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i fit iron dick

These are some posters I want to eventually get my hands on.

I was needing to print out a specification document, and thanks to Christian. I just rotated my LCD. Baam, no printing needed!!! I think it's even slightly larger than a 8.5x11 sheet of paper.Gotta love a 6x4 whiteboard!

If man should fly, Man should fly far.

Steven Hsi Sheu

The best strategy in life is diligence.

Chinese Proverb

Title: Nobody
Artist: Johnny Cash

When life seems fullOf clouds and rainAnd I'm fullOf nothin' but painWho soothes my thumpin', bumpin' brain?Nobody

When Wintertime comesWith its snow and sleetAnd me with hungerAnd cold feetWho says "Here's two bits, go and eat"?Nobody

Well, I ain't never done nothin' to nobodyI ain't never got nothin' from nobody, no timeAnd until I get something from somebody, sometimeI don't intend to do nothin' for nobody, no time

When Summertime comesAll warm and clearAnd my friends see meDrawin' nearWho says "come on in and have a beer"?Nobody

Well one time when things wasLookin' brightI started to whittlin' on a stick one nightWho said "Hey! That's dynamite!"?Nobody

Mmmm, I ain't never done nothin' to nobodyI ain't never got nothin' from nobody, no timeAnd until I get something from somebody, sometimeI don't intend to do nothin' for nobody, no time

I ain't never done nothin' to nobodyI ain't never got nothin' from nobody, no timeAnd until I get something from somebody, sometimeI don't intend to do nothin' for nobody, no time

So I decided to get some chinese food. I don't particularly like chinese food, but it was quick and different. So I went for it. I ate the fortune cookie, but completely neglected to read the fortune! Then I realized what I had done and quicky read it. Here's what it said.

AVOID UNCHALLENGING OCCUPATIONS - THEY WASTE YOUR TALENTS

It's an owl, but it looks like a penguin!

For halloween this year my original plan was to be Billy Idol. I ran out of time to bleach my hair. So I was went as the grim reaper instead. I then had a problem of having this hair bleach lying around. Instead of resorting to throwing it out, yesterday morning I was bored, and I bleached my hair.I didn't really dig the orange look, I think my hair was too long. So I decided to get my hair buzzed. It's great, I've never ever had my head buzzed before in my life. I told the lady to give me a #2 all around. And the lady could easily do just that!! And she barely even knew english! Amazing!Update:So far 2 hours has passed and 9 people have come by the cube. It's pretty funny. Two of which I haven't talked to in like over a year.

The following is a chapter that I thought framed a lot of different things I think about in a short and concise manner.

Chapter 28

After just the first fifty flights of stairs, my breath won't stay inside me long enough to do any good. My feet fly out behind me. My heart is jumping against the ribs it's behind inside my chest. The insides of my mouth and tonque are thick and stuck together with dried-up spit.

Where I'm at is one of those stair climbing machines the agent installed. You climb and climb forever and never get off the ground. You're trapped in your hotel room. It's sort of Indian vision quest we can schedule into our daily planner. Our StairMaster to Heaven. Around the sixtieth floor, sweat is stretching my shirt down to my knees. The lining of my lungs feels the way a ladder looks in nylon stockings, stretched, snagged, a tear. In my lungs. A rapture. The way a tire looks before a blowout, that's how my lungs feel. The way it smells when your electric heater or hair dryer burns off a layer of dust, that's how hot my ears feel.

Why I'm doing this is because the agent says there's thirty pounds too much of me for him to make famous.

If your body is a temple, you can pile up too much deferred maintenance. If your body is a temple, mine was a real fixer-upper. Somehow, I should've seen this coming.

The same way every generation reinvents Christ, the agent's giving me the same makeover. The agent says nobody is going to worship anybody with my role of flab around his middle. These days, people aren't going to fill stadiums to get preached at by somebody who isn't beautiful.

This is why I'm going at the rate of seven hundread calories an hour.

Around the eightieth floor, my bladder feels nested between the top of my legs. When you pull plastic wrap off something in the microwave and the steam sunburns your fingers in an instant, my breath is that hot.

You're going up and up and up and not getting anywhere. It's the illusion of progress. What you want to think is your salvation.

Wnat people forget is a journey to nowhere starts with a single step, too.

It's not as if the great coyote spirit comes to you, but around the eighty-first floor, these random thoughts from out of the ozone just catch in your head. Silly things the agent told you, now they add up. The way you feel when you're scrubbing chicken skin off the barbecue grill, every stupid thing in the world, decaffeinated coffee, alcohol-free beer, StairMaster, makes perfect sense, not because you're any smarter, but because the smart part of your brain's on vacation. It's that kind of faux wisdom. That kind of Chinese food enlightenment where you know that ten minutes after your head clears, you'll forget it all.

