply ‘go with the flow’ and violate established social code?

Going with the flow... thinking about the consequences of going with the flow and understanding what that entails had me curious.

First, I went to look at Ki11010gy.

And saw:

“Grossman further argues that violence in television, movies and video games contributes to real-life violence by a similar process of training and desensitization.”

The video is something I'd seen seven days prior to June 3, while learning how to pack stuff. This is one of the coolest instructional videos I've come across on the Web so far. Schr03d3r does an excellent job at presentation. If only everyone was able to give instruction the way he does, there would be a lot less mess to deal with. The video is roughly six minutes long. If you are already familiar with the process, please skip ahead to the 5:30 mark. 

Question #1.

Can you see how the Grossman quote is related to the video…can you make that connection?

a. yes
b. no

After reading what is quoted above and making the connection (1.a) I continued to learn about the M!1gr4m experiment. And I thought to myself, “Oh, yeah…that one. The one most of us have heard about and perhaps even participate in to varying degrees.”  

"Morality of  ELTs"

(I'm kind of nervous when people ask me questions.) 

For some reason, I began thinking about my recent reintroduction to probabilities through the kind wisdom found in Joker’s Three Door Monty problem. 




(Which game show? Which studio? Why would I be in a studio on a game show?) 

You see, regardless of where or when the M!1gr4m experiments allegedly take place, roughly 2/3’s of the subjects are “prepared to inflict fatal voltages” - something that is noted as being “remarkably constant”.

Question #2.

Can you see a connection between Joker’s lesson and the shock experiments? 

a. yes
b. no

Regardless of your answer, what do you think it could be?

(Yes, there is a specific answer. However, all attempts are appreciated; you may be more attuned to this than I am.)


Related to the M!1gr4m experiments are the H0f1!n hospital experiments.

M!1gr4m’s experiments were controlled. No one was being shocked. However, in this case, the tests were carried out in the real world, with real people in very real situations. 

“What,” might a person ask, “is the mechanism for this…how the f*#@k does this happen?[!]” 

Back to those three doors now, one of which has already been opened for you. 



Question #3.

Even after knowing or understanding what the odds or probabilities are, after having had them explained to you…do you still want to stick with the first door you chose?

a. yes
b. no

The A$ch conformity experiments all seem to boil down to a bit in the last paragraph :

Which only really sunk in after I’d read the whole article.

All I had to do was replace this

(I think of these as the 'four seasons' of Japan)

with this

Learning and thinking here at this point

is very seldom, from my experience, ever done in an environment where normative influences are not present.

Normative influences…when an individual finds time to do her or his own thinking outside the box and submit their ideas anonymously, they are “not subject to social punishment or reward on the basis of their responses”.

Question #4.


What color is the circle on the right?

a. red
b. green
c. blue
d. yellow

Question #5.

Are you sure you do not want to change your answer?

a. yes
b. no

You may click here later.

Wikipedia’s information on the conformity experiments are very helpful.  It’s much easier than I thought and very similar to how I remember one of my own special 'sessions'. I actually remember the specific answer I chose.  And my response was predictable.

I had trusted one of ‘them’.

Ironically, for me, it remains a moral question.


Moral Disengagement

If you look it up on Wikipedia, you will find the quote attributed to Voltaire. 

“Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities”

Of the following list, I am only concerned with the first one in how it applies to the current situation.  


  •  Reconstructing immoral conduct 
  •  Displacing or diffusing responsibility
  •  Misrepresenting injurious consequences
  •  Dehumanizing the victim

Tentative Conclusion:

When I ask myself, “What would make a person not simply ‘go with the flow’ and violate established social code?” -  I do not have a clear answer for that. But I do know that I need to be aware of how authority works especially when the odds are so heavily stacked in its favor.  For the System, it doesn’t matter which door you choose as long as you choose from the answers that are provided. Or that you are watching. 

Looking forward to your responses. 
Fortunately, reaction time is not a factor. 



Somebody really asked me about someone the other day. 
And the person asking the question was surprised by my response, which caught him off guard. 

This Father's Day is when I will post about a number of 'them'. 
Thanks for reading. 

The local honu are returning.

Friday, May 31, 2013

'What's the right thing to do?'

 This is more than just a question about a knob.

 On and off...
And everything in-between.

“Unsettling our settled assumptions…”

The ability to step out of my comfort zone is something I cherish very much. I also understand that even considering the possibility can be seen as somewhat of a privilege.  And I am fully aware that my concept of ‘comfort’ is a lot further from what most people find palatable.  

 Very simple and reasonably cheap.
Usually not in the way people expect.

Although life often requires much more than a binary mindset, there are times, however discomforting, that afford no privilege of simply thinking. 

"Mr. Ashborn"

There may be moments when it must either be ‘turned on’ or it gets turned ‘off’ - in a permanent sense – where the idea of ‘fairness’ does not come into play at all. Sometimes it’s hard to keep this in mind. 


On or Off...there is no try.

And then there’s this.

