The
title of this site comes from the following passage, as it
struck me as an interesting concept as well as a colourful
phrase when I came across it.
"The
techniques of autostimulation are extremely various.
Just as one can notice that stroking oneself in a certain way
can produce certain only partially and indirectly controllable
but definitely desirable effects (and one can then devote some
time and ingenuity to developing and exploring the techniques
for producing those desirable effects in oneself), so one can
also come to recognize that talking to oneself, making
pictures for oneself, singing to oneself, and so forth, are
practices that often have desirable effects. Some people
are better at these activities than others. Cognitive
autostimulation is an acquired and intimately personal
technique, with many different styles."
--Daniel
C. Dennett, Elbow Room
This
site doesn't have many visitors at the moment, but that will
hardly affect the content or frequency of posts herein.
I hope that doesn't bother you ... like it matters.
You may follow this link to add your own comment, but this is
what another "visitor" had to say
I
have been webmastering my own sites for several years now. (You
could say I've been the master of my own domain.) My
original home site entitled The
World Bri'ed Web is now in its seventh incarnation or
so. I write and record music, and use the site incessantly to
pitch the albums to all few of my visitors. I now invite you
to read my thoughts, rants, tidbits, musings, and brain-rains.*
May your stay be full of fruit.
*Brain-rain:
(n) Not as severe as a brain-storm, and hardly as vulgar as a
brain-fart, but somewhere safely in between.
April 30, 2005 WIPE THAT SIMILE OFF YOUR FACE. OH, WHAT METAPHOR?
Sometimes when you go searching casually for a twist of lemon for your life's glass of water, what you instead get is a twist of the dagger into your guts; its sheer, chrome blade tarnished and no longer glinting, with the congealed blood of your warm heart slopping off the tip, cooling rapidly in the frigid air of solitude that suffocates the edge, no longer sleek and tempting. Granted it's not a pleasant experience. However, drinking one's water plain, without even ice, is akin to accepting what life has given you and ignoring valiantly what the world is clearly, with conspiracy, denying you.
It's no one's fault but the collaborative efforts of deniably aimless determinism that she was preoccupied beneath her perceptions. Statistically, my torment was due for a rekindling, and she portrayed the title character to a tee; the lead in a play she'd never read, rehearsed, or sent her closest friends flyers inviting them to. She's in another's bed, in another world. It's a dimension I'm scraping voyeuristic slivers from, trying to reconstruct a solid plank of sense, somehow thinking that it applies to me in any way whatsoever. And it doesn't. It never claimed to.
And I'm here, waiting for the rebound from a 2.5-year relationship I've been out of longer than I was in it. Can I even claim a right to one anymore? Am I no longer entitled?
I wrote a poem a few nights back. Not a song, mind you, but a real flowing-from-the-heart piece of drivel. It was a fine, little doozy of a romantic blathering. Here, I'm waking up in the middle of the night writing these brilliant poems about being happy with some invisible fantasy woman I've supposedly finally held in my arms, and had in my bed; and yet I wake up alone, and late for work. Meanwhile, she ... well, the word "invisible" does not appear in her corresponding tale.
Dagger. Cold. Bitter. (Two of these things can refer to the beer being consumed to wash away the taste of the water, twist of lemon or not.) 11:12 PM April 10, 2005 THREE FOR THREE
I've tried several openings to this blog along the lines of "there are just some days" or "you never know what kind of curves life throws you", and they all sound like typical, crappy, ordinary, boring, and utterly unnecessary introductions. Screw it. No introduction.
This morning I exceeded expectations and managed again to be the only person consecutively to pass my work's certification tests on the respective first tries, and this one made three out of a total three. In the words of my supervisor, "Is there anything you can't do?" He was, of course, addressing me.
In the afternoon I had a remarkably fine first date (well, I surely enjoyed it!) with a cute and lovely girl with adorable, pretty eyes, a good head on her shoulders, a passion for fine music, and a fine respect for my talents. She very well may read this part, so I'll take the opportunity to say how much of a cool chick she is and that she's welcome to come play with my Korg anytime ... possibly, in exchange for back rubs. And, in the words of my friend Rich, "Dude, does she have any cute friends?"
In the evening I got the message from work that everything, effectively, had, euphamistically, "gone to shit"; and walking them through things over the phone did not solve the problem. Well, it didn't solve the actual problem: the one that no one was told about, the one which was, kind of, the important one. I drove back down to the Spectrum, racked up a couple more hours on Ye Olde Time Clocke, and fulfilled my role of Damage Control Specialist. In the words of my colleague and then of my manager, respectively: "Brian says it's good to go for the 9:40." "That's as good as gold, as far as I'm concerned."
I rule! I've got a lot going for me right now, and I'm reveling in it with a celebratory Smithwick's. (six pack at Beverages And More, $6.49 with BevMo! card.) Let's see what tomorrow brings. 12:59 AM
I
have been webmastering my own sites for several years now. (You
could say I've been the master of my own domain.) My
original home site entitled 
April 30, 2005