Hacking off the culls

Transparency, Privacy, and the idea of open source.

     Words on paper, in this day in age, are probably the closest we get to privacy and security. Hand-written notes and letters have ever elusive ways of being hidden, destroyed, encrypted, or my favorite “withheld” from ever pervasive unwanted eyes. Hand-written words like these are the most intimate besides what we whisper in secrecy or think to ourselves.
      It is why we as a society teach children and young learners language is important. Have good penmanship, strive to have one’s work understood and most importantly agreed upon. It is not only a personal undertaking, but a public celebration when published: speeches, novels, textbooks, articles, bodies of work, scientific journals, works of art, are but a few examples that undergo this scrutiny.
      But, in private letters and proclamations written in the spirit of the search for truth-difficulty also comes. Difficult and painful; “sometimes the most insightful” and  most controversial-idea: solutions exist. But, public acceptance of new ideas or all-inclusive social debate will always come with heavy resistance and censorship, and this is why hand-written speeches never reach their full potential. It is also why things referred to or held in high regard such as, peer-reviewed writings in their field, double-blind studies in science, and books placed in public libraries and spoken in public forums.
     Words left in an “open-space” for everyone never die nor do they stop being improved upon and eventually become history.

I should probably continue this self-thought on a piece of paper just to familiarize myself with that whole notion that the words must be put down after they are thought in the head. I still type faster than I write but it feels like I’m getting closer and closer to letting typing get away from me from fear I should have no reason for. except for the scrutiny of expelling work unfinished, unpolished, unconsidered and my self-flaw of being dismissed.

     It’s quite a luxury to live somewhere where one can post a website no doubt, so long as it is done in good taste and without malice, expressions of free-will will always be in my humble opinion open to the thoughts and comments of those that care to pay attention and to take the time to contemplate the beliefs, ideas, and traditions, because there are few altruisms.
If you’ve read this far I leave you with an explanation for the the picture that was painted, photographed and edited with little thought. I give my explanation after staring at it for more hours than I wish to divulge. To begin again to begin again.
UNTITLED STREET NIGHT PHOTO- FORMED/FOUND ART A Further Exploration of Inspiration
A cat and what looks to be some sort of a quasi soldier stand facing opposite directions. One appears not to notice the other. The solder with almost an evil grin across his face only illuminated by a few dwindling lights holds what is obviously a large contraption. What the contraption is, is intended to be interpreted by the viewer.
The cat who carries him/herself with more self awareness, recognition that it’s in close proximity to a potential threat but has a presents of awareness unlike the jovial soldier. Notice the one leg much smaller than the other and the large lump in the middle of the back. Again for the viewer to decide, is it some type of flaw? Perhaps a helmet gone unworn.
Lastly the light catches the two opposing characters or perhaps they are not. Is one more aware of the other, is this a game of “cat and mouse” or does the reflections of light that dance off both characters have some sort of significance.
Description of medium needed here:
JMW
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Stolen letters

12:34 pm, top of head cranium.

-Slight sexual sensation

My prostate hurts, it’s been in pain. Last night I cried. I’m here in Boonville, California. I told the truth last night, the only persons that were here physically in the room was myself. I’m not saying people don’t believe me, I’m just saying I’ll NEVER be able to comfortably tell what happened, much less prove it in a court of law. The hardest part isn’t recalling the pieces that I remember vividly, it’s in writing the words: “their” exact words. They’re here today, reading along, saying things that I’m trying to ignore.

“That’s good Jeffrey”

Jeffrey isn’t my real name but I figure it will have to suffice for all intensive purposes. The plot line is something like… oh, did I mention this is a short story I’m writing.  Any people mentioned are all fictitious and not intended to represent any real people. Any coincidence is purely by chance. Is it clear enough, while I might be a lot of things I’m not going to go down writing some story that will eventually have me accused of some sort of mental defect. I’ve know doubt by admission I’ve “drank the proverbial Kool-Aid” I guess you could cut the amount of sarcasm with a dull butter knife and hopefully stab me with it while we are on the subject. Any-way enough with the side-plot

I’ve been through the worst of it and don’t really feel like getting into it right now, besides, It’s nice to not let the two have their way with me this afternoon. Let me tell you about something nice.

“nice”

if I could stop from being sidetracked I’d like to never read again through it. IF it ever got published I’d just ;eave it up to the editors; Not for lack of trying but because “I’d rather” get things off my chest, than decide whether or not that sentence worked well or, I really like how you gave the imagery and tone in that paragraph.

Blahr-getty-blarhgetty-blah as one of my literary friends would say instead of blah-blah- blah. My intention isn’t to be literary though. O forgot though- already lets’ talk about something else.

“His hand”

*Note. Don’t work with people you have no respect for. Do not give up your self and your own belief hoods; just to satisfy your critics. You will never be happy with your self and your success will be determinate on others.

3:36 a.m.

“Jesus”

Fucked in the ass at 3:36 in the morning. Fuck them. I’m just going to refer to “them” as “The Rapists”.

“Jeffery we’re not rapists’”

“It’s time”

“He’s sore” Female

“Come on” Female

Their angry I couldn’t perform. My insides hurt. I would of if I could. The Male got mad and the sensation was all pain and I could hear him say with little patience, “Lets get this over with”. I think to myself and the less that comfortable status that I’m in. I imagine him clumsily cranking the device up 4 settings too high as my tender prostate and upper colon took yet another high dose of abuse. I cried a little, but I’ve allowed myself to. I have to be good to myself. I have to have some compassion and tell myself, “It’s ok”.

