Tuesday
Monday
"Down To My Last Two Cents" by Ty Hardaway on September 13, 2010
So in my notebook this morning I am noticing all these words from the weekend. Most of these words--written in tiny moments between larger moments--are reflections and Web log posting drafts with regard to this whole 9/11™ business. It begins with me alluding that I always have to be the one to state the obvious. The hubris of me thinking I know all things.
Sure, I hate it when notions I consider to be the tr00f remain unspoken--especially around what I drafted as, "naval-gaze moping over this 9/11™ business"--but who am I to say shit about shit? Again with the hubris, right? As I've said before (and actually believe), everyone has a different truth. I cannot live in the skin and synapses of anyone else.
There you have it, people. Opinions! I have opinions, you have opinions. Everybody believes their opinions to be the very best opinions ever know to the human history of opinions. Opinions are shouted from mountaintops and from the angry fringes. Opinions are like stars in space.
But the more I listen to other people's opinions and notions and ideas, the more I realize that my number one fundamental personality flaw is my natural tendency to interject my damn two cents into things; to set records straight. To one up. To know more. Who fucking cares? I am not the answer. I am not the law. I am not the smartest person in the room. I am just another person filling time before death like all the rest of y'all. Period.
I know who I am and I have great confidence in what and who that person is. Most of you know who I am or, at least, you believe you do. And that is fine. I am everything that I want to be. I am everything you want me to be. But mostly I am coming to believe that I am just tired of adding part of a horrible fray of noise, space filling "debate," and bullshit know-it-all-ness that is simply uninteresting and, you know what, unimportant in the larger schemes. I have said my piece in nearly 7,000 Web log postings. Reiterations of reiterations just get boring and obnoxious.
Try this today: listen around you. What are people talking about in elevators and in lunchrooms? What about on the Interwebs? Hear that? Why even take the bait to enter these discussions when you will only regret it in your dark hours because you really did not give a shit-fuck anyhow. Whoa, huh? That's some crazy shit.
On the other hand, why hate on people with thoughts that aren't like you very own. Diversity is a bitch in terms of belief and opinion. I will see if I can deal with that simple tr00f. People are just sometimes different than each other.
It's 2010 and I have things to make. Sometimes you get tired of hearing your own protestations. I ain't in the business of telling you what you need to think. Figure that stuff out your damn self.
Peace out-don't stroke out, I've said more than my share.
Sure, I hate it when notions I consider to be the tr00f remain unspoken--especially around what I drafted as, "naval-gaze moping over this 9/11™ business"--but who am I to say shit about shit? Again with the hubris, right? As I've said before (and actually believe), everyone has a different truth. I cannot live in the skin and synapses of anyone else.
There you have it, people. Opinions! I have opinions, you have opinions. Everybody believes their opinions to be the very best opinions ever know to the human history of opinions. Opinions are shouted from mountaintops and from the angry fringes. Opinions are like stars in space.
But the more I listen to other people's opinions and notions and ideas, the more I realize that my number one fundamental personality flaw is my natural tendency to interject my damn two cents into things; to set records straight. To one up. To know more. Who fucking cares? I am not the answer. I am not the law. I am not the smartest person in the room. I am just another person filling time before death like all the rest of y'all. Period.
I know who I am and I have great confidence in what and who that person is. Most of you know who I am or, at least, you believe you do. And that is fine. I am everything that I want to be. I am everything you want me to be. But mostly I am coming to believe that I am just tired of adding part of a horrible fray of noise, space filling "debate," and bullshit know-it-all-ness that is simply uninteresting and, you know what, unimportant in the larger schemes. I have said my piece in nearly 7,000 Web log postings. Reiterations of reiterations just get boring and obnoxious.
Try this today: listen around you. What are people talking about in elevators and in lunchrooms? What about on the Interwebs? Hear that? Why even take the bait to enter these discussions when you will only regret it in your dark hours because you really did not give a shit-fuck anyhow. Whoa, huh? That's some crazy shit.
On the other hand, why hate on people with thoughts that aren't like you very own. Diversity is a bitch in terms of belief and opinion. I will see if I can deal with that simple tr00f. People are just sometimes different than each other.
It's 2010 and I have things to make. Sometimes you get tired of hearing your own protestations. I ain't in the business of telling you what you need to think. Figure that stuff out your damn self.
Peace out-don't stroke out, I've said more than my share.
