I Have a Splitting Headache.

He was in two minds about something. In South Park, who exactly is Mr. Hat? Who does he stand in for? Sex (not Mr. Hat; I’ve moved on). Chef likes to sing about the sweet lovin’, but when Kathie Lee wants more, Chef says, ... “I just gave you some 5 minutes ago, are you trying to kill me?” But, it’s nice to be close. Somehow buried her(e), perhaps 10cm deep, which is kind of embarrassing I can only but imagine, is a notion that promiscuity has a purpose, sex can be completely impersonal, but it has to be acted personally. Because, don’t males drowse off into a pleasant state (do they Peter? No, you have parvors and you have to be kept awake? What kind of a person of Slavic—timid perhaps—descent are you?! I’m actually pretty much Anglo).

In that way, my headache lasted between three and four years, the doctors are unsure, rather than the usual few months for my stress condition. At one point “they” said, it’s too late.

Never.

I will put up suggestions on how to deal with the issues raised on South Park, of which there are vary many. By the way, this headache thing is really a projection of the the very first episode, 01x01, which involves Cartman getting an anal probe. Next time I will go into a deeper analysis of the show. It’s more than “I think I learned something today,” though such a straightforward sentiment is useful for pointing certain people in the right direction.

I hope, just because I write these lame-o commentaries, I am not mistaken for one such person. On Labor Day I wear muted tones with my single red item of clothing—the latter being a tradition.

Above is I have idea, and below is... try to figure out what it says.

When do you decide when enough is enough? You have too know first that there is something of which there can be enough. I have a very pretty and nice smelling boxset of 33 1/3 singles and a CD-ROM called A Box Full of Ghosts. The 7”s are by TV Pow/Liminal, Kazumoto Endo/Incapacitants, and Christian Marclay/Otomo Yoshihide; and the CD-ROM with videos from Otomo Yoshihide, Melt Banana, Xome, TV Pow, Liminal, Flexible Products. It was a 42nd birthday present to Peter from a pretty amazing guy. I’m still wondering about, well, (Peter here) I made a piece in January 2003, which was an especially snowy/icy winter, the worst we had had in New England for quite some time. The streets were long mirrors with white dashes visible down them. Pretty clean though. The piece had two versions, and I combined them (mainly because in the first version, my parents called me, and I forgot I was recording a live filtering performance, and there is a five minute blank in it; I liked it but people didn’t—from which we can conclude I am not “people,’ well, perhaps plural).

The second version had some contorted title, something like “Song For Wh*” meaning whom, what, when, where, etc. The first version is called Repeat Love Offence. (I gave it the English spelling. It looks kind of weird, so I think I’ll change it.) The first version is called Repeat Love Offense. Nothing really having to do with apparent offenses, more demands made on people, males. I have felt manipulated, used, abused (but not quite body-raped, though I would say mind-raped), sexually. That’s all. At least I don’t carry my seminal fluid in my neck, because I imagine I’d end up having my head bitten off. Oh, perhaps I’d like to be a Preying Mantis, because I don’t like my head.

Meet wonderful ex-girlfriend (who’s name starts with A). I have had two girlfriends named Andrea (okay, we’ve each had one). This is the London one, a really wonderful person. Alive, and kicking organ pedals in some of the best churches in England. She’s an organ virtuoso. The other sadly is terminally ill; I suppose chronically and acutely ill would have applied too. Unfortunately she is not in the same city anymore, and keeps to herself. We all respond to these things differently. But I feel as if a little prayer of hers sits within me, in my thoughts. That might be premature, and a little religious, but, there you go. Your world view has to change when your world actuality changes. But that doesn’t mean you have to like it. (It seems as if someone has photoshopped her to look a little different, but I’m used to that crap. She still look mighty fine to me.)

In December 2009, I made a piece, simply piling in some quite violent/teleological (path-seeking or -finding) sounds on top of a techno piece, “Louder” (original mix) by Jose Amnesia ft. Jennifer Rene. I called it, without putting too much thought into it, but it seemed to fit well, and now more than ever the music glove fits the brain hand (and oh how it likes to wave or waver or waive or or or), “LongMeasureInsideYourHeadJob.” However pertinent a title such as that can be—and I’d say, very Englishly, “quite”—I do not know what possessed me to call it that. It’s one word, as if the title is not fully formed, an incomplete joining of ideas such that things have got their stickiness all wrong. They need to think Lotus Effect of Beta Waves as the Heart Pulses and I Dream with Much Fear. But I am fear. The rest of my name (A here) will be explained, because there’s a whole story folded or wrapped up in it. But different. As with Apple (in my eye), Think Different. An interior monolog can.

I Need More Than an Art Studio, I Need Photoshop.

Here are photos of Peter surrounded by his art. Next time he’ll be surrounded by me, and I’ll post those pictures, or just post a link to Met Art because that’s how hot I am. These are the first photos of him with his art that have been published internationally and I imagine millions of people are looking at him thinking, yeah, what a dickhead.

Marker pen and very nice paper:-

One side of the living room which is almost the dying room as we use inks and dyes, and also because the xylene and acetone in the fixatives/finishes/ spray paint are pretty atmospherically turning our heads into whether balloons: do we open the windows?

