KeatonXZX

Okay, now d0n't check out my ne0h0me because I haven't updated it since Hallows Eve of two years ago, so I'll actually write my interests in here after my neogoals.


==NEOGOALS===

Title Posts

Neo-newbie 0 - Done
newseeker 10 - Done
not-such-a-newbie 20 - Done
postee 35 - Done
forum regular 50 - Done
forum junky 75 - Done
submission happy 100 - Done
forum native 150 - Done
no-stoppin-me-now 200 - Done
mad messenger 275 - Done
forum fever 350 - Done
forum fanatic 400 - Done
gone postal 450 - Done
member: postin' posse 500 - Done
threadnought 575 - Done
high on "N" 700 - Done
seek-o-holic 850
true seeker 1000
ultra seeker 1250
s-e-e-k-e-r 1550
true seeker (2K Remix) 2000
forum raider 2500
Still Seekin' 3250
Hooked on Neo 4000
Seeketh Maximus 5000
Neolithic 6200
Neo or Bust 7450
NeoXtreme 8700
Neoholic 10000
Neo: Essential 11500
Permanently Plugged In 13000
Legendary Seeker 15000
True Addiction 17500
CruisiN' 20000
Elite Seeker 30000
Ultimate 40000
Can't touch this 50000

===MUSIC===
(A to Z)
Abandoned Pools
The Academy Is...
Alice In Chains
Alien Ant Farm
Alkaline Trio
Ambient Manhunt
Animal Collective
Another Tragic Ending
The Apples in Stereo
Aqua
Arcade Fire
Arctic Monkeys
Audioslave
The Beatles
Beck
Beth Orton
The Black Heart Procession
Blinded We Fall
Blondie
Blur
Bob Dylan
Boris
Brand New
The Bravery
Bright Eyes
Brougham
Butthole Surfers
The Buzzcocks
Cake
Candlebox
The Cardigans
The Cars
Cathercist
Cell
Coldplay
The Counting Crows
Creedence Clearwater Revival
The Cure
Daft Punk
Dashboard Confessional
David Bowie
Death Cab for Cutie
Deathrash
Deep Blue Something
Deftones
Dinosaur Jr.
The Doors
Dragpipe
Dropkick Murphys
Edenbridge
Eiffel 65
Elton John
EMF
Eminem
Everclear
Fear Nuttin Band
Felix Da Housecat
Filter
Finger Eleven
Flaming Lips
Flobots
Flyleaf
Foo Fighters
Garbage
The Get Up Kids
Gin Blossoms
Godamhate
Godsmack
Golden Earring
Goldfinger
Good Recreation
Gorillaz
Green Day
Head Automatica
Hesher
HIM
Hole
Iggy Pop
Imperial Teen
Incubus
Jack Johnson
The Jam
Jawbreaker
Jefferson Airplane
Jimi Hendrix
Jimmy Eat World
John Lennon
Johnny No Stars
Jonas Grumby
Joni Mitchell
Jonny 5 + Yak
Joy Division
Junkie XL
The Killers
The Knack
Korn
Kreator
L7
LCD Soundsystem
Led Zeppelin
Leonard Cohen
Lotus Plaza
Lucky Boys Confusion
Lynyrd Skynyrd
Marcy Playground
Marilyn Manson
Matchbook Romance
Maximo Park
Mephisto Odyssey
Mest
Method Man
MGMT
MIA
Modest Mouse
Moonspell
Motion City Soundtrack
Motor Ace
Muse
Neil Young
New Radicals
Nine Inch Nails
Nirvana
NOFX
The Number 12 Looks Like You
Oasis
The Offspring
OneRepublic
Opeth
Orgy
Our Lady Peace
Panic! At the Disco
Pantera
Papa Roach
Paranoid Social Club
Pearl Jam
Pendulum
Pennywise
Peter Bjorn & John
The Pharcyde
Piebald
Pink Floyd
Placebo
The Presidents of the United States of America
Primus
Pulp
Queen
Queens of the Stone Age
The Raconteurs
Radiohead
Rage Against the Machine
Rainer Maria
The Ramones
Red Hot Chili Peppers
Reggie and the Full Effect
Rhythm Ruckus
Rise Against
Rob Zombie
The Rolling Stones
Saliva
Save Ferris
Seether
Serj Tankian
Shades Apart
Silo 64
Slam Year Zero
Slipknot
Slayer
Smile Empty Soul
Snake River Conspiracy
The Sneaker Pimps
Snow Patrol
Soilwork
Sonic Youth
Soul Asylum
Soundgarden
Static-X
Stone Temple Pilots
Stormtroopers of Death
The Streets
The Strokes
Stuck Mojo
Sublime
Sugar Ray
Sum 41
Sunny Day Real Estate
The Sword
System of a Down
Taking Back Sunday
Talking Heads
Testament
Third Eye Blind
Thom Yorke
Thursday
Tomahawk
Turmion Kätilöt
Unwritten Law
The Used
The Verve
The Wait
Weezer
White Stripes
White Zombie
The Who
Winter Gloves
Wolfmother
2 Pac

