Tuesday, March 31, 2009
What is this new public access blog going to feature you ask? Well I'm glad you asked but I'm not quite sure yet, I'm pretty sure it's going to start with this polyphasic sleep experiment nonsense I'm trying, and grow into, well whatever it decides to grow into. I've stopped searching for something that will make a blog popular and settled on just letting happen (Thanks to becky for the advice). Maybe it'll be CD reviews, maybe it'll be experiement logs, diet help, personal help, help in general, I'm not sure, I've just narrowed it down to subjects that would be practically helpful to people. No one really reads other's thoughts for pleasure at this point.
However, I know you, my most honorable readers enjoy my inner most thoughts, and I much appreciate the attention. Though I must apologize, sometimes I feel as though I'm acting a little bit like a martyr, constantly going on about things and how they bother me. Well it's true, a lot of things do bother me, but I try to put a little bit of an interesting spin on the way I express them. It's just something I like to do, sit here and explain my situations to you.
My Honorable readers.
Anyway, say, BYE BYE to the ads, and I'll be starting the new polyphasic sleep site momentarily.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Okay, so as many of you heard from me today at school, or recently, I’ve decided to take up the polyphasic sleep charge again. I’m going to attempt something somewhat easier this time though.
During my attempt (mind you, incredibly failed attempt) at the Uberman sleep pattern, in which you take six naps spread out through your day, I found that it is incredibly hard to function socially on account of my always having to sleep. The Everyman Polyphasic sleep schedule still allows me two extra hours on each day, and allows a slightly more flexible social life.
Uberman’s schedule was ludicrous, and it would surely take some form of obsession to master it. Sleep for 20 minutes every six hours, no matter how difficult it may be to keep that schedule. I don’t think any one could be sane enough to truly live like that, unless of course they worked from home, had no wife or any children and most frequently urinated on house hold appliances while adapting the the Uberman.
The Everyman makes it much simpler. It simply calls for one core sleeping period, which consists usually of a three to four hour repose, and three periodic naps throughout your day. The core nap, or sleep period of the cycle defuses another problem that Uberman proposed. It allows us to continue differentiating between day time and night time, giving us some sense of method in time.
The three naps can be spaced much differently on account of the core sleep at the theoretical end of your day. My personal schedule will run as follows.
Everyman Sleep Schedule
Core: 12:00 am – 3:00 am
Nap 1: 8:00 am
Nap 2: 12:30 pm
Nap 3: 4:00 pm
I realize that it will be difficult for me to adapt to the schedule, however, the way the naps are going to function will allow me to fall asleep quite easily at the assigned times. This being the problem before, I’m sure it will help to dispose of some difficulty.
I also worry that perhaps the gap between my third daily nap and my Core may be too great. However, I’m led to believe that because it’s leading into the longer more rejuvenating core, that the lengthy period between will not hinder me too greatly.
It can be said that I will make revisions on this as soon as I am able, however, tonight will be my most difficult task of falling asleep by midnight, and reawakening by three AM.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
So I’ve done it, I’ve found something I can truly do and enjoy, and this time it’s going to be solid. I just hope people will read it. Basically, what I’m going to do is, is every week, maybe twice a week, I’m going to pick a CD, with some sort of random fashion that is not yet determined, and I’ll review it. I’ll let people know the breakdown I see with it. Of course I’ll include all my usual fluff.
So, in other news, today I worked again. Go figure. In other other news, I’m not so sure I want to keep inside-out a deleted blog or not. Personal Help’s important, and I kind of want to keep it going, just for the sake of somewhere to go when I’m feeling incredibly compassionate. People deserve to know a little bit of charisma, and hopefully I can provide it to them.
So I’m getting no where with time management, absolutely butt fuck no where, but I guess there isn’t much you can do. I tried to do it, procrastinated, couldn’t finish the reading. Go figure.
I have some mysterious stats going on in my ratings by the way. I suddenly had close to 70 visitors. What’s that coming from? Who knows, but I sincerely appreciate your interest, and I hope you come back!
I’ve been torn today, torn very terribly between which condiment I should prefer most. Mustard, or peanut butter. I know, I know, it seems like the obvious choice is peanut butter, because you’re going to say “ewww mustard’s gross”. This is not the matter. I enjoy my mustardy goodness, and will continue enjoying in the future. Why I reached this dilema is because I could not choose what kind of sandwich to make for work. So to avoid ever having to make such a heart breaking decision, I decided to completely abandon one condiment.
