Brownie advice to novice baker

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Don’t pour vanilla extract in your measuring spoon over your mixing bowl when making brownies. Do it over the sink or elsewhere. When the recipe calls for 1/2 teaspoon and you accidentally overpour about 4 teaspoons, the final result doesn’t taste so good. I am eating my mistake and I can’t make another batch because I ran out of sugar. It ain’t worth the “e-browns” (electronic-brownies) to scrounge around for a cups worth of sugar packets and fill in the balance with sweet chocolate and other substitutes and prostitutes.

Spillling what I will call VanEx
Spelling what I will cull Xanax

I felt angles of this life dimension

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I am sinking into this hopeless bliss. Everything couldn’t be more unsettling. I can’t accomplish a thing without paying a figurative fee to society. I have no interest in my behavior. I don’t realize my facadistic impulses until someone brings them to my attention deficit disorder. I don’t care if my lifespan doesn’t match the posthuman. What have I that will hack my existence? Most of my parts work like when they were new. Devoid direction is my mapless conquest. I am soothed by the unexpected. I claim to live in it with ease; I now put it under reconsideration.

Reconstructing the dream sequence involves going back to sleep and when I say “back to sleep” I mean sleeping back then/not on your back/not returning where you left off. Sleepful content is had when learning happens, when learnedness is applied, and when there the uncontrolled yields a potential quality. This sleep is life to me. But I am also literally tired of sleeping and waking. Let it be one or the other. I now can handle both with equal interest, but trouble through shuffling the deck of nights and days. Tonight might be a face card where I get too much sleep or deuce to depravity.

What kind of precision can you achieve if you arbitrarily make a compound miter cut (CONFUSE MYSELF)? The final products are invisible to me and is there a good angle or a technique that works or does it even matter? I can help from being a rear-view filmmaker. I don’t need to record my life. Replays aren’t where I can live. Boy am I glad I am not finished with the filmography. Girl am I sad that I can’t focus on the current production. Nobody is the devine director.

Emotions are like magnetic fields, attracting its opposite. The element of reality known as NOW is rhetorical surface tension.

Crank Dat Everybody

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Crank Dat Soulja Boy is a virus. It’s awesome. Worthless lyrics, cheesy dance, and repetitive. The beat isn’t bad, but overall I find it funny and still enjoyable. So does everybody else.

Blink 182 version (Travis on drums only).
Nothing humorous, but some nice percussion skillz.

Crank Dat Spiderman
It’s so hilarious that someone would do this seriously. This is definitely not for kids. It’ll be pretty sad if little kids start crankin’ out to this not understanding it.

Crank Dat Army Boy
It’s a little slow at times, but super funny. Totally makin’ fun… lol.

Crank Dat Homeless Man
This is funny. Definitely meant to be a parody.

Crank Dat Weezy Wee
I heard this in a restaurant at the Univerisity of Arizona. Stoner version?

Crank Dat Grandpa
Looks like some young kids. (Crank dat heart attack…)

Crank Dat Kosha Boy (Jewww!)

Crank Dat Batman
Not as interesting as Spiderman, and too many fake vocal scratches. This seems to be overproduced, but it’s popular on iTunes!?

There are plenty more, but these seemed like highlights.

comma, period, semicolon cancer

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Language equalizes into self-ref. It’s its own referee. Look at Language’s resume- all the references are itself. Grammar and I stand back and watch the parade.

You can’t escape language. We build buildings and construction workers rearrange dirt and put commas where, they seem, fitting. And the period. We shall stop. Or so we have been invited to. Unless you think decimally with your 99.2% accuracy. When that dot becomes the antonym of a period- a green light- we no longer need to sit in traffic and wait intersections no longer matter we can flow together joined by a nonstop joyride until we strike something a brick wall a solid force as we approach with thunderous speeds the vehicle is demolished this vehicle is language and we have found our dead end with signs to mark our final stop;

Hooking up unhooks

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If a partner in a hook-up begins to care for the other, the desire for commitment may drive the other away. Reasons for embracing a hookup could be to (1) fulfill a sexual desire without responsibility, (2)
compromise emotional security to satisfy desire for intimacy, or (3) submitting to incompatible partners instead of seeking an enduring relationship.

The common ground found is that people are afraid of engaging on a deeper level. Why? They know it can be dangerous. They don’t want to break hearts. They don’t want to have a heart that breaks. They avoid the heart instead. Heartless acts are cold. So the intentions are more detrimental on a hidden level. I hope I am never selfish enough.

Human Milk Farm

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what do baby pigs drink? pig milk.
what do baby ducks drink? duck milk.
what do baby cows drink? cow milk.

Should we drink homosapien milk? But are we not babies?

A natural same-species milk would require a new sector of jobs where women or even men would work on a lactation plantation. Digress from the future; back in time the Aztec women used their breast milk as a weapon against conquistadors.