Those clear plastic bags you get a single serving of honey-roasted peanuts in on a plane instead of a real meal, that's how small my lungs feel. After eighty-five floors, the air feels that thin. Your arms pumping, your feet jam down on every next step. At this point, your every thought is so profound.

The way bubbles form in a pan of water before it comes to a boil, these new insights just appear.

Around the ninetieth floor, every thought is an epiphany.Paradigms are dissolving right and left.Everything ordinary turns into a powerful metaphor.The deeper meaning of everything is right there in your face.And it's all so significant.It's all so deep.So real.Everything the agent's been telling me makes perfect sense. For instance, if Jesus Christ had died in prison, with no one watching and with no one there to mourn or torture him, would we be saved?

With all due respect.According to the agent, the biggest favor that makes you a saint is the amount of press coverage you get.Arround the one hundredth floor, it all comes clear. The whole universe, and this isnt' just the endorphins talking. Any higher than the hundredth floor and you enter a mystical state.

The same as if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, you realize, if no one had been there to witness the agony of Christ, would we be saved?

The key to salvation is how much attention you get. How high a profile you get. Your audience share. Your exposure. Your name recoginition. Your press following.

The buzz.

Around the on hundredth floor, the sweat is parting your hair all over. The boring mechanics of how your body works are all too clear, your lungs are sucking air to put your blood, your heart pumps blood to your muscles, your hamstrings pull themselves short, cramping to pull your legs up behind you, your quadriceps cramp to put your knees out in front of you. The blood delivers air and food to burn inside the mito-whatever in the middle of your every muscle cell.

The skeleton is just a way to keep your tissue off the floor. Your sweat is just a way to keep you cool.

The revelations come at you from every direction.Around the on hundred and fifth floor, you can't believe you're the slave to this body, the big baby. You have to keep it fed and put it to bed and take it to the bathroom. You can't believe we haven't invented something better. Something not so needy. Not so time-consuming.

You realize that people take drugs because it's the only real personal adventure left to them in their time-constrained, law-and-order, property-lined world.

It's only in drugs or death we'll see anything new, and death is just too controlling.

You realize that there's no point in doing anything if nobody's watching.You wonder, if there had been a low turnout at the crucifixion, would they have rescheduled?

You realize the agent was right. You've never seen a crucifix with a Jesus who wasn't almost naked. You've never seen a fat Jesus. Or a Jesus with body hair. Every crucifix you've ever seen, the Jesus could be shirtless and modeling designer jeans or men's cologne.Life is every way the agent said. You realize that if no one's watching, you might as well stay home. Play with yourself. Watch broadcast television.It's around the one hundred and tenth floor you realize that if you're not on videotape, or better yet, live on satellite hookup in front of the whole world watching, you don't exist.

You're that tree falling in the forest that nobody gives a rat's ass about.

It doesn't matter if you do anything. If nobody notices, your life will add up to a big zero. Nada. Cipher.

Fake or not, it's these kinds of big truths that swarm inside you.

You realize that our mistrust of the future makes it hard to give up the past. We can't give up our concept of who we were. All those adults playing archaeologist at yard sales, looking for childhood artifacts, board games, CandyLand, Twister, they're terrified. Trash becomes holy relics. Mystery Date. Hula Hoops. Our way of getting nostalgic for what we just threw in the trash, it's all because we're afraid to evolve. Grow, change, lose weight, reinvent ourselves.

Adapt.

That's what the agent says to me on the StairMaster. He's yelling at me, "Adapt!"

Everything's accelerated except me and my sweaty body with it's bowel movements and body hair. My moles and yellow noenails. And I realize I'm stuck with my body, and already it's falling apart. My backbone feels hammered out of hot iron. My arms swing thin and wet on each side of me.

Since change is constant, you wonder if people crave death because it's the only way they can get anything really finished. The agent's yelling that no matter how great you look, your body is just something you wear to accept your Academy Award. Your hand is just so you can hold your Novel Prize. Your lips are only there for you to air-kiss a talk show host. And you might as well look great. It's around the one hundred and twentieth floor you have to laugh. You're going to lose it anyway. Your body. You're already losing it. It's time you bet everything. This is why when the agent comes to you with anabolic steroids, you say yes. You say yes to the back-to-back tanning sessions. Electrolysis? Yes. Teeth capping? Yes. Dermabrasion? Yes. Chemical peels? According to the agent, the secret to getting famous is your just keep saying yes.

It's between this track and Incubus' Aqueous Transmission track off of the Morning View album as my favorites to wake up to in the morning.