It was a long and arduous process, but in the end I decided mustard and peanut and I would all group as a collective to literally fuck Mayonnaise up. This concludes captain’s log star date today sometime.
p.s. – My first CD review is going to be Ace Ender’s CD “When I hit the Ground” wish me luck!
Saturday, March 28, 2009
I’ve been going deeper and deeper into time management, I’ve found some really interesting sites on the topic, and I think I’m on my way to actually becoming a productive individual. All of the reading I’ve been doing on personal development had been inspiring, and I feel I’ve found my talent.
I’ve started a blog to help people find the kind of oneness I found with myself. People always comment on my charisma, by ability to connect with others, and help them through things, so I’ve taken up my charge in writing a personal help blog. Help you understand you ect. It’s something I’ve wanted to try to express for a long time, and I think it’s finally time to pass on the information to whoever is willing to listen.
If you want to see what it’s all about, I recommend you hop on over to Inside Out. It’s only got one post right now, but I worked pretty hard on it. If you’d like to follow me there too, I’d be smitten. I realize that it’s going to be hard to really have people just jump on board and listen to me, however, it’s really all I know how to explain, all I know to pass on.
In other news, I’m a little ways into Steve Pavlina’s book, it’s starting to get a little rocky, what with all the meditation involved, but I think I understand his viewpoint. Make your world your own. It’s inspiring, and I’ve got to-do lists and other different forms of personal development that I’m going to try out. I really like the book so far. I recommend it.
There’s about three other things that went down this weekend. I partied a little bit of course, had a grand old time. It’s enviable of all the people who are so resourceful in a police situation. I think eventually I’ll adapt to it. I have to, I’ll be in Newfoundland this time next year, hopefully still typing to you, letting you all know what’s going on.
I’ve become renewed in my guitar playing. I feel like it’s a part of me again, another burst of personal inspiration. I think Music might actually be the thing I was meant to do, if not help people in whatever way I can.
As for the bitter post I made earlier, it’s bitter and that’s unfortunate, but I felt really bad when I got home today, I had to get it out some how.
Anyway, I’m off to bed, work again in the morning.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
It's the one thing you have to worry about every time you turn around. It's the one thing flying out of my pocket the moment I get it. I've decided on a few things, a few things to actually get myself set for a life outside, in the real world. The real real life. The one that sneaks up on you while you try to enjoy your last year of high school. That one. But I guess it's about time anyway. I guess I had to come about it some way, and besides, if I get really get at time management, about money management, about all things money wise in general, I'll actually be able to expand myself properly and come about making more time for myself, and for my friends.
Sometimes I wish that I could be constantly and consistently moving at a speed so fast that time will contract, time will move more slowly, time will become something alterable for me. I wish so deeply that I could actually see time in that vector way that Dr. Manhattan can. Wishing on many different things can only fritter time away however. So I've decided that this will be my formal letter to all of you. Any one who may stumble upon this. This is my letter saying that I am going to begin with my own personal growth.
You have to realize, I've had my time charted out for my entire life. Mommy and Daddy taking care of the hard end of things, the end that time and money are on. It's my turn now, it's my turn to actually take it into my own hands, and try to turn it around, try to become an individual. I could use a few more hours a day, and perhaps through this personal growth, I will get there. I'll get that few extra hours to work on my physics paper, work on some tuition money, work on my relationship with the light in my life, Julianna.
Time time time.
You've gotta realize that sometimes it's best if you just throw yourself into things with a massive burst of initiative. It makes you feel a lot better about it when you actually achieve something. Maybe this extra time will give me a few more hours to work out in every day, to lose weight in. Maybe. Maybe it'll give me a little extra time to read, to actually enjoy life as I'm suppose to. I just need more time.
It's still there, in the back of your mind, and you're trying to tell yourself it's just going to come to you. I've realized now, I've realized that throwing away funds like I have been is a foolish pursuit of something completely nonexistent. I won't find happiness through material possession, buying guitars, books, games. I just have to make due with what I have. I want to take everything I have now, and use only that to do what I have to do to get through until I move out of here, until I pay off my first year's tuition.