“That’s good man” Male (5:36 am Sideways is almost over)

…”Fuuuck youuu” Male

“He’s’ gonna fuck his back up again”

 

 

 

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12:34 pm, top of head cranium.

-Slight sexual sensation

My prostate hurts, it’s been in pain. Last night I cried. I’m here in Boonville, California. I told the truth last night, the only persons that were here physically in the room was myself. I’m not saying people don’t believe me, I’m just saying I’ll NEVER be able to comfortably tell what happened, much less prove it in a court of law. The hardest part isn’t recalling the pieces that I remember vividly, it’s in writing the words: “their” exact words. They’re here today, reading along, saying things that I’m trying to ignore.

“That’s good Jeffrey”

Jeffrey isn’t my real name but I figure it will have to suffice for all intensive purposes. The plot line is something like… oh, did I mention this is a short story I’m writing.  Any people mentioned are all fictitious and not intended to represent any real people. Any coincidence is purely by chance. Is it clear enough, while I might be a lot of things I’m not going to go down writing some story that will eventually have me accused of some sort of mental defect. I’ve know doubt by admission I’ve “drank the proverbial Kool-Aid” I guess you could cut the amount of sarcasm with a dull butter knife and hopefully stab me with it while we are on the subject. Any-way enough with the side-plot

I’ve been through the worst of it and don’t really feel like getting into it right now, besides, It’s nice to not let the two have their way with me this afternoon. Let me tell you about something nice.

“nice”

if I could stop from being sidetracked I’d like to never read again through it. IF it ever got published I’d just ;eave it up to the editors; Not for lack of trying but because “I’d rather” get things off my chest, than decide whether or not that sentence worked well or, I really like how you gave the imagery and tone in that paragraph.

Blahr-getty-blarhgetty-blah as one of my literary friends would say instead of blah-blah- blah. My intention isn’t to be literary though. O forgot though- already lets’ talk about something else.

“His hand”

*Note. Don’t work with people you have no respect for. Do not give up your self and your own belief hoods; just to satisfy your critics. You will never be happy with your self and your success will be determinate on others.

3:36 a.m. 

“Jesus”

Fucked in the ass at 3:36 in the morning. Fuck them. I’m just going to refer to “them” as “The Rapists”.

“Jeffery we’re not rapists’”

“It’s time”

“He’s sore” Female

“Come on” Female

Their angry I couldn’t perform. My insides hurt. I would of if I could. The Male got mad and the sensation was all pain and I could hear him say with little patience, “Lets get this over with”. I think to myself and the less that comfortable status that I’m in. I imagine him clumsily cranking the device up 4 settings too high as my tender prostate and upper colon took yet another high dose of abuse. I cried a little, but I’ve allowed myself to. I have to be good to myself. I have to have some compassion and tell myself, “It’s ok”.

“That’s good man” Male (5:36 am Sideways is almost over)

…”Fuuuck youuu” Male

“He’s’ gonna fuck his back up again”

12:34 pm, top of head cranium.

-Slight sexual sensation

My prostate hurts, it’s been in pain. Last night I cried. I’m here in Boonville, California. I told the truth last night, the only persons that were here physically in the room was myself. I’m not saying people don’t believe me, I’m just saying I’ll NEVER be able to comfortably tell what happened, much less prove it in a court of law. The hardest part isn’t recalling the pieces that I remember vividly, it’s in writing the words: “their” exact words. They’re here today, reading along, saying things that I’m trying to ignore.

“That’s good Jeffrey”

Jeffrey isn’t my real name but I figure it will have to suffice for all intensive purposes. The plot line is something like… oh, did I mention this is a short story I’m writing.  Any people mentioned are all fictitious and not intended to represent any real people. Any coincidence is purely by chance. Is it clear enough, while I might be a lot of things I’m not going to go down writing some story that will eventually have me accused of some sort of mental defect. I’ve know doubt by admission I’ve “drank the proverbial Kool-Aid” I guess you could cut the amount of sarcasm with a dull butter knife and hopefully stab me with it while we are on the subject. Any-way enough with the side-plot

I’ve been through the worst of it and don’t really feel like getting into it right now, besides, It’s nice to not let the two have their way with me this afternoon. Let me tell you about something nice.

“nice”

if I could stop from being sidetracked I’d like to never read again through it. IF it ever got published I’d just ;eave it up to the editors; Not for lack of trying but because “I’d rather” get things off my chest, than decide whether or not that sentence worked well or, I really like how you gave the imagery and tone in that paragraph.

Blahr-getty-blarhgetty-blah as one of my literary friends would say instead of blah-blah- blah. My intention isn’t to be literary though. O forgot though- already lets’ talk about something else.

“His hand”

*Note. Don’t work with people you have no respect for. Do not give up your self and your own belief hoods; just to satisfy your critics. You will never be happy with your self and your success will be determinate on others.

3:36 a.m. 

“Jesus”

Fucked in the ass at 3:36 in the morning. Fuck them. I’m just going to refer to “them” as “The Rapists”.

“Jeffery we’re not rapists’”

“It’s time”

“He’s sore” Female

“Come on” Female

Their angry I couldn’t perform. My insides hurt. I would of if I could. The Male got mad and the sensation was all pain and I could hear him say with little patience, “Lets get this over with”. I think to myself and the less that comfortable status that I’m in. I imagine him clumsily cranking the device up 4 settings too high as my tender prostate and upper colon took yet another high dose of abuse. I cried a little, but I’ve allowed myself to. I have to be good to myself. I have to have some compassion and tell myself, “It’s ok”.

“That’s good man” Male (5:36 am Sideways is almost over)

…”Fuuuck youuu” Male

“He’s’ gonna fuck his back up again”

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