Artificial Hydroponifier

Freewrite #4: Boredom at the Office

Alphabetic idiosyncratic make a list and check it till the G-ddamn cows come home to roost. Red, red, purple, red, misfile, misfire, clean the gun or it might sully the clamps. Never seen stirrups covered in mittens or industrial sized tubes of labia lubricant? That's a Tuesday for me, because everyone knows bulldozers come on Thursdays. Stamp stamp scribble, scribble scribble put away. No one seems to get a rhythm here, 'cept me, of course. Drifting through deserts desperately drinking diet dredge to destroy the doldrums. Scoot rumble scoot JAM...damn. Busy busy busy. Punch out a couple o' eyes, make room for the uterus, kids! Yet I need a family, even if it's elbow-deep in dried-up riverbeds.

-DubTak

The Joys of Outwitting Scams

Recently, one of my poems became a semi-finalist in a contest (Poetry.com). I have heard many a dubious remark about this site, and yet I continue to get my hopes up that I may win the elusive $10,000 annual prize. Among the many less-than-stellar comments on the way this site operates is that they get money for books that they never ship, they require massive payouts for symposiums, resources, etc., and they never respond to correspondence of any kind.

I, however, read every word of the letter that they sent me, and found that they (apparently) publish semi-finalists regardless of payment. So I checked off the "permission to publish" box, wrote my edits to the draft, wrote a little note, and sent it off sans check. No chance of being stolen from if you never give 'em money to begin with, I say.

Now they have sent me an e-mail about how I have been selected for their elite membership program. I clicked on "more info" to see if I would need to pay anything, and wouldn't ya know it, the link was broken. Every single link in the letter went to a non-functioning site. I attempted to reply and dutifully report this error, only to have GMail yell at me...something to do with invalid domain name or no response or some other such error report.

No ability to reply means that my membership, paid or otherwise, will be put on hold. I am not giving out a massive amount of information to a company that didn't even give me working addresses. Take that potential scammers!

What shocks me the most is not the sleazy way that these companies sneak about, but that people are still surprised when their money vanishes. Allow me to spell it out in my trademark all caps:

IF ANYONE ASKS FOR MONEY UP FRONT FOR PUBLICATION THEY ARE EITHER SMALL-TIME OR A SCAM!!!!

Often these companies are struggling to get by normally, so they get a lot of money out of the saps who seem unable to read fine print. Poets and writers talk about how their intellectual property was stolen and they feel violated, to which I respond: "Either grow some brains or grow a pair". If you are sending money to a company that you probably can't find on the NYSE, CPOYRIGHT YOUR WORK FIRST!!! It's very simple. Just go to http://www.creativecommons.com and you can get a little icon thingy (much like the one all the way at the bottom of this blog) that is an honest to goodness LEGAL COPYRIGHT. If internet copyrights make you nervous, mail a copy of the work to yourself. An unopened, time-stamped envelope is a legally binding indicication of ownership.

Seriously, some artists need to wise up and realize that in the cold, brutal world of American business, profit is the viscious dictator. Businessmen will drain every penny out of you if they can. Don't let them: never send a check without proof of service and a copyright, never pay to have anything published, and never trust the guy taking your money. There are legitimate agents for all fields that won't charge you a dime until after publication, at which time they'll take 10-15%. Wise up, people.

-DubTak

Proton Shaver

Freewrite #3: Still Life

"Neon diagonal interrupts barrel aging. Flying buttresses surround neat, never over, with inappropriate flexible membranous vacuums. Walls of narrative, of unique snowflakes and falling frogs and Irish avengers; one of verticum and another wonders why on this night we use pillows and dip parsley. Spires dance with ease of tubery, testament to blue or brown or clear or some manner of bitey burn. Aged woodstock tells stories of tartan bound bags, Colonels and divorcers, lager and high-sticking, and of course the occasional porcelain-bound king. Plasticene green means sweet and sour power, man of the hour, cactus cowers before topless vestibules of imbibed embarassment. Yet the strong downward slice of verdant ice makes one ponder an empty vessel."