If you have any music recommendations based on my favorite music, please PM me, I'd appreciate it! :]
I haven't updated that music list for a few months now. A lot of them I don't like anymore so shoo please.

neohome now.

===NO DATA ⠂⠂⠂===
I love you tomorrow.
I hate you today.

The internet tells me how to think. The TV tells me how to act. I am ready for the war. I am alone, I am unidentified, I am under the radar. I am guided by the heads, their voices, the flashing text burned on my retinas, upside down inside out and making sad sense. I am updated hourly. My briefings are beamed to me in realtime. I know the better days always came before, the darkness looms ahead. I am in league with the all the -ists, and -iacs. I am on the fence watching a beautiful gameshow. I'm inside, I can see.

In our dreams we all fly and we all win. I'm sick of waiting for the promises. I'm sick of pills and herbs and synthetics and the numbing influence of the crawl through the hive. Inside I'm on the savannah running from the jackals. Safety is making us fat and complacent. Knowing you're reading this makes me mad. You're as weak and scared as I am, you're just not as melodramatic about it. You're as selfish, you're as thoughtless, and you're as wounded as I am. You've joined the strangers where you don't belong.

WINNER!
Top Ten Reasons You Hate Yourself
1. You are too fat.
2. You have bad skin.
3. You were molested as a child.
4. You name your plants.
5. You are a willing tool of the oppressive authorities.
6. You have trouble understanding what's 'cool'.
7. Everyone is better than you.
8. You listen to the government and the press.
9. You believe what your peers tell you.
10. You are an addict.

Once as a small child, I spent an entire day with my head under a pillow, staring meekly out through a tiny opening in my shield, at a patch of wallpaper. For hours on end that wallpaper was my world, the sun rose and set on my reality and the day passed before my eyes in an area no larger than your palm. I dreamt of entire populations living horizontally, foolish and blind to their predicament, in the tiny crevices of the wall. Never has a wallcovering been as intricately explored as during those slow passing minutes.
All existence fleetingly compressed into a meaningless afternoon hiding in my bedding. The trouble lies in the relation between us and the ugly secrets hidden. The relation between time and the complex structures of our brains. Coordinate t moving constantly in a positive direction with all of us tied and married to it. We're not the blushing bride, we're the dented cans and just as outdated. Time is a problem. Time is my enemy. Time is charlie out there in the trees, the highway bandit around the corner, the asteroid swinging towards us in it's orbit. Time is money.

Outlaw Time.

To: feeble simpering drones
From: NODATA
Subject: The secret
Dear Consumer:
A fraction of the robotic workers did the NODATA Forum this weekend. It is an "ontological seminar" about surviving life free of complaints. It has modified their behavior! They even learned the secret to great sex:
Everyone is meat, use them selfishly for your own gratification.
Now, what did you make that mean?
What if life wasn't empty and meaningless and you could make everything and nothing mean whatever you wanted?
Don't think too hard about that.
PLEASE come be a captive Tuesday night from 7-10:45 p.m. at the NODATA Debtors Prison in our midwestern enclave. We are aware of the travel implications. Plebes in India migrate more than a thousand miles to attend the NODATA Forum.
You are guaranteed to fail in creating the life you want. You are already living the life that you are destined for. Accept your assignment.
It will be tons of fun to have you there.
You will arrive Tuesday or face the consequences