Isn't this what everyone thinks about? Maybe in these few hours a day that I will gain I'll actually be able to find out who my roommate is in university next year, I'll actually be able to see if me and Quinn will be rooming together. Maybe in those extra few hours, I can do some assignments for people and make it possible to make a little bit more money with my ability to fluff up Shakespeare in a few moments. 500 words, with citations, with all the quotes planted nicely with proper grammar stuck in, 30 minutes. 10$. Fraudulent? I think not, simply another way to help people who don't have enough time, to make more time for me. Just a synergy between two people who can't find time to do things.
Let my strengths play on your weakness. Let my weakness, benefit from your strength.
With just a few hours extra, every day, I could spend time with my friends, my dear dear friends whom I see barely at all except for in the hallways at school. It's nice of course, however, wishing to see them makes me crazy, I wish I could be like them, so care-free, so moving. Some day, I'll have my few extra hours to hang out, to play video games, to fritter away without worry. Someday
I can only imagine how happy I could be if in those extra hours I can make my life with Julianna flourish in such a way. To be able to lay there with her in my arms, to have her head on my chest while she breaths with me. A synergy of two people, working together. It's just something I wish we had more time for. Or more time to go to parties with her. To be there, to hear the music, to play the music, to watch each other thrash around socially. If only I had those extra few hours.
Time and Money
Monday, March 23, 2009
It’s so easy to say something about some one else’s work, but as soon as your work takes the stethoscope you start to really really wonder what’s going on. You start to really reconsider the way that you’ve been writing, the way that you’ve been playing, the way that you’ve ect. ect. ect.
I’m not sure what it is I want to do with my life, but I’d love to write. Write write write. It just seems like the perfect thing to do. It’s seems like I could sit all day and tippity tap the key board, telling stories. I just don’t have the motivation. The positive reinforcement.
Tell me what to do.
Just offer a few suggestions if anything. What is it that Jeff Cook is best at? What is it that I can do best? The new Career Advice thing that I’m taking in school tells me to SHOOT FOR THE STARS.
Job Opportunity: Author
Just a few things that I might be good at. Would you buy a book that I wrote? Would you buy that book? Would you want to know what I’m writing enough to ACTUALLY pay for it? You’ve gotta let me know, put a little bump in the right direction.
Job Opportunity: Musician
You’ve gotta know people who know people who know the pope to be a famous musician. It takes extreme talent and time that I just don’t have. But I guess with enough positive reinforcement, I can make time. I can start recording with all the free time I have. I can write write write ALL DAY. Just give me the positive reinforcement, just let me know what you want me to do. TELL ME.
Job Opportunity: Chef
I wish, I honestly honestly honestly do. I wish I could make fine cuisine and have everyone eat it, that would be absolutely fantastic. It’s just something I’ve come to love to do. Cook, it’s fun! But I mean, again, do you think I could make it? Think I could come out on top? Maybe… maybe…
Job Opportunity: Artificial Intelligence Psychometrics
Isn’t that the coolest sounding job title in the world? It’s actually one thing that I would really enjoy doing, because it’s something that would encompass everything that I’ve ever wanted to do. It’s the analysis of human emotion, human psychometrics. With your data, you compile ways through software to replicate true human emotion artificially. You create artificial intelligence. I read people, I love computers, and it’s got a bitchin’ job title. What could be more perfect.
Job Opportunity: Dancer
Get over it, it’s not happening.
Job Opportunity: Fashion designer
Not a chance.
The rest of your life is waiting for you to choose, but everything says “shoot for the stars.” Can I do that? Can I go out on a limb and try to make it in the world of fame and infamy?
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Pushing around all of those was never much a problem for him. His own voice echoing through the thin walls of the office where he worked. He climbed through the echelons of this useless little packing office and became the region manager. Head Honcho, Big Cheese. He was the king of the packaging industry in his distric, and he let people know it.
Monday, the longest day of the week. He sat with his back away from the window, letting the green-housed light bathe over him. Blad head, red cheeks, heavy breathing. He was the epitome of intimedation, but it's what he needed. He needed to be ruthless, he needed to be terrible, it was his calling to be a tyrant. The tyrant of West Coast Packages, distric 419. He could hear them outside his opaque glass door, walking around, plotting against him. His teeth gritted and he bit back the urge to open the door and harass them again. Twice in one hour wouldn't be very productive.