Just a little experiment to pass the time whilst at home.

-DubTak

Human: Negative; Targets identified as DANCERS

How do I love thee modern dance? Let me count the ways. Be it thine complexity; how thee turneth the body into thine own canvas? Be it thy rapier wit, slicing through the murky facade of Americana?

Perhaps it is simply that you are HILARIOUS; that no matter how good the music and the choreography and the writing it will always come out making me laugh hysterically. Something about trying to make dance tell a serious message just gets me every time.

Oh the things you see as a pit musician.

-DubTak

Ode to Animalia, pt 2

Back to the lecture at hand...

Liz (scorpion, f): That's right, SCORPION. Liz was one of the most badass animals I have ever seen. I had told my parents that to get an A on a middle school science project, I would need a live scorpion. AND THEY BOUGHT IT. Liz, a black Emperor Scorpion was the splitting image of lethal calm. She would eat crickets, letting them crawl all over her before stinging one too fast for the human eye to follow. She would bathe in this psychotic looking ritual that involved rearranging her whole body position to get one leg in water. She faked death once (another brilliant set of screams were heard for that reveal), and eventually passed from either a tumor or complications during childbirth. As I lack a degree in Arachnological Medicine, I couldn't really tell which.

Angie (dog, f): Angie is (hooray, we're up to living animals!) a blonde Golden Reriever that we got to cheer Coco up after Freckles's death. The problem with getting two dogs is that from that point on you will always have two dogs, or the surviving dog will get depressed and mopey. Angie was a hyper little ball of puppy and was so small at first that Coco was confused as to what she was. Notable escapades include: knocking over a bottle of motor oil on herself, attempting to bite Coco's legs (in play) while he was peeing, getting subsequently peed on, and licking my dad's bald head (or anything salty, for that matter) for 10-20 minutes on end. When Coco died she became bitchy (PUN) to other dogs, preferring the longer lasting company of people. Bongo pushed the living hell out of her patience, but also made her open up a bit. She has gained a bit of weight, and is affectionately called "The Baked Potato". She lives with my dad currently, but visits my mom from time to time. She's got a thing for chasing geese now.

Bongo (dog, m): Bongo, Bongo, Bongo, Bongo, Bongo.....Bongo is a light-gold colored Golden Retriever, and is a hyperactive asshole. He would jump up on tables and counters and people who came to the door, he would run laps around the dining room table, he would do all manner of terribly annoying things. We tried to discipline him, but as I was the only one doing it with any degree of consistency, he continued misbehaving and simply thought I was out of line. We would get into fights sometimes, in which I'd have to yell so gutturally that he would pee himself in self-defense. He got bitey and snarly and downright aggressive. Yet, for all of that, he could be sweet at seemingly random times. We gave him to a friend of my dad's when we moved: a dog trainer with a great deal of land and three large, active dogs for him to play with. Hopefully he has since calmed down.

Princess Caribou, Mama Midnight, Constantina, etc. (rats, f): My roomate's pet rats. Fun, but (other than 'Tina) none of them lived long. Still, carrying them around on your shoulder was fun.

Sonora (chinchilla, f): Nora was my roomate's chinchilla that I adopted when he moved in with a cat. She was hilarious. She was adorable (http://www.chinchillaplanet.com/images/typical-chinchilla.jpg [not her but similar]), she would run on her wheel like a thing possessed, she would tarzan on hanging toys, she would do backflips off of her cage, she would spray my roomate (odorless, colorless, non-staining urine) from time to time, and she would bark (yelping, similar to high pitched dog) so loudly that I could hear her from outside. Dust baths are a great and adorable thing to watch. Often she would wake me up at 4 in the morning because she was bored. I used to carry her around the house, letting her sniff things as she fancied. She died far too soon from a mold that had developed, out of sight, between mybox spring and the wall (apparently common to the area that I was in).


Barley (cat, m): Much like the roomates I was with at the time, Barley seemed nice at first but turned selfish and mean after a while. Not a fan.