Title: The Man Comes Around
Artist: Johnny Cash
Album: American IV: The Man Comes Around
Opening Introduction (Spoken part)

And I heard as it were the noise of thunderOne of the four beasts saying come and see and I sawAnd behold a white horse

Song

There's a man going around taking names and he decidesWho to free and who to blame every body won't be treatedQuite the same there will be a golden ladder reaching downWhen the man comes around

The hairs on your arm will stand up at the terror in eachSip and each sup will you partake of that last offered cupOr disappear into the potter's groundWhen the man comes around

CHOURS

Hear the trumpets hear the pipers one hundred million angels singingMultitudes are marching to a big kettledrumVoices calling and voices cryingSome are born and some are dyingIts alpha and omegas kingdom comeAnd the whirlwind is in the thorn treesThe virgins are all trimming their wicksThe whirlwind is in the thorn treesIt's hard for thee to kick against the pricksTill Armageddon no shalam no shalom

Then the father hen will call his chicken's homeThe wise man will bow down before the thorn and at his feetThey will cast the golden crownsWhen the man comes around

Whoever is unjust let him be unjust stillWhoever is righteous let him be righteous stillWhoever is filthy let him be filthy stillListen to the words long written downWhen the man comes around

CHOURS

Hear the trumpets hear the pipers one hundred million angels singingMultitudes are marching to a big kettledrumVoices calling and voices cryingSome are born and some are dyingIts alpha and omegas kingdom comeAnd the whirlwind is in the thorn treesThe virgins are all trimming their wicksThe whirlwind is in the thorn treesIt's hard for thee to kick against the pricksIn measured hundred weight and penny poundWhen the man comes around

Close (Spoken part)

And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beastsAnd I looked and behold, a pale horseAnd it's name it said on him was DeathAnd Hell followed with him.

Doing easily what others find difficult is talent; doing what is impossible for talent is genius.

Henri-Frederic Amiel

Knowing Unconsciously

To know unconsciously is best.To presume to know what you don'tis sick.Only by recognizing the sicknessof sicknessis it possible not to be sick.The sages' freedom from illswas from recognizing the sickness of sickness,so they didn't suffer from sickness.

Very Great Leaders

Very great leaders in their domainsare only known to exist.Those next best are beloved and praised.The lesser are feared and despised.Therefore when faith is insufficientand there is disbelief,it is from the high value placed on words.Works are accomplished, tasks are completed,and ordinary folks all saythey are acting spontaneously.

The main thing to do is relax and let your talent do the work.

Charles Barkley

I really feel like I'm stuck in Folsom Prision. Shut out from using any of my own creativity, or any of my own independent thought. I've started planning my escape, should be relatively soon.

Title: Folsom Prison Blues
Artist: Johnny Cash
Album: At San Quentin (The Complete 1969 Concert) [LIVE]

I hear the train a comin'It's rollin' 'round the bend,And I ain't seen the sunshine,Since, I don't know when,I'm stuck in Folsom Prison,And time keeps draggin' on,But that train keeps a-rollin',On down to San Antone.

When I was just a baby,My Mama told me, "Son,Always be a good boy,Don't ever play with guns,"But I shot a man in Reno,Just to watch him die,When I hear that whistle blowin',I hang my head and cry.

I bet there's rich folks eatin',In a fancy dining car,They're probably drinkin' coffee,And smokin' big cigars,But I know I had it comin',I know I can't be free,But those people keep a-movin',And that's what tortures me.

Well, if they freed me from this prison,If that railroad train was mine,I bet I'd move out over a little,Farther down the line,Far from Folsom Prison,That's where I want to stay,And I'd let that lonesome whistle,Blow my Blues away.

Good artists copy, great artists steal.

Pablo Picasso

When they discover the center of the universe, a lot of people will be disappointed to discover they are not it.

Bernard Bailey

These excerpts from Sly Moves, really inspires me and has fueled my ambition even more.

Now I'm just thankful, because the Rocky philosophy is my ideal state, the immutable voice inside my head that says, "Never lose sight of what you want to be." So many people go through life with unrealized ambitions, reluctant to take the steps necessary to achieve true peace of mind, whatever that may be, because they have been overwhelmed by life's pressures. Now it's time to grab life by the throat and not let go until you succeed.

At the same time, setbacks had always inspired me. In high school in Philadelphia, I went out for football and barely made the team. I was the least experienced player by far. But that made me say, "Let's see if I can become the strongest." The next year, after some of the best senior players moved on and after working on my game all summer, I became starting linebacker and captain.

It was that same spirit that carried me through the summer of 1975. I thought about all the people who fail to live up to their potential because they're too scared or intimidated or beaten down -- I was thinking about myself, really -- and I wrote the first very rough draft of Rocky in a three-and-a-half-day, coffee-drenched frenzy. It was a story I needed to get out. I had $106 to my name and no prospects in sight. My car had died, I was taking a bus to work, I even had to sell my dog, Butkus. I thought: "I may be totally wrong, but I just have to go after this. I have to believe it can happen."

It wasn't enough that the screenplay actually sold. It told the studio they could have it for free if I could play Rocky Balboa. They balked at first. The price went to nearly $360,000 -- which was about $359,000 more than I had ever seen. I couldn't sell. I'd been broke for so long I'd gotten used to it. They finally relented and gave a total unknown a shot; for that miracle, I am forever indebted.