So he sat, bathing in the sun light, waiting for the clock to finally arch over one last time. All he could do was wait. Why promote synergy when all his cronies only wanted to fuck around. Why micro-manage? He didn't really mind wasting a few minutes, he didn't really mind being harassed by the company head. It wasn't something that bothered him all that much, so long as he could be the messenger and ruin the lives of every one around him.
Of course he loved to be malignant, he suffered as a child.
This is when the phone rang. It was his wife. Crying again, he could barely make out a word she was saying, something about the kids from school. He violently reminded her that he was busy and didn't have time to pick the kids up at school. Then he brought to light the fact that she had become an old useless fuck, and that she should pick them up herself.
He didn't have to deal with this right now, because it was infact, the longest day of his life.
See, when you get beaten as a child. When your father drinks, and your mother takes vicodin to make sure that she doesn't remember your father drinks, you see the world in a whole new light. You see the world filled with malice, and see it only capable of creating more pain, and more hate for you to take part in.
Do you know how small you are?
He doesn't have to deal with this right now. More hustle bustle outside. He doesn't know why everyone's trying so hard to meet quota on a monday, especially this monday, it being the longest day of his life. He'd only slapped Sharon for not meeting quota last month because she'd been such a pompous bitch about work place regulations all week. Thing is, Sharon was on his bad side, and she deserved it.
The streets were the same way, hustle bustle. Cars honking, moving to get through as quickly as possible. You see, his view on automobiles was a little bit skewed. When he was sixteen, his father, reeking of alchohol, brought our protagonist out to a used car lot. His father said, pick a car, any car son. Of course, the boy was ecstatic, he'd never been offered any kindness in his entire life, this was his chance to redeem himself, to earn some freedom.
He chose as concienciously as he could, something not too expensive or flashy, but reliable. He motioned for his father when he found the right specimen, eyes beaming.
His father, as you may have guessed, stepped up to his side and promptly slapped his son across his face. He then clutched the boys cheeks between his boney fingers to bring his gaze level with the frightened youth. An even mixture of rum and saliva spraying from his mouth, he screamed terrible terrible things.
"You useless little fuck, you'll never afford this, you'll never afford any of these. This is your life lesson, this leading by example. I'm being a good father here because I'm reminding you of how shitty and useless you are. You'll never amount to enough to afford a car, a house a family, because you are a useless, insignificant, stupid fucking mistake."
You could say this caused a slight, disfunction in the boy. He never looked at cars the same way again.
The longest day of his life and it was finally almost over, finally almost drawing to a grinding end. It was then that the knock on the door happened. Go away.
He didn't want to see any one, he wanted to be alone. Alone as ever, just as he was in his own mediocre life now, just as he was in the mess of a life he once had. He wanted to be left alone to suffer out the worst day of his life.
The door opened regardless, and his wife trudged in, tears streaming down her face. She was fat by his standard, not nearly as beautiful as when they'd met, and she was crying. He reminded her of how ugly she was when she cried.
Your son is dead. I called you to tell you that, they found him at school, dead.
He fell off the top of the jungle gym and fell unconcious in the sand. No one did a thing, they all just watched as the seemingly dead boy lay on the ground. They called the ambulance, everyone was told not to move him. Thing is he was just unconcious, no spinal damage. Thing is, he died from asphixiation on account of breathing in the sand on the ground where his head lay.
Your son is dead.
It was at this point that he turned to the window to face the light head on. No tears, no sadness in his eyes at all. He stared straight into the sun and hoped to feel a slight pain in his corneas. Something to let him know he was still human. Nothing. Thing is, he didn't really care all that much. Thing is, he'd raped her as a teenager.
Thing is, the boy was a mistake.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
The light in her bedroom was dim at best, not at all adequate to show the shadows of some violent intruder. Thing is, she liked the dark, liked the idea that anything could be hiding around the corner at any given moment. A morbid and terribly sad little girl who sat in the dark and embroidered the symbols of broken angst all over her clothes. She'd thread red stars and pentagrams into her jeans in the incredibly dimly lit room.
Thing is, she didn't mind being alone.