My fiancee, my roomate and I now have two cats who will be the subject of....

ODE TO ANIMALIA
PART 3

(cue "Back to the Future" theme)

-DubTak

Ode to Animalia, pt 1

I have found, in my travels, that humans have a lot in common. We have similar anatomies, similar activities, and, difficult though it may be to believe, similar thought processes. I therefore propose this pristine and poignant postulate:

Sometimes humanity is boring.

We can be the Dukes of Dull and Droll, the Earls of Ennui, or sometimes the Barons of Bubkes. Homo sapiens sapiens can quickly become homogeneous and bland. What, then, is the solution to the long stretch of abandoned highway that is our species? Thank you for your excellent question, you sly devil you. The solution is....wait for it....other species...es.... Yes, its high time for postulate mispar shtaiyim (#2):

Animals are AWESOME.

I have had a great many pets in my life, and each contributed something to my severe anxiety diso...er...enrichment and positive development. Let's go pet-by-pet.

Freckles (dog, f): Not the greatest example, because she was old when I was born. A mutt, mainly Springer Spaniel or Brittaney, she became deaf shortly after my conscious memory began (my 3rd birthday). She was prone to barking loudly in an attempt to hear herself. My two main memories of her are: 1) she once got out and ran down the hill to meet me and my brother at the bus stop; 2) she inexplicapbly learned to point when she was 15 or so. Weird. My parents thought she was dying so they bought a Golden Retreiver (Coco) to ease my and my brother's transition, but this new face perked her up for about 3 years. She lived to the ripe old age of 18.

Coco (dog, m): Coco, a reddish Golden Retreiver, is the standard to which I hold all other pets. He was without question my best friend from the day my dad and I picked him up from the breeder. We couldn't think of a name until I was halfway through a mug of hot chocolate. He was smart when he needed to be (he actually taught Angie what he learned in obedience school), dumb when he wanted to be (chasing light beams), and emotional to a degree I have never seen before or since. When Freckles died, Coco piled his toys in her favorite spot and became sedate and morose. He perked up when we got Angie, and became the model of patience and loyalty that I remember. He occasionally got hyper, chasing skunks up on the hill, attacking the grandfather clock, and barking loudly when anyone rang the doorbell, but he would always come when called, and always seemed to know what I needed at any given time. I remember his head popping over the fence as he jumped up to see someone coming up the driveway. I remember when he ran through the snow at Duck Pond (near our cabin) and getting covered in dingleberries (the rated G kind) while the humans snow-shoed. At that same pond, in the summer, I remember Coco and Angie chasing after cows. Coco would always double back and check on us, whether it was on a walk or while he was swimming at a lake we were kayaking on. My worst memory of Coco is when he was lost by All Bay Animal Hospital in Concord, CA (NEVER BOARD AN ANIMAL THERE). They maintained that he escaped, though that entailed opening a cage that a human could not open from the inside, opening a doorknob, punching in an alarm code, and opening a push-bar door. 15 days later, we found him at the Concord Naval Weapons Station, where he had apparently been avoiding MPs for 3 days (after getting under a double chainlink fence). He then helped me deal with a broken leg, and continued to be my rock until he succumbed to cancer at age 15. I have never really gotten past losing him, though if ever I go on a spirit quest, he will undoubtedly be my guide.

Houdini (hamster, m): My brother's notorious hamster, known for the greatest rodent illusion in recorded history. One day he vanished from his plastic enclosure, only to reappear, 3 days later: My mom was on her way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. She groggily turned on the light to reveal a coy rodent staring back up at her from atop the toilet bowl lid. Her scream is firmly etched into my long-term memory. Houdini was relocated back in his cage and did not re-attempt the illusion again in his lifetime.

Ruby and Company (mice): Ruby was one of many mice that I had during a short period. She had 3 large litters (10-20 babies), all passing from nearly immobile infants to "jumpers", as I used to call them (guess why), to full grown mice. She once killed one of her children, and to this day I do not know why. She and her offspring were entertaining, but never actually grew to trust me.