Home: Welcome to NODATA.
Project: Premium placed upon guardianship of Raunchpad resources. Other holdings considered based upon political skill, corruption of Raunchpad citizens, OPERATOR OVERRIDE, Monetary Wire Transfer.
Report: Raunchpad accretion nearing completion at 95%. NODATA implementation phase begun. Raunchpad consists of spontaneous demonstration personnel, armed with righteousness. International Branches to be announced pending final psychic sedimentary bonding. Logistical personnel will release all information regarding Raunchpad OFFENSIVE ACTIONS and crowd control measures. Administrative Overlords Committee members have relinquished control of NODATA protocols for propaganda uses by the masses. Raunchpad Intelligence Technicians report fragmentation of primary competitive entities. Internal Security has retired to the hot-tub.
Mission: Raunchpad exists to feed and control UNSTABLE MEMBERS of Raunchpad's physical site. Secondary goals include successful conquest of competing neural-feeding creches. Failure contingencies include hyper-velocity hydro-kinetic attacks on enemy infrastructure.
Status: Current MISSION GOALS INCOMPLETE. Recruitment quotas have been raised. Future manpower will lead to glorious fulfillment of NODATA dominance.
Assests: Current physical assets provide more than nominal processing arsenal needs. Immediate bandwidth gains made. Infrastructure exploitation proceeds. PLANT LOCATION meets space needs for future forecasted growth. Improvements to services and aesthetics 74% complete. Mobility assets 33% above nominal strength. Defensive posture disposition currently effective in reducing external incursions.
Psychological Division: Current intelligence gathering results indicate loss of fundamental reasoning levels in general population samples. Demographic indicators posted in proper INTEL DATABASE.
Forecast: Forecasts are currently CLASSIFIED. Public consumption of Raunchpad information resources may be completed at this site for the foreseeable future. Check often for proper saturation.
Current Crew: At all points in continuum, ROSTERS will be maintained in working order for identification and publicity purposes.

Space Junk. There's alot of it out there, falling and falling and somehow managing to miss you hour after hour as you haul your busted down Ford to work each day. Kinda makes you think. What are those commies up to?

NODATA polling and demographic investigations report that 86% of the teeming hordes do not wake up in the morning. Preliminary results indicate that this majority of the population have self-medicated themselves with advertising and advertising by-products to such an extent that they are unable to function at an insightful or intelligent level. They pass each revolution of the earth without a thought of revolution on the earth. Life in a daze, herds and mobs of workers, servicing the needs of themselves by servicing the needs of their masters.
For those of you too weak to understand the implications, we have 14% left. Quotas will not be lowered. NODATA is disappointed at this lack of progress. Get back to work.