Fuckit! I’m going outside.

And some people got buttons.

Industrial Strength

Monday, May 27, 2013

Sandmen: Trading New Days for Old

Background ‘noise’ has a way of becoming invisible to the naked ear. 
Perhaps it’s hidden in the Muzak you don’t really know you’re listening to. 

For that middle-of-the-crossroad sound, smooth jazz works best for me.


Won't you stretch imagination for the moment and come with me
Let us hasten to a nation lying over the western sea 

Hide behind the cherry blossoms here's a sight that will please your eyes
There's a baby with a lady of Japan singing lullabies 

Although, walking over fine pale sands along forgotten miles of beach, the ‘richness’ of being allowed to be human (or at least try to be) has somehow ebbed.   


Which, at the moment, represents a delicate and distracted state not exclusive nor universal to any form of life. 

Under the rising tide in a current stream of wounded pride, fond memories are waxing nostalgic.

Like an echo of the song I hear the Japanese Sandman
Call new days near for all here's the Japanese 

Those who would have it another way seem to have forgotten ‘her’. 

Then you'll be a bit older in the dawn when you wake 



And you'll be a bit bolder with the new day you make

Not understanding, in a land of color blind ears and tone deaf eyes, I slept well beneath her naked beauty.

Monday, May 20, 2013


And Priscilla-proud of it too. 

Unforgettable Sissy Felicia - remember?

Flaming Sissy Smith

Sort of.

You see, this inescapable Web 2.0-ish stuff is pretty damn funny.
Most often in a bizarre way that will reach out and touch you.

And it stings.

Especially when that proverbial eleven-year-old mind pimp-slaps you with her keyboard at more mental Mbps than your little DSL of an ego can handle.

 Let's plagiarize here for a minute.

S[*]SSYF[*]GHT turned the usual tropes of gaming upside-down. Everyone was forced to be a girl, and the game playfully encouraged backstabbing, flame wars, and a ruthless mob mentality.

Wunsuponatyme there was an idea that kept buggin' me and wanted to be blogged about. A little bit of sentimental stuff about the 'put down',  the 'backstab', 'hair-pulling' and mindless mob going mental on itself kind of spectacle.

What was alluring for me is that the ancient piece of hardware, virtually a dial-up... that slower piece of high tech I was using at the time could actually be used to 'play the game' - a game that was much, much more than point and click, click, click....

A lot of the social dynamics of the game were familiar when I stared reading blogs, just a little more than two years ago.

Only, the SiSSY-game, game of almighty games, clearly states what the objective is:

S[*]SSYF[*]GHT is a game of social interaction and psychological strategy. Every player starts with 10 self-esteem points, and your goal is to reduce the self-esteem of the other players. If there are one or two girls left at the end of a round, they win.

For a short while, it was a fun experience and I did considerably well at being a rotten little bitch.

Friday, May 10, 2013

Professional Courtesy

Professional Courtesy: Dr. Mercy's Last Words 


Hang on, just a minute...

Just in case you kind of stumbled here, by chance, this is the fifth and final part of a series within a series, within a... you ___ ___ _____ . Near the bottom.

Go ahead, click stuff, I'll wait. 

Now, that we're as close to being on the same page as we're probably going to ever be, here goes:

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

"Who the f*ck are you?"



“For the people who are interested in what I happen to be doing, rarely does anyone express interest in who I may be, which is not really the point anyway. This might take a minute...look...” 


“So, what is the point?”

“The point is that none of this is systematic. No, none of this is systematic in a sophisticated sense of the word. There is nothing coercive going on - nothing deliberate along the following lines:

  • The number of choices do not lead to the same conclusion

  • Ideas and phrases are rarely repeated

  • Information is not provided in a manner designed to dampen intelligence

  • Anger and fear are not used to put a person in a heightened state

It's important to be able to see the forest from the trees... so we are not being taken down one of two vary narrow paths at all.”


“We end up having discussions while walking outside in daylight. The key here being an activity… an activity… any activity that requires constant and steady motion without it becoming hyp…not…ic…”

“I... see.”

“Urban areas are often too ‘busy’ for this type of exchange. There is simply too much going on that could emerge and suddenly pose a risk. In such an environment, the stress of continuous shifting of focus on what is near and far is too great; simultaneously pushing and pulling a person’s attention, the oscillation tends to distort the message(s).

“So, now that we are walking along this open path, what is on your mind?”

“What’s on my mind? What’s on my mind is how we edit our realities. We edit our realities without thinking about it… without thinking about it to the point where we don’t see the possibilities. That is what's on my mind.”


“I suspect that we’ve effectively 'reformed our thoughts' to the point where it takes something akin to a near-death experience to ‘wake up’. And that state of being awake only lasts for so long.” 





Top Animated Gif


Hypnotic Spiral Gif


Still Photo


A Good Photographer

Pocket Watch


Parabolic Mic


The Last Thing You Remember

Is Feeling 

P e a c f u l 


R e l a x e d