In the middle of the night when I feel most alone I have no one to call so I talk to my phone voice to text is my friend maybe you understand I turn in to my words for a helping hand in the middle of a crowd when I feel most alone no connection is found just a sad monotone so I talk to myself and ignore silent stares behind whispers and moans no one really cares in the middle of the day when I feel most alone I want someone to stay but there’s nobody home I’ll look into their eyes isn’t anyone there just a vacancy sign and no one aware in the middle of a song when I feel most alone I listen for a tune but just hear monotone longing for harmony someone to sing with me so I dream by myself of something that could be so I sing by myself a love song fantasy. Don't forget

Bullsugar!

All The Years

Yes, I am fine and you can find all the years are marked in time in blogs and so much more (and more) as they pass (the last eight) and you can go back even further and even back further still and if you look for it you can find history almost to the very beginnings of what we might call me (who me? what?) and that (and this) is just the fraction of the writings that have made it online, I mean, in case it matters to you (get it, in case it matters to you). Yes, I know, there is a lot and today there is still more and that just scratches the surface of this life in words and images and video and music and bullsugar you can find on the web. From brief philosophy to universal news of the world (universes, even) to songs you never heard to wordz from who knows where the fundamental truth is self-evident for anyone to find (who cares, aye?) and I'll repeat it in case you wonder or have any concern that I am fine in case you think I've lost my mind. Remember?

Yes, Bullsugar!

not a very scientific poll

right, so lately, besides wondering if my ideas and humor and honesty should be shared openly in public while i am looking for a job in this area, i've been debating ethics and integrity in my head... and what do you do on your nights off?... but i suppose i really should keep the focus on the job search (and thank you for all the support) until i find one... feel free to discuss among yourself...

and then maybe i should mention that i posted this on facebook (hence the title of this entry, yo)... heck, this isn't even proper bullsugar...

too much to ask?

is it too much to want someone who wakes up with me as the first thought on her mind or someone who believe the sun rises and sets just for us i mean is it too much to ask for someone who feels i am their everything all i want is someone to want me as much as i want them to be the world to me... or is that just bullsugar?

it seems important

so many things in life, but personally for this moment i am thinking of (and referring to) this blog, the bullsugar, and the writing i do without thinking or planning like tonight, for instance, i fell asleep early and intended to sleep the night through and the phone woke me and i found myself sitting here typing and six entries were suddenly presenting a profound sense of simultaneous gain and loss, the gain of memories of loss, if that makes any sense to you (and it matters more than it makes much sense to me for in this understanding the profound feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment grows, as if understanding gives life more meaning or something life that... or like that, for that matter) and in the end (not only the beatles song), we can only hope, depending on perspective, that it is, or is not...

bullsugar!

random pauses II

recently i wrote (in the land of couldabeens) something about entering another world that was like a revisiting of blogs phase (which lasts anywhere from a night to weeks or longer for those who may know) and for whatever reason, i paused a moment (that is a relative measure of time that could be as long or as short as time can be) in my recent re-visiting of blogs and left these three blogs open in nearly consecutive tabs on the browser (in fact, the pause occurred almost precisely at these three entries for whatever it may mean (and if you know how to paint targets around wherever the arrow(s) land (and if i had the time i might) for this (but i haven't had time for real in-depth re-visits, no less painting targets and even more in-depth explorations of reality fantasy and the magical moments between in a very long time, being time, after all), but i mention it here because i want to believe you used to know, i think, and you tried to understand and even liked knowing and wanting to read the creativity and possibly revealing babbling that these re-visiting phases once produced (and this probably shoulda been an entry in deeper places {all of which are pausing themselves, in fact}, so for now i leave only the randomness and possibilities this re-visit and this pause might become), just so you know cuz you used to want to, ya know, cuz somewhere in my head is the tapestry of threads that form the whole of it all, but for now, there is only the moment of brief memory of the infinite garden sprawling everywhere and anywhere with little or no apparent cohesive purpose or meaning or whatever (cuz moments can be like that) cuz there is no time to step back and focus on (or into) the big picture so as to understand it all, which happens when living in the microcosm of the moment(s) as if time was a linear string of random blips and was not one eternal infinite experience as in always...

so for now, as dan fogelberg sang, someday we'll all understand :)

and i hope today was a good day :)

button

sometimes, i love to push buttons... sometimes out of sheer boredom, most times out of innocent curiosity... i mean, if a button is there for all to see (or even if it is hidden and i am the only one to see it), what is the harm in pushing it?... isn't that what buttons are for?...

on the other hand, some buttons are booby trapped... especially buttons that people build, consciously or not, to cover up stuff they do not want to deal with (so here, push this button and blow it up and we will blame you for pushing the button instead of holding the bomb builder accountable for covering up the mess they tried to avoid)... this is especially true when dealing with humans with fragile egos and irrational fears and avoidance habits, people who would rather filibuster than resolve, people who conditioned themselves to be more comfortable with discomfort, conflict, and confusion than with peace, love, and happiness... know anybody like that?...

if you want to snap, why button?... or if you don't want to snap, why build a button?... why not a zipper?... are we making fun?... semantics are not the villain here, no matter what it looks like to you... but can you really answer the question?... what is the question?...

welcome to my work (professional life, that is... i defuse bombs... or set them off, depending upon perspective... personal life too, but that's another story for those who realize everyone does it to some degree)... i love the challenge most of the time, kind of the same way i love to push buttons, sometimes our of boredom, most times out of innocent curiosity... and if we can cut to the bottom line, my intention is to help... to remove the cover and resolve the fear and diffuse the bomb and allow peace, love, and happiness to overcome the discomfort, conflict, and confusion... but until you see that, sometimes i just ask...

