Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

one of the places that i frequent is the disabilities lab at Portland State university, I personally have a few of the abilities to not pay attention to the things that are not buzzing or humming or distracting me from this level of conscience, papers i have to write on interactionalists and sociologists, and in nine days I am graduating after I fix one of the glitches in my matrix, the brain went on the disorganized fritz during mid-terms- i managed to pass the scantron tests, and surrvive, only to have the roomate from hell and the dry drunk staying in his van in front of my house. i only know he has been drinking by the smell and the way he gets argumentative. this morning is all about rose calling from no dakota to tell me it is my fault the roomate from hell wants to move, gee, that is so difficult to figure out. time to sell the house and move away from rose.
at 49 i decided the height of humilation is the roomate s from hell s small dog.
my sister is freaking because her x is threatening to steal his daughter away from her, the mom. life is wierd, i was talking to a girl outside the library and she ran off saying she was frustrated because the man she was with { he wanted to go write in his journal} somewhere away from us talking. lately it seems that emotions are running wild for everyone.
i cannot get enough soy chai and that is on ice. oregon sunshine for days is a bit of a miracle.
that my friend rose is corrupt there is no doubt in my mind.
here in the diabilities lab the speech is rather odd, people are challenged by computers and time with an advisor.
i come close to tears because i walk in nine days and have a huge amount of homework and tests between now and then.truth is not my roomate, my sister, my friend in the van outside can help me with any of it.
it is like a joni mitchell song"it all comes down to you"
bare boned and flesh creaking thru disabilities and strange sounds, what can i do to help?
i love many and have been wishy washy about completion, because i am afraid of the newness of the end of school. what will i do? the library is my new home and i have just farted in a room full of wheel chairs and walkers, and assisted people on computers that do not know that I am disabled. i do not look like it really, but i have power surges rather frequently- for the most part i look ok, but my emotional body is turquoise blue in the sedona vortex. my soul is filled with sand and heat
i dance i pray
i cannot stop
i cannot stop

Interesting post CS.
TY

Speaking of sociology

Three Foundations of Interestingness
Understanding researchers' privileging of the extraordinary requires a better understanding of the "sociology of interestingness."5 For a scholarly or journalistic article to be regarded as interesting it generally has to meet interestingness on at least one of the following three dimensions 1) it is factually interesting (i.e. statistically unusual or extraordinary); 2) it is morally interesting (i.e. politically important); or 3) it is analytically interesting (i.e. counterintuitive or theoretically interesting).
The Journal of Mundane Behavior

on a personal note:
I used to drive and drive and drive
and then I stopped
now I write and write and write
it is my major malfunction these days
posting on the internet
another road
if a virtual one
gives me the illusion of motion
now that I don't get around much anymore.
definetly a disability sometimes.
a phenomenology of a cripple
please pardon ramble

"I personally have a few of the abilities to not pay attention to the things that are not buzzing or humming or distracting me from this level of conscience.." yeah, that reminds me I have to work despite my actual incendiary fantasies, jaja!!
about drunkness: see l-rod post

I have no idea what color my emotional self might be...I hope it would match outside. When I walked, they made sure to give me my crimson hood for the holy, but they didn't care so much and used the school colors from a neighboring institution. I'm no synaesthete...I don't get too hung up there. A couple weeks ago I hadn't graduated with this latest degree; I would have then said my colors were BIC fine-point-ink blue...or highlighter yellow...or prof's editing red pen...or Scantron #2 lead-clay. Now I got nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. less than white. less than clear.

I savor peak experiences
but I live my life among the mundane miracles of day to day life
and while I am distracted
my life goes on auto pilot

I just like how you can extract the details
no idea what any thing meant
I can just relate to it.

thanks again for writing.

that's an awesome relationship--the power to relate beyond even understanding

yes that was a inaccurate statement
some of it I did not understand
I have no idea what a scranton test is for example
but other parts of it I did



I can relate to being on the verge of tears.

Speaking of mysterious tests...
I took a Hogon test one time as a pre reguisite for a job as a truck driver. One of the questons was "people can often feel my power" true or false.
I flunked the test.
They got to be careful who they let drive those gasoline tankers.


sorry CS, I am a rambling fool
whoever I is.

scantron:
a piece of cardstock filled with culumns of bubbles (circles and/or ovals) which are lettered from a through c, a through e, or less common letterings which is used for computer-graded standardized testing in schools and which requires its bubbles to me marked only with #2 pencil; any marking outside the bubble or in a medium other than #2 pencil may invalidate your test results.