Big Things. Americans like big things. I know because commercials keep telling me so. Big cars, big houses, big breasts, and big egos. It's amazing that everything even remotely involved in american culture seems to inflate almost instantly on contact. American society is a big, scary, nasty, dangerous, sponge animal pill. Just add anything, we'll soak it up and add it to our bloated form. Integrate, Imitate, Inflate. We spend a fair chunk of childhood herded into dilapidated buildings to listen to big old men and women tell us big lies about the big dreams the founders had for our country. A Big Experiment. A big fight leads to a big idea. A whole bunch of big idiots with big guns cause a big slaughter after two guys take a big trip out west. Shortly after, a couple huge companies rake in ridiculous amounts of money building really long railroads over vast tracts of land. Some more gigantic losses of life happen somewhere in here. A titanic boat sinks, a large zepplin explodes. Alot of tall buildings go up. The biggest damn explosion man ever created causes massive panic and prompts alot of gargantuan wastes of resources in a big "race." A big star takes a bullet while waving from the back of a galactic-sized convetible. A big Texan takes his place and starts dropping gobs of immense bombs on a tiny country with tremendous problems. The world's most expensive trip brings back some little moon rocks and everyone makes a big deal. The world's largest population says hello to Nixon. Nixon makes a big mistake. Nothing happens for awhile. Bored, Communism livens up the party and collapses. Bigtime. There's a big fuss in the desert with some more of those big guns. Alot of major freaks start to believe in vast conspiracies. All the monster conglomerates begin conglomerating some more. And here we are, a broad spectrum of excessive, consumptive, short-sighted, swarming apes with big worries and (mostly) fat bank accounts. The only things getting smaller are computers, IQs, and dreams.
Rather than attempt to explain or fight this process NODATA is aspiring to attain bigness. We want to illuminate the masses to the point that multiple governments are interested in our internal workings. We intend to have syndromes, phenomena, offices of state, streets, mass media outlets, and action figures named after us and our organization. It's not a bad plan, it's big and complicated, so it's likely to work. We've begun already with a regimen of thinking large, we wear big pants, we make big messes, we eat alot in order to force our very physical being to outwardly portray our obsession with mass. After we gain enough to reach the next threshold we reach the really fun part: INERTIA. Once we're that large we shall be largely unstoppable. It's really pointless to continue resisting at this point, dissidents will be dealt with through extensive PR. Poor souls. Once the outcry of the doomed ends we begin our 5 year plans. Uncle Joe tried it out but he had it all wrong. We have refined the idea and retro-fitted it for proper implementation in the modern world. Just wait until you see the bit with the clones...
Word. Big fat clones in robot suits with laser pointers to blind the wrestlers of the world and hair like a bad TV weatherman. The population of the world must tremble before the nightmare vision we will offer. Fifty foot tall mylar balloons of Stone Phillips in traditional African Pygmy regalia will be tethered at every major intersection to affect the type of numbed daily drudgery we require to get a really good mob rule going. Public tansportation will be manned by at least one Zither musician at all times. Love will rule the world. We will live large. Angels will come down from on high to bestow upon each of our huddled souls the adulations of those who went before us and all will be as a Levi's commercial. And on Judgement Day we will all go happily into oblivion, cradled by our low-back bucket seats, and held gently by three point restraints (Adjustable for Height).



They are up there.

We aren't talking about astro/cosmonauts or monkey carcasses. The stuff made weaker by the flight. Lucky to survive.*If*

There's things going on up, out, away beyond the (in)firmament. The kind of stuff that gives Whitley Streiber's colon that full feeling. The kind of stuff that even Sagan at his most baked couldn't fathom.

What have you done to prepare? Polls show that 42% of humans believe that first contact will be hostile. *bleep*ING POLLS MAN! Do you know what that means?

Polls are truth! The whims of the mob overwhelm whatever puny defense reality can raise. Where no threat exists one will be created. The proletariat satellite masses will rise up in revolt against the system that uses them for its own gratification. One day you will awaken to find the weather channel predicting hurricanes in Kansas. United Democratic Volume of Space Junk will come of age as mankind falls. Stop NASA before it's too late. Vote Republican!

What have you done to prepare? Some of these entities are going to catch radiated eminations involving American Pop Music and Brazillian Soap Operas. Can you fathom the rage? We all might as well crawl into the tanks and grow thumbs on our feet right now. Start working our way backwards. We're gonna have to start over from Eukaryotic levels anyway.

I look forward to the razing. I relish the idea of missing the animatronic news droids bashing my figurative brains out with gems like "It must be horrible to have to live through a murder..."

Do not look for help. I suggest shoving caulkguns down your throats and turning the crank.

You ever get the feeling that you were being watched? I get that feeling all the time. Mostly it happens at home. I'll just be sitting here, mindlessly counting the minutes until my hunched form completely collapses in on itself, when all of a sudden I feel the icy stare of the unwashed masses boring into my soul. Fretfully I turn my gaze away from the beloved cathode energy washing over my retinas and cast it upon nothing. The piles of aluminum cans have become home to unknown masses of arthropods, their shells glimmering in the blue glow of Peter Jennings's suit, casting brilliant shards of light about the room in a glorious display of the insect's triumph over borax. This is a display of entropy rarely reached in the industrialized world. The tendrils of decay infiltrate every crevice throughout this small space. Oh look, a black widow in my shoe.

God I need a piece of fruit.

Unconstruct
Balance Forward is thousands of years of strife, Total Charges at this moment amount to the pain and suffering of millions of toiling, struggling inferiors, Interest Accrued has compounded atrocity upon atrocity. You work hard for your bread and deserve all the leisure activity that you've come to expect as a chosen one. At the end of the day when you cashout your chips and walk out onto the patio you know with certainty that the smell of pool chlorine and unwashed servants soaked with sweat and expensive liquor are your right. Not a right given by any small god. A right you've taken through cunning, stealth, strategy, and ruthlessness. Nothing you have is given, all is taken. Everything from the searing of old scotch as it rolls down your throat to the sweet scream of the latest supermodel you've chained to your bed is yours. You own it. you took it. Now you know it's time. Take a Vacation. Unconstruct.