More animal anecdotes when we return.

-DubTak

Re-Post 4: Hindu-Islamo-Satanic Values

29 APRIL 2006

I hate to get ranty. Well...I hate to get ranty to you, dearest blog. You listen so well and I just hate that you're the only one I trust enough to tell all the bad things. I wish you could hear the great things about my life like you deserve.

You don't tell anyone what I tell you, do you blog? Because certain accidents could happen if, in fact, you do.

Where was I...ah, yes. Me with the ranting and the writing.
I often get fixated on a very specific thing that is said or done, especially when it is:
A) Repeated ad nauseum and
B) Mind-bogglingly wrong.
Have I found such an example, say you? Quiet! say I, I'm getting to that part. It starts where all festering sores upon the disease ridden flesh of discourse start: It starts with Bill O'Reily.

I could've sworn Uma Thurman was in some movie about killing Mr. O'Reily with a Samurai sword, but her target could well have been David Carradine (they look so much alike). Unrelenting and still with all of his limbs unfortunately intact, Bill O'Reily is a forerunner for misrepresenting major religions by putting his beliefs under their name. Especially my religion, which I happen to know is something VERY different from what Mr. O'Reily thinks it is.

My main argument focuses on Bill's use of the term "Judeo-Christian", a term which, in almost every situation, has almost no value. Do Judaism and Christianity have a lot in common? Sure they do. But not to the extent that people like Bill O'Reily think that they do. My favorite (and, for brevity's sake, only) example is sex. Now, the Chritianity that Bill chooses to misrepresent has some rather strict views on sex. No sex outside of marriage, sex is for procreation, gay sex is a sin, etcetera. What really grinds my gears is when, in an argument or rant, Bill drops a bomb that is not unlike my small paraphrased tidbit:

Homosexuality is an affront to the Judeo-Christian views of marriage and sex.

Exsqueeze me? Did I just hear the terms "Judeo-Christian" and "marriage and sex" joined together like gay citizens can't be? (oh, burned) What in G-d's name do Judaism and Conservative Christianity have in common with regards to sex? Last I checked, the reason for waiting until marriage to have sex in Judaism is NOT to create a family, and that sex is BY NO MEANS just for procreation. Oh no. See, in Judaism, sex is HOLY. It is a serious, intimiate, mandated bond between two souls that is too powerful to be trifled with (hence the marriage thing). A Jewish man, according to Jewish law, is COMMANDED to have sex something like four times a week or SEVEN if he doesn't work full-time. That's right. Jews are commanded to have sex, on average, once every day or two. That's a LOT o' boinkin' your significant other. On the Sabbath, you know, day of rest, sex doesn't count as work. Actually, you're supposed to DEFINATELY have sex on the sabbath. If you don't have sex on any other say of the week, you get down and dirty on saturday.

I'm not even going to go into things like the Union for Reform Judaism (or the National Reform Council, I can't find the gorram book with the quote) supporting homosexuality (and bisexuality and such) with biblical counterclaims to all the "homosexuality is a sin" arguments. That's a whole 'nother rant. It's just that when guys like Bill O'Reily and Sean Hannity and Hell, maybe even Rush Limbuagh tack my religion onto their twisted, perverted version of Christianity (for more perversion of Christianity, see Wagner, Richard) I begin to feel like my beliefs are being violated.

My faith is not yours, Mr. O'Reily. You'll never read my little blog but I will shake my fist at the blank area in front of my computer screen that symbolizes your face. My religion has little do to with yours, especially where you think it does. My doctrine does not agree with you, and it sure as Abraham doesn't support you.