And in the bathroom, a crooked plexiglass number. It’s hard to know where the hyp-hen falls: -iglass, -glass, -lass, -ass. For some fformer ffriends, no doubt -ss. In New Zealand, godzone, we can plexiglass perspex. Much cleverer. Like perspicacious.

He is very conscious of how the close-ups distort his face. What a vain little prick (not gematriacly-speaking).

van der Waal Forces are So Passé.

As mentioned below, the person who has all-but vanished—there are ways to lose weight that are quite severe—due to the friend-antifriend combination, though a neutrino was released along with an anti-electron. Which is significant because he works with semiconductors, for sure, on transneural electronics (which baffle me), but he also works with what transistors used to be and what relays became. Kind of sucked it out of history, deflecting cold war woes.

One dark and stormy knight, for he is chivalrous, and has the title CRMJ (don’t ask, but I think it means he used to load my old dioder (it was IKEA?)’s pF—which could mean soft→LOUD—capacitor with his charge)—it’s an easy LED thing that flashes or changes colors in two modes—surreptitiously, cycling perhaps like on the Tour de France; or just blatantly as is a bicycle at a velodrome doing the sprint: sometimes extreme spurts of speed, sometimes stays in the same place, apparently teetering (on my birthday, of all times, got the electrical stitch/glitch), until the other guy comes up from behind, then k’boom, races to the finish line ready for the next race (though she is ffairly picky)—we loved our dioders. Or you could convince the critter—we had eight, one for each day of the week—to stay on one color—it seemed to me it was stuck on a very nice color for a few years even (was it faulty, or FAVLTY—For A Very Long Time, or at fault?). But how wrong I was—IKEA, as much as possible, is not BO Concept (though Finnish or Icelandic spring to mind too, design being what it is).

Anyway, this knight of rare and wonderful devices, such as a giant antenna (in slenderness and ability to receive waves and rumor or murmur has it, transmit, i.e., across a glove), and a Wall of Voodoo (with its cover of Ring of Fire). He told me on a night of quite forceful snow that his father was a non-teaching professor of theoretical physics who was invited to head a lab in his new country of residence—he is from country A, was schooled in country B, and finished his secondary education in country C, whose language become his primary language, and then tertiary education in this country, which has now kindly made space for him—with an unlimited budget. And that he really need didn’t such a high budget as most of the technology he needed was already there, and he needed only around ten research assistants.

The person relayed his father’s work: on neutron stars. No, he didn’t actually land on a neutron star and try to breath in its atmosphere. Such stars are tiny, and are almost black holes as they have collapsed so densely. And according to some, they have no atmosphere. But this person said they have a tiny atmosphere, his father discovered, just 10cm deep, and upon probing that atmosphere, discovered the never-heard of physical model of fundamental particles of the plasma ephemorally bonding by magnetic field, kind of a single pulse which is how long the bond lasted. Something about spin states, but what isn’t; what isn’t about putting a spin on things. Or some kind of unbelievable state. Anyway, this is not electrostatic attraction as is the case with fundamental particle physics as we know it; but it doesn’t actually contradict our model or/of reality, so there is no collision of sub-universes which would then wipe each other out. They cohabit space.

My ex-girlfriend used to explain mad sirence to me, as we called it, and person saw a diagram of the hybrid primary orbitals of a water molecule she had drawn in a Spanish town, which was to show how the electrons were not “bound” to a particular hydrogen atom, nor were they in fact really upset at the idea of getting their little selves around the big oxygen atom. So hydrogen bonds could be drawn. And also the very weak van der Waal forces—she drew a lot of δ-s and δ+s. What do you know, here it is!

He said the water molecule would be described as—and I forget the details, I bet β and σ quarks were significant—h+ h++ 4 O -- - or something—just like blood types, and the categories were the same: circulating or spilling/flowing out. I said WOW!—it was so amazing. And he wrote the 1000 line Fortran code—they say 1 line is too many, and 1000 not enough—to solve partial differential equations for the theoretical model for his father, and had been doing so since he was a teenager.

Both amazing and amazingly fascinating and lying somewhere between amazing and insanely amazing. I shan’t forget that night, even if I forgot it for a long time until recently. He also demonstrated that capacitors became inductors at very high frequencies, and the converse, and demonstrated it with the fancy piece of test equipment I had given him (I had found it and had no use for it, but he used it for everything, as it “could test the only things his array of test equipment couldn’t test, and went to very many more numerical places than anything else”—I learned what a mantissa was—I thought it was a type of ray). Plus he explained basic lab electronics to my ex-girlfriend—we are talking years ago, but not long enough that it was shocking and current news—starting with, and only about MOSFETs. Something about the word, something about the action.

Ugh. I was sucked in just as much as his favorite devices are. But he fixed, and had a somewhat loud friend fix several of my devices, which tended to have power regulator circuit/device problems. He inserted some pretty fancy part that took care of things and me, and—hey presto—my rare and wonderful devices worked like waves of magic. I was drunk with smiles, and almost had to be hospitalized with the delirium tremens.