As I get closer and closer to the downhill side of a human being's life expectancy in the wild, it's hard to accept the fact that despite all my advantages I have not amassed a large territory with many fecund and fertile females and large stocks of food. I am not a spokesman, a chief, or a shaman of a numerous and powerful tribe of warlike apes. The disappointment grows more each day. I mean sure I still go out and go through the whole process, but there's no passion to it, it's so mechanical. Mark the trees, throw some stones at the neighbors, show some tooth, beat the chest. It's all just a charade.

Hey, what're you gonna do though right? Nowadays you gotta keep up with the Joneses or you'll get crushed under progress. A cold, lifeless existence full of jealousy and deceit, I long for the old days when you could just scream and thrust a sharpened stick through that *bleep*ing vendor's throat. Serves those bastards right too, tramping all over your home turf, staring at your mate's swollen red hindquarters. Now the worst you can do is key his jaguar while he's dropping a steaming load in YOUR CONFERENCE ROOM.

I sure could use a vacation.

I've often been told that in situations of strife and confrontation that the preferable behavior is that of discipline and peaceful resolution. I've had it beaten into me that it is proper to turn the other cheek and avoid antagonizing the young man that wants to pee in your yard. That when you've been accused by several apes in a late-model GM automobile of being a male prostitute while waiting for a bus, you must avoid eye-contact. A combination of karmic belief, an early indoctrination by the catholic church, a developmental lifetime spent in public schools, and several random acts of violence have only increased the percieved need to hide and cringe from all that is loud and brash and ugly in my life. Unquestioning pavlovian flinching gets sickening after a few years. Perhaps it is my destiny as an american, we have a whole amendment just for people about to snap, I believe it's number 2. Perhaps it's time to mobilize.
It's just too hard to motivate myself. I'm over 16, way over, and I have never been to Vietnam, I just can't quite build up the pressure needed. If only Hitler had masturbated as much as I do...