Shabbat Shalom, Mother Fucker

DubTak

Re-Post 3: Worth at least 10,000 Words

Re-Post 2: Playing from my Base

13 MARCH 2006

I, it seems, am nigh unable of spontaneous creativity, relationships, or anything else for that matter without something or someone as an anchor. Allow me to explain:

When I first got here to State, I had no friends. This is understandable, as I had just transferred from a different university and was going through the standard "get-acquainted-with-radically-new-environment" stage. But, by the end of my first semester, I still had no friends other than my housemate who was (and is) an old friend from high school who, as luck would have it, doesn't really have any friends here either (his friends are mainly back where we went to high school). So eventually I got on good enough terms with one of my horn section members to hang out with her and her friends, who I am now much better friends with.

It was around then that I realized that I cannot make friends from nothing; I need the security of an established relationship to branch out. My friends at State are through a fellow horn player because I was forced into a situation in which we needed to be friendly. It's not that I don't think that she's awesome or regret being thrown into a forced-friend situation with her, but rather that I would not have ever engaged her otherwise. I came to realize that all of my friends at my high school were from band or through this girl that I was trying to date freshman year. In middle school I became friends with the friends of one of my bandmates. Even in elementary school I was only really aggressive when I needed to be (e.g. kindergarden) and then latched onto a select few people and branched out from there. I even met my fiancee via her being the friend of someone else that I was dating, who I was in a class with.

This peculiar phenomenon has, I've discovered, its roots much deeper in my psyche than just relationships. Whenever I attempt to make an original story it is always a collection of good ideas that never really links up. My ideas for films are so far from presentable that they are almost laughable. When I choose to adapt an existing story, however, I can generate an amazing output, including having a full four hour epic (split into two films, calm yourselves) planned from start to finish. I'm also much better at coaching people artistically than I tend to be at producing. I can give amazing critique that really helps my friends compositions, but when they ask me if they can see what I wrote, I often don't have anything to show them.

I have taken steps to rectify my problem with needing to be...I guess "referential" is the most apt. I am trying to force myself into social situations and to force myself to commit something down to paper in terms of ideas. This blog (no paper per se but the purpose is the same) is one example, as is carrying around a music sketchbook. And recognition is the first step to recovery. I just never realized until a few hours ago that my social problem is also my creativity problem and probably a good amount of other issues as well.

My name is DubTak and I need a strong anchor to achieve spontaneity.
Hello DubTak.

Ta.

Re-Post 1: De-Evolution

09 MARCH 2006

My name is DubTak, and this is tonight's news:

The stigma around amazingly nerdy things has begun to project it's horrid siren's song directly into my brain. A year ago, I wanted as much distance from Dungeons and Dragons and any other RPG without a monitor to stare at. Now I'm actively seeking it out. I always hated how one had to read all 5,017 back issues of a comic to really understand the story. Now I have downloaded almost every old X-men and am (slowly) reading them.

What has happened to my precious desire for social acceptance? Where are the days when I was trying so desperately to fit in, vainly attempting to comprehend a culture to which I always seemed a step behind? I spent the vast majority of my still very short life trying not to be one of "those nerds". I could be a band nerd, but that led into a sophisticated taste in music. I could play video games, but only because they were fun and I never Role Played in any of the online ones. There has always been a wall between me and total nerd-dom, between being socially lagging and socially ostracized. But now, by some strange de-evolution (TITLE OF THE POST) I have torn down that wall, uniting my socially adept West and socially inept East in a glorious victory over the terrors of Communism.

Perhaps it is a desire to gain new experiences. Perhaps I am merely pushing my imagination, a frighteningly seldom used thing in modern American society, to its absolute zenith. I am, as it were, staking my livelihood on that imagination with regards to both musical composition and cinema. It is also possible, though unlikely, that I secretly hate society and wish to throw myself into the deep dark bowels of cultural exile.

But as I sit here, staring at a pile of dice with far too many numbers on them, I ponder what it is that separates me from doing anything. Are my inhibitions wearing away, or am I casting them off in search of new truth? Is this a period of growth, decline, or stagnancy? I have yet to discover the answers to all of these questions, but I can only assume that it is the journey to those answers that will teach me the most.

Hopefully I won't be so serious next time,
DubTak

Re-posts

Here's some tidbits from when I tried this whole blogging thing a couple of years ago. All instances of my name have been replaced by DubTak. Enjoy.