Husband comes home from a long day, “Man I could use a glass of warm fresh milk.” Wife asserts disgustedly, “You think you’re the only one that works around here? That’s it. You’re cut off”. “Honey please? I’m thirsty.”

How about fortifying human milk with protein hormone rHGH instead of rBGH (human growth hormone/bovine growth hormone)?

Go organic and obtain the highest quality by altering diets of the milked humans to obtain a better milk quality. Only grain-fed human milk will be allowed.

May contain milk warning?

Lookism and the Soda Age

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Server to middle-aged couple…
says:What can I get for you to drink?
Subconscious Implication: Have whatever you want.

Server to young lively group indecipherably over 21…
says:What do you want to drink? We have Coke, Sprite, Rootbeer…
Subconscious Implication: You only option is soda tonight!

Fresh 21 year olds have designated drinkers who donate the driving to less responsible alcoholics. Even if this occurs before your best friend’s birthday who is already 21, you may still get the mandatory soda option.

The power of lookism will make you organize predispositions without taking into consideration the recognition of variations. So I got mad that I was verbally limited to those drink selections. I could easily order a beer in spite of her but I didn’t need to defend myself.

It’s funny how I was misinterpreted about being older than I really am in some cases, but the challenge of being seen as under 21 was still in effect. A public directory had me a year older than I was and Kid A believed me to be that age. I had to defend myself that I was actually younger. So the power of the look was overcome by media, then by word of mouth. The word of mouth defense then gave lookism another chance to question my youngness after media was wrong by overaging. Media (Marshall McLuhan never realized) creates another force that fights internal prejudice, but therefore stirs into the pot a more dangerous external prejudice.

I don’t give care if I look 18 or 25, because I’ve been seen as both on first impressions- 1st impressions before being skewed by behavioral and mental interaction. And still lookism prevails on last impressions. I saw you for the 100th time and you still think I’m 19. Maybe that’s why you won’t have an adult conversation with me. I don’t read coloring books anymore.

euphemism: grown out of love

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It’s a paradox to kill love. Divorce doesn’t do anything. Death doesn’t nullify anything except a marriage certificate. Splitting up doesn’t set anyone free. Grown out of love? Is love some plantable life that can be destroyed? I’d like to think of it as an immortal plant. When it dries from lack of water, it just feels the hurt of dehydration, enduring the abandonment. Disregarded by the sun, it has nothing to see except itself… alone. No longer basking in the comforting warmth that is present everyday. But when the sun is part of your galaxy, you still know it is there when covered by clouds.

she couldn’t understand how you can just not love someone anymore

Communication. Is crucial for understanding. The question is not of love, but how complex intricate abstraction is intercepted between two people. Maybe ideas of hope were mistaken for love.

I love communication; although it falls short of expressing definitively unanimous thoughts, especially when the surface (the fundamental idea[s]) is the perimeter and there lies a voluminous mass of multi-dimension to be explored. It’s the fault of arbitrary division within a continuum. Language has no way of explaining itself outside its system, and to chunk things into categories destroys the nonlinear motives of the mind. Decay, decoy. Relay, recoil. Somehow we get by. Aristotelean methods are survivable.

Laying it on you easy with a euphemism contradictorily shows you are masking a deeper issue, which is harder on the euphem-ee.

I now ponder whether it is possible to love more than one person? But then I go into the communication problem of whether I understand what I say to myself. What is love? Sure, there are probably many varieties. I guess I love everybody. And I already knew that; Questions seem to be more understandable than answers. Why?

feelers, time, and breakups

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Instead of antentae, humans got stuck with emotional feelers.

I have a lust and disgust for time. I need more of it, but I’d love to rid myself of it (not in a life-ending way, don’t worry!). My life now exponentially feels fuller and quicker. Time flies when you are having anything, not just fun… Time drags when you don’t think, or when you think of things you are not interested in. I haven’t felt so thoughtful in my entire life. Things are flying: through rain, snow, sleet, hail, fun, letdown, and opportunity.

I’ve lost a lover. He was a rare kind. Time ran me by and I got thrown off my feet. He ended commitments three months after discovering each other on a personal level. A short time, but an endless package of feelings and gatherings to replay for lifetimes. Companions are for life. Couples have breakups. I think I had both whether a couple of people constitute a couple, we up and broke our romance. We have companionship left over. That’s most important… I could use more ships full of company.

I am struck by his decision to hold back on “us.” If it’s a hiatus, things will straighten out together on its own. If it’s the ending punctuation mark on the sentence of love, then both of us must know that a piece of us and our experience will linger stiffened in the past, unchangeable, but retrievable. The ending period doesn’t stop anybody from reading what’s written before it. The authors can revise and append the story of love or they can leave the sentence abandoned- the orphan.

I feel like I have reasons for having feelings, rather than the isolated individual perspective of submersion in apathetic teeter of melancholy and euphoria.

disappointed but grateful
detached but realistic
blank but hopeful
fragmented but understanding
confused but content
empty but growing

I feel a physical manifestation of ambivalence.