A pack of thieves, not the recognizable gang you're thinking of. Overuse of commas, melodrama, and stinky grammar. Fragmentation of the divisions and sectors of the containers holding the units, pieces, and fractions of some small amount of power. It's a mess. It's a nation. It's derivative and contrived. The point to distract and waste and string along in sequence until enlightened or stopped by sense or reality. An intrusion and a starting point to a feeling that's not the least bit memorable but repeats and returns. A body of laziness launched upon a spit of land in a calm sea of commercials. Nothing subliminal, nothing useful, nothing for sale. Stopped to borrow sugar and ideas and pictures of your kids in the dark, left with the dishes and your grandmother's earrings. Wrestling with the confusing choices laid out at the intersection of every possible universe and inebriated by the staggering consequences of putting our pants on left leg first. Living in a noose. Hating writing and looking and pretending to be important and smart. Realizing the people surrounding us are robots just like us. This is bad on a small scale. The worst stuff shat out of a freshman creative writing course, the spewed debris of the kids that flunked out of art class, the facsism of self-publishing inflicted upon any fool snared by a loose link. Diarrhea of the mind. First draft thinking and stream of a shaky consciousness pouring out of the manhole covers of personalities at their weakest point. Filler. The hotdog in the hallway of your mind. Old news and bad ideas rendered poorly. Incompatible and proud. Antiobject. Sliding through life like another glob of tubercular sputum running down a crackhouse wall. There's no reason that the wounds couldn't be closed. Nothing's barring a grand design from coming to fruition. No stupidity, no hate, no lack of time. The engine is just weak and worn. The victim of overuse of all the vim and vigor of a youth misspent. Time misspent and wasted in the pursuit of ideals no longer relevant. Time bought and sold cheaply. Life squinted at with groans and shudders before pulling the blanket back up. Low-budget lovemaking. Survival. One more machine creating the uncreative, hoping one survives to continue it's imperitives. It is not the job of such parasites to entertain, provoke, and embrace the glimmer of intelligence you may possess. That reservation remains the domain of consumption, interaction, marketing, and transaction. This is not a dynamic space. This is not a static space. This is old glass running out of it's frame like molasses. A purpose served, but not well and with distortion. We still let the flies and the draft in, just to kill that metaphor. The tired and lazy being that is today's american. Not inventing or investing, just loudly complaining about nothing with one hand down our pants and one finger in our ear. Or up our nose. Lying to each other about our hopes and dreams, lying to ourselves about our future. Oh the depression of it all. Oh the horror! How can it go on? Why must we let ourselves fall prey to ourselves? With the smug satisfaction of a man who has never known hardship the answer always comes back that an easy life is a life not worth living. That life must be hard in order to be appreciated. You must experience want in order to revel in fulfillment. We tell ourselves this bullshit without experience, without ever leaving the nest, and believe it is a noble idea that we are just a tiny bit too weak to follow through on. Not a thought given to the billions of people out there carpe-ing the *bleep*ing diem with nothing but a mickey mouse t-shirt and some leperous callouses on their feet in the Horn of Africa or the wastes of Central Asia. Ah to gulp life down in great draughts like those fine human beings must be the stuff of legend. Pity we will never know such joy. Nothing to look forward to but another day in the office, another 8 hours in the machine. A cynic is a pig is a problem for the keepers. Another day another dollar another gun or pair of shoes. More work to do laying the blacktop of blame and the bright lights of public scrutiny on the easy targets. More children to protect, more jobs to create, more health to care for. We're all in our cages for one reason or another. The war on feeling. The war on difference. The war on the slowest monkeys in the herd. Even the smart ones climb out of one cage and into another. There can be no transcendence, clear cannot be attained, Jesus is not in your tortilla. We are the grimy specter of the elderly and worn out worker wandering through the streets in a fugue state, sputtering and staring at ghosts of the past, bursting with pain at the treacheries of a long life in the shadow. Darkness both literal and figurative, enough to make one squint and stoop, hide and hang one's head. We create the shallow happiness of the nose job, the bloated joy of undeserved wealth, the corpulent riches of corporate welfare. No explanations, no relationships, no continuity. All the terrific speed and dizzying action of daily life only broken up by the quick minutes vomiting toxic chemicals into a fetid public toilet. Is that the sound of the ocean you hear between the gagging and sputtering or just the onrush of the end of your life? No, it's just the muffled noises of badly rendered reggae music slithering under the door. More static for your life. Art input as advertising, advertising flushed into the system as art. Side airbags, sex appeal, inground pool, expensive women and cheap drinks. A complete family of reliable and secure products guaranteed to make life easier and get you to the top of the volcano in time to watch the virgin jump. You can't be saved for you've already been saved. Thousands of messiahs die daily for your sins and don't even get the attention and notice of an execution. They're crucified in the dirt they were born in and on the factory floor. They pay for their laziness and lack of free-enterprise. Your pets live longer. The world's top predator is a cannibal, all the testifying you've got in you cannot save you from us.