-DubTak

I am no Angel

The great Titan
Shepherd scorned
Stands indignant at the Gates

Voids breached by
Arrogant innocence
Pave way to flame-lit skies

Punished were the many
The powerful
Punished with ash and soot
Innocence more punished by
Closeness

Four faces, three of beast
Our only savior


-DubTak

Deadly Ecstasy

Sweet curls of pain
wisping up in graceful arcs
Bags so used to holding breath

Tremble

Chills turn to shudders of ecstasy
tracing deadly spirals
into the air


-DubTak

Click

Swing hips and coffee pots
Swish, swish, click-click-click
Hands on skin stretched taught
Boom, ba-boom, click-click-click
Steel flying in blurry arcs
Shing,- - click-click-click
Pendulums fail to comprehend
Swing, click, swing, click-click-click
Tiny circles in each hand
Kring, kring-a-chick, click-click-click
Moonlight makes a stump a floor
Thunk, thunk, a-click-click-click
I am.


-DubTak

Flood

Falling off of ladders

Demanding life for those few
undeserving of
Fire Rain

Rechiseling stone tablets


Drawing the sword to the Heavens

Condemns not Man

Drunkards on manure-filled boats

Summon forth the Waters

-DubTak

Trenches

Block my ears
Block the sun
Floating lights move past my wings

Endless cold
and Endless night
Finally I come home again


-DubTak

Grey Nothing

Two lines peak and fade
Green and brown give way
Golden spires fall into nothing

Walk uphill and disappear
Line of nothing leading home

Blur my eyes
Block my sight

Embrace me
Surround me
Embrace me

-DubTak

Suite #2: Shofarot

I. Tekiah

The Great Shofar is sounded
A blast of gold and amber
The procession of the righteous carries with them

Two Great Cherubim of Gold

Amber gleam contained

Harken to the Holy Call!

Trees bow low
weeds raise up
Kingdom and Kingship
Law and Grace

Harken to the dark, to the deep!

With a beginning, the Great Shofar sounds!

II. Shevarim

The still, small voice is heard
Blood pools from tent spikes
meshing with a mother's tears

My son! My evil son!

Salty blood and salty tears
Pillars of pity
Pillars of grief for the wicked
No Glory without Sorrow
without turning

Turning, death rather than
life of turning

Wailing over canteens of milk
Blood of enemies
Blood of allies

Harken to the Great Wail!

III. Teruah

The Great Shofar is sounded
A blast of red and orange
Winged aspects flee
before the drums

Smashed lanterns of orange
Crashing
Resonating
Fearing

Harken to the spear, not pruning hooks!

Sweet blood runs like milk and honey
Roads paved of good intentions
Iron graeves break cobblestones
Raise the standard of Crimson
of Burgundy

Harken to the Great and the Terrible!

IV. Tekiah Gedolah

The Great Shofar is sounded
The still, small voice is heard

Prone rise to silver


Tongues swell

Blood begets dust

and Dust is our End


-DubTak

Suite #1

I

Suns of flame cast down
Searing the unworthy what venture too close

Wings of Wax

become

Wings of Fire

Fruit of Knowledge, half eaten

Rots in fearless adolescence

II

Cursed with ambition

Cursed with arrogance

Cursed with the Holy Spark

Shattered pottery pieces cut

the Uncareful
the Unknowing
the Cursed

Towers, lightning-struck
Crumbles into

Dubious Anxiety

What small piece of Amber Gleam blinds

the Unknowing
the Uncareful
the Blessed



III

Chosen

means not

Chosen

The Shepard must
bow

to the snow

-DubTak

Fire and Feathers

What fiery wings,
What feathered swords

I stand upon the left
The Strength The Courage
The Pain The Destruction

I am the Serpent, banishing Man
I am the star, guiding kings
I am the flood, wiping the Earth
I am the salt, sliding down the pillar

I am the Keeper of the Great Gates
Two swords of Feather
Two swords of Fire

-DubTak