She'd twist the thread through the needle, and she'd rope the material together. One stitch after the other, just turning and colliding. Static Electricity. Twist and meld twist and thread. Static static static. It's just the tedious process that brings her comfort. She doesn't really care how she looks, at least not materially. She wanted to look as tortured as possible to everyone that looked her in the eye. Clothes didn't matter, they were just one way to mark tedium with process. Thread the string, string the thread, static electricity. Live entertainment.
She wanted to look tortured to everyone that ever saw her and this comforted her. The pity pity pity. If she could be the best martyr, she would get the best pity would get the best satisfaction would be able to cry for purpose. Tedium to process, crying for pity. So every night, in her dark little room, carefully stitching. She liked the dark because it hid things just right, and you could never see a mighty intruder standing in the corner, licking his lips.
Thing is, she never saw it coming.
Anyone watching, would think that at any given moment she might stop her threading, her tearful tearful threading and take the needle to her wrist She'd draw a thin red thread of deep crimson blood from her arm to drape across the floor with the mess of tears that she'd left there already. She wasn't about to do this though, thing is, she's a martyr. Pain would be too much for her, she doesn't care how she looks materially, just emotionally. Sunken eyes from a dark room and too many tears.
You'd think there would be some sad depressing foreboding music playing in the background, but there was none. Just silence in that dark little room.
Thing is, she threaded by candle light because there was no electricity.
So there she'd sit, sit sit perch. It was her spot to practice her crying, to sink her shallow eyes more deeply into her skull. She'd keep the one window closed and draped over because it was easier to concentrate. Easier to see the blood red stitches she made in her jeans, in her clothes. Lines that could very well be stains from her own blood. Don't forget though, she's a martyr, she doesn't harbour pain that way.
No blood at all really, just one girl in a dark room, hands weaving an intricate pattern. Stars and demons. Stitch over stitch. Thread and static static static.
Thing is, she didn't even see it coming.
Murphy's law states that the absolute worst possible situation will come to fruition in all cases that one fritters away time at worrying.
Thing is, the only thing a martyr does is worry.
Boyle's law states that as the volume of a system decreases, the pressure of any gas contained in the system will significantly increase. The density of the system will increase.
Thing, is she never saw it coming.
With one last tear, one last look at the pair of jeans she'd just finished, she began to think that it might not be worth it. When a martyr thinks, they often doubt. She thought about how she just very well may be able to forget all of this. She had will power enough to shut the world out, maybe it was time to let them back in. To have the will to finally talk to some one about all of these terrible terrible tears.
Thing is, sometimes it's too late.
So she folds up the pants she's been embroidering and throws them aside. It's time to finally stand up for herself and get on with her life.
Thing is, the house had been abandoned for about three weeks now.
With her hands on the floor to sturdy her ascent, the thin and frail girl begins to stand. She was pretty, there was no doubt, but most times, when people don't care about how they look materially, that gets over looked. Soon however, she would be back on track. It was a phase for her, and she decided it was over.
Thing is, they never turned off the gas valves.
Two steps towards the door before she can actually smell it, but she dismiss the fact and just keeps on getting her things together. The embroidering kit, the needles, the threads, the candle.
Thing is, as the unoccupied volume of a system decreases, the pressure of the gas contained with in, and along with that it's density increases.
She kept the window closed for concentration.
When you burn alive you tend to fall into a sort of shock state, and feel absolutely nothing, as your bodies adrenaline causes you to fall unconscious. Your bodies way of sparing you the most excruciating pain you could ever experience.
Thing is, the bubbling skin isn't even the worst part. It's the way your body curls onto itself, your head arching back, popping and stretching the melted skin on your abdomen. Your hair, or the singed and liquid remains of your beautiful beautiful hair, it almost touches the bones and melded flesh where your buttocks used to be.
Assume pugilists position.
Your fingernails cup down into your wrists, releasing the steam from the veins that should have blood in them. Assume the position. Your head touching your ass, your legs curled tightly into you. You're a child escaping the womb. Assume the position.
Thing is, she never saw it coming.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
- ► 2010 (30)
- Still Kickin'
- Could you Believe it?
- Here We Go Again
- Strange Days
- Improving Blog Traffic
- To-Do (March 26th - April 2nd)
- Time Management
- Let's make this our last...
- Once (Part 2)
- Incredibly Short Story?
- It's Saturday Night
- Sure, You could Say that
- ▼ March (23)