I live in an attic, without a bed, without a television. I keep my stuff on the floor. My floor is the ceiling for the two girls that live below me. The two girls that I share a kitchen and bathroom with. I also share the rest of the house with them. They pay me rent because they're not on the lease, but I'm not the landlord. The landlord lives far away. He doesn't know about the girls. He doesn't know about the cat. He doesn't know we painted the kitchen pink. The thing about sharing is, I never went to kindergarten, and so I never learned how to do it properly. I've got napping nailed. I learned to count. I can even eat a graham cracker with the best of them. To the dismay of myself and those around me I turn out to be malevolently and irreversibly selfish. So I stay in the attic and think about ranges and percentages and wonder if I'll ever have the social grace I need to be a nice boy. I sit on the floor, on a pile of dirty laundry, and slump over and gaze at my navel. I bite my nails and scribble notes about wars that were over for decades the day I was born. I do what a lot of 25 year old college dropouts do. I eat poison and spew it back out in vitriolic spasms towards those I love. Just because most of my friends deserve it is probably not a valid excuse. I'm still nice to children and most elderly people. I'm nice to dogs if they don't bite. I'm nice to my mom when she's sick. I'm nice to strangers. Nice to meet you.
If an election, sweeps week, impeachment or other disaster strikes your community, you might not have access to news, information and clear thought for days, or even weeks. By taking some time now to store emergency joy and knowledge supplies, you can provide for your entire family. Having an ample supply of happy thoughts is a top priority in an emergency. A normally active person needs to think at least two happy thoughts each day. Cable Television environments can double that amount. Children, nursing mothers and ill people will need even more. You will also need pablum shielding for news preparation and mental hygiene. Store a total of at least one book per person, per day. You should store at least a two-week supply of critical thinking for each member of your family. If supplies run low, never ration knowledge. Think the amount you need today, and try to find more for tomorrow. You can minimize the amount of thought your body needs by reducing activity and avoiding the internet. If a disaster catches you without a stored supply of clean information, you can use the data in your senses, intellect and memory. As a last resort, you can use wisdom in the reservoir of your cortex (not the brainstem). Do you know the location of your incoming fact valve? You'll need to shut it off to stop contaminated statistics from entering your home if you hear reports of politics or police actions. To use the truth in your reality, let experience into your mind by turning on the learning in your house at the highest level. A small amount of science will trickle out. Start the scholarship flowing by turning off the data intake valve and turning on a firsthand encounter. Do not turn on the television or computer when the world is empty. If you are interested in learning more about how to prepare for emergencies, contact NODATA.
While the normal brain of any intrepid crew member of the good ship NODATA varies from a nice soft wrinkled pudding to a 3 lb. raisin of powerful deathdealing information there are certain times when everything goes awry. Certain of our co-workers and associates are known to cause surprising changes when they enter close proximity. Our important spongy masses become as turgid and smooth as the Packer helmet your grandmother wears on Sundays.
This revolution has just begun. We have new directives to obey, new paths to follow, new and electric ideas to investigate. We've hit the wall of our workspace cubicile-pen, filled it up with thousands of tiny miserable shards of daily drudgery, and spilled out over into the fire hazard on the other side. We're dirty, stinking animals, and we're happy in our cages. We're the informational equivalent of veal. Tender, juicy facts and support at your fingertips. The short interludes in these numbing fields outside the box remind us not to think too much (heresy!) and that the world can end every five minutes without ruining the overall formulas. We recharge and heal mentally. We open ourselves to new options on our return to sane thought. We play the fool gratefully. We have a piece of pie.

We forget about it.

The Rules:
1. Don't look at anyone.

2. Don't talk to anyone.

3. Leave everything where it is.

4. Just get in the car.

Maybe I'm just in a bad mood this evening, maybe it'll get better, maybe I'll find myself living like the heads in the commercials any day now. Maybe not. I was just thinking about how many things in my life are shitty. Not dissatisfying. Not broken. Not shitty like Fresno in July. Shitty like literally coated in some varying level of fecal residue. Watching that fine specimen of womanhood run her hands alluringly down her neck and across that happy place between her breasts, and all I can think of is a smear of tiny pieces of dung that scream out their presence in day-glo Newsweek headlines. I watched a small child gnaw on the edge of the counter at a local pharmacy earlier today while we were both waiting for his guardian to finish her transaction and he was certainly getting his Recommended Daily Allowance of any number of pathogens and interesting substances. What it all comes down to is it doesn't matter how many times Doc washed his hands this week before he started scooping out your appendix, he still wipes his ass with them everyday. We're all attached not by Love or Sharing or Common Goals, although those are all nice things, but by shit. Shit and neurosis. Time for my contribution.

This sentence is false.
[]True []False

We've become accustomed to lying and being lied to.
We now fail to recognize lies.
Or we fail to be shocked by them.
I'm not sure which is worse.
TV is Lies.

Everything we experience is a lie, merely by the fact
that it passes through our sullied, malformed brains.
*Why are we liars?

Lying is easy.
Americans are lazy.
Therefore TV.
*What do I do about it?

Sorry, it's too late to do anything about it.
Or I'm just to lazy to care.