Saturday
White Space (in nine then eleven)
- Hard copy
- Still life
- Three-dimensional
- Choices and direction
- Same as always
- Right on course
- Too much
- Not enough
- Nine then eleven
- Fame and/or fortune
- Boring satisfaction
- Intellectual chasm
- Chef -> pilot -> pirate
- Waiting...
- Audiences completely gone
- Best works
- For no one in particular
- Not disconnected
- Amplitude & trajectory
- Because it is I am
Friday
Another Brilliant & Genius™ Schiavo Friday
There was distinctly something I wanted to write about today. I was flipping it over in my brain this morning while I was tooling around in the kitchen getting breakfast and lunch ready. I remember that I suggested to my cognitive self that I really should jot this particular thought down for fear of forgetting it entirely. But I'm still a cocky enough old bastard to pretend that I can remember everything like I used to (could). Fuck a TGA! Well, I do remember that I pleaded with my own damn self to write that particular (brilliant & genius™) thought down for later (brilliant & genius™) utilization. Another dumbass classic memory device failure. What do you expect at this point? If I had any (brilliant & genius™) __________, I'd be a __________ by now.
I still do not remember what that damn thing I was supposed to write about was. Granted it has been a distracting week because of shit that's not interesting enough to type about (is it Monday or is it Friday though?); circumstances! But there's still no excuse for hubris. No excuses for execution errors. No excuses for excuses. Excuses just cause trouble. Write shit down when you think about them, self. When in doubt, write it out.
So I've decided to quit; I'm shutting off the burners. So much to do and I'm quitting...only makes sense. It's part of the big plan. Music to make, photos to make, money and notoriety to make, so many things to make. Meh, I'm quitting. Oh don't fool yourself into believing that I'm quitting-quitting. I'm just taking the rest of this week off (the hour and a half I have remaining to my own faulty thoughts) because it's too late for the type of traction I seek. Traction is all I need. An inkling. A toehold. After all, it is autumn which is a time to create. Either that or it's all over and I should really take night accounting classes. Who the hell knows?
I mostly need to write shit down since my memory eludes. Write shit down.... There's a (brilliant & genius™) notion. Glad I wrote it down (but I'll never read it though).
Motivation is easy. Inspiration is easy. I can't throw my bowling ball without hitting inspiration or motivation. My select and hand-picked friends and associates and co-conspirators are selected and hand-picked by the universe for particular and necessary reasons. I think they're all here to motivate and inspire me but what do I know? Why they're my friends is a whole unexplored category that I'd rather not ponder now. That question can remain unanswered until sometime later.
[Quick story: Here's what my 8-year-old progeny said yesterday about something, "I am very selective." I had to give her large "props" for such universal recognition]
Shit?! Was it something about race? Politics? Art & aesthetic? Religion? Human interactions? Music? I don't remember what it was I wanted to write about today. I should have written that down.
I still do not remember what that damn thing I was supposed to write about was. Granted it has been a distracting week because of shit that's not interesting enough to type about (is it Monday or is it Friday though?); circumstances! But there's still no excuse for hubris. No excuses for execution errors. No excuses for excuses. Excuses just cause trouble. Write shit down when you think about them, self. When in doubt, write it out.
So I've decided to quit; I'm shutting off the burners. So much to do and I'm quitting...only makes sense. It's part of the big plan. Music to make, photos to make, money and notoriety to make, so many things to make. Meh, I'm quitting. Oh don't fool yourself into believing that I'm quitting-quitting. I'm just taking the rest of this week off (the hour and a half I have remaining to my own faulty thoughts) because it's too late for the type of traction I seek. Traction is all I need. An inkling. A toehold. After all, it is autumn which is a time to create. Either that or it's all over and I should really take night accounting classes. Who the hell knows?
I mostly need to write shit down since my memory eludes. Write shit down.... There's a (brilliant & genius™) notion. Glad I wrote it down (but I'll never read it though).
Motivation is easy. Inspiration is easy. I can't throw my bowling ball without hitting inspiration or motivation. My select and hand-picked friends and associates and co-conspirators are selected and hand-picked by the universe for particular and necessary reasons. I think they're all here to motivate and inspire me but what do I know? Why they're my friends is a whole unexplored category that I'd rather not ponder now. That question can remain unanswered until sometime later.[Quick story: Here's what my 8-year-old progeny said yesterday about something, "I am very selective." I had to give her large "props" for such universal recognition]
Shit?! Was it something about race? Politics? Art & aesthetic? Religion? Human interactions? Music? I don't remember what it was I wanted to write about today. I should have written that down.
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