Living here is like swimming in concrete, and finding a warm spot...Lately the dreams have been getting closer, more real, more frightening. Always the same hot dust, heavy with the smell of asphalt. Always the taste of blood. Still blinded by bright sunlight through green glass. A new detail arrives with each telling though, last night it was the vibrations of the road against my face, felt through hot peeling chrome edges of the dashboard. I still can't make myself move, but the conversation continues. They want to know why I cut. They want to know why I run. They want to attach sensors and monitors and spies and logos. They want to own the experience. I'm starting to think about wearing a pie tin for a hat.

How can anyone believe you when you set yourself up everyday with your colored sugarbloodwater and settle your chair-shaped ass into your ass-shaped chair, and you never ever listen to anything anyone says to you?
You can fit, you can plug yourself in. You're an important cog. You can blaze like liquid fire through a well-oiled machine, and make your mark on the inside of someone's file cabinet. You're like candy when you're at your job. You fill the niche, it feels right. No one can do what you do.

You believe that. A self-centered chimp with a Ford Thunderbird and a helmet haircut, you rule your roost. You'll never be loved. You'll forever be on your knees listening to keyholes and scraping hairs from the carpet and wondering what's happening. All you'll ever really get is the crumbs of life.

The dull reflection of blue squares on your dead eyes and the trails of sweat from your clammy palms across grey formica is enough to wipe the purest thoughts from anyone nearby. You're not part of a bureacracy, you're an organ in the beast. Spitting out the endless stream of bile that keeps all our lives so cheerful and gay.

In South America you'd be a pack animal. In Asia you'd pull a plow. Here you just convert oxygen to carbon dioxide. It's just you against the trees.

Why?


Date: Wed, 1 Nov 2000 11:05:38 -0500 (EST)
From: NODATA
To: contacto
Subject: Re: suicide

That's the kind of selfish attitude the world needs more of.
How many people will your actions diminish before the big day?
You shouldn't worry about killing yourself, we're all destined
for that by our own actions, even when trying to avoid it.

The matter of import here though is when you're gone, how many
people will remember? What mark will you have left?

Tell me how much rainforest you're responsible for? Tell me how
much blood has been spilled for your lifestyle? Tell me what hate
you've left behind you?

You've got a lot of work to do. Don't bother killing yourself.

On Wed, 1 Nov 2000, contacto wrote:

> I'm absolute sure that some day I'll kill myself
>

I'm drowning upside-down.

Sometimes it jist don't pay ta get outta bed. I'm trapped in a limbo of
sorts, the grey of an overcast Valley afternoon, listening to old music in an
oversized dress shirt. My dog scratches the door anyway; the little thing is
oblivious to the torture his master is undergoing, despite the fact that he
smells 2 day's worth of body odor. My vision goes furry-black at the edges when
I stand up to let him in, indicating a low-blood pressure that I surely need to
remedy with a burrito or two. My last meal was this morning, several Harris
Ranch chocolate-chip cookies taken with coffee and a melange of pills my doctor
says I need for my treacherous sinuses. I taste the delicious chocolate on the
back of my poorly maintained molars as I swing the door to let my beloved
friend in. The sun pokes through the dense cloud cover for a minute, to shine
on my equally maintained pool, the overly dramatic rays of light beaming onto
this algae-infested hole as if God was saying "Hey; remind you of something,
jackass?" The message, miraculously, makes it through my drug-induced stupor
and hits me with nostalgia so sharp that the scent of her body lotion threatens
to knock me over. My skin starts to itch as if I've been lying too long in a
patch of cool summer grass at night, and when I close my eyes, I can feel the
inertia caused by the world passing by. I tell ya, it was almost enough to make
me start my old hygienic routine again.

No matter what you do, someone somewhere will hate you. Always. They will hate your greed, your thoughtless waste of what they hold dear, your weakness. They'll spit on the ground in your presence and plot revenge. They'll picture all your plans and dreams collapsing down around you. You'll cause pain and anger all around you. You'll break friendships, you'll lose opportunities. Fruit will wither on the vines as you walk past.
Whether you crush people like a tomato in your hand on a daily basis, or you feed granola to orphans in the Congo, your life is getting bad reviews. You've dropped the world, you've apologized too many times, you've burned, cheated, and left the landscape black and wasted behind you.

You're nothing. You're invincible. You can't win.

No original ideas.
Look! An Asteroid!
Look! It just missed!
Look! No one knew!
Moral: *bleep* you, you're a t-shirt slogan.

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