why build a button, after all, if it is just to be ignored?... why build a button if it is never to be pushed?... makes no sense, really, unless you are looking for conflict, just setting a trap and if you are, even if you do not know it (and most probably don't, but that's another story), the next question may be is the trap for someone else or for you?...

of course i could be wrong... it could all be bullsugar... show me? :)

relativeness

as opposed to relativity, i suppose, though that may be moot (or relative to perspective) as the pondering producing this postulation forms the words in the form of a question (thank you alex) of profoundity (or profundity or profoundness, for that matter) as if to query if everything was profound, would anything be profound and if everything was creative brilliance, would anything be creative brilliance and so ultimately in considering the relative meaningfulness of the individual blog entries right here and now i come to the question, if everything was equally meaningful, would anything have meaning?...

bullsugar? :)

where wandered i part seven hundred and eighty nine

with many hundreds of missing pieces uploaded not along the way and this, merely the bullsugar version of the conceptual browsing (or haunting, even) the momentary and then some nonesuch sundries et cetera with as much vim and vigor as as is mustard (or ketchuped) up at any given hour of the wee time, we unanimously present with all this fawning fanfare and irreverence the latest rendition of the choir of cybernetic angels singing ccourtesy with an independently alternative beat, this one...

fugacious love without trust
fugacious photos
vernon god little
radio 3 cbc
digital detox
fugacious lost portfolios
fugacious archives
the last fugacious (for now)

ephemeral

that word, i do not think it means what you think it means (ah, the wonder of quotations begged borrowed or stealed (modified, even) and is has been so very long to share to care to be well aware to love and be lost amidst the magic of romance and trust and the illusion of all that and unconditional love and how wildly fugacious of us (or someone) to have thought the concept in another future past space and time and head space were to for art thou you too and with muchness musicology and candor as if the moment had no end until it did, for the moment at least...

could you be any less cohesive?

what in the world (and happy birthday to an old friend i miss even as an ethereal bit of fluffy smoke in the older memory cells of the brain) could be going through the synapses with such a tittle we may never know, but certainly there is something profoundly curious in the way words flow through this place and if i didn't know better i would think they were painted by numbers laid out by some higher power as just to amuse those who are agnostically inclined and still, be that as it may or may not be, the folly meets the purpose somewhere between the lines for anyone with any real caring to be aware and ask, even, cuz in the end you are made if you gave all your love...

and bullsugar!

not that bad

really and if it is all just a test or a game or a chance encounter in time and space, it is what is is and what it is is right here waiting...

you?

moods, dudes

slap the fool silly who whines about emotions (oh you are so emo) as if feelings are cause to put someone down when the true value of life is to experience the physical roller coaster within and all around so just relax (or don't relax) and enjoy it with those who can (or all by yourself) and let those afraid of it to move on after they try to put you down (and you are the fool if you let them) laugh inside and realize (even when they will not) that they are just moods, dudes, treasure them while you've got them, they are better than alsheimers or being dead, cha cha cha...

missing pieces

this was a different kind of blog of sorts that the critics liked more than the others because it was less personal and more creative in an abstract kind of randomly casual methodology of thoughts and such that mattered only for a moment if that long and occasionally could have been profound if one delved into the meaning but the story never really got off the ground because the emo grabbed thin air and fell from the sky with silent messages (what?) from the sci-fi imagination to the wishing well of emotions long sleeping long burning long lost in the busy business of living each day and then, it got sleepy and less fun to read and write, so the critics went away leaving their own form of silent messages that sent mr tanner back to sorting through his clothes singing softly to himself as i used to do once upon a time, so what is left now...

bullsugar!

it's all about the flippancy

even deep within the feelings so many fear and others put down and still others attack with vigor and stupidity, the point of life is to find the smiles behind the frowns and see the rainbows through the tears and tickle your funny bone even when your arm is broken...

or something like that...

prophetic

in a fleeting moment of semi-consciousness as i felt the start of my fifty-fifth year in this life, i thought, or perhaps just felt, that i might look back on this year amazed that i did not conceive more consiously or often that it could be the mid-point, the half way mark of this life that would last more than a century of this earthly time and with wonder or irony, seriously consider that i actually would i be here remembering that ephemeral thought from half a lifetime ago… i had not yet found my literary voice amidst the thousands of streams of consciousness that passed through my head and fingers into the written word each day, a circumstance that often lead my readers to label me with the then popular psychological diagnosis ADD (attention deficit disorder), to which i’d suggest with my usual serious irrverence that it could be an easy way to explain away a lack of comprehension of a multi-track stream of consciousness that has since been more clearly understood as synaptic multi-threading or intellectual agapism… yet the hope that something meaningful and worthwhile beyond my mind would emerge from all the time i spent putting words together kept the words flowing into whatever recording medium available along the way through this journey through this life, from crayon and drawing paper to pen and notebooks to keyboard and hard drive to electronic synaptic transfer to telepathic expression, unconcerned with the immediate reception, unwilling to modify the flow or style of the literary expression for the unconditional trust, the blind faith in the thought process compelled me to continue following the consceptualizations wherever they lead and if that was to be no more than selfish ego, then so be it… who then would have foreseen this moment would arrive that i would recall that evanescent emotional flash as prophetic when then, i simply mused casually over the irony of the possibility and the folly of my own delusion of human self-importance…

bullsugar! :)

the return of bliss

well scooter, you might have noticed by now, i mean, if you've been reading me forever, that i give a lot and i mean alot and not just money, but everything, many times over... yup, i give and give and give and it has hurt to near death several times, at least, in this life... i mean $4 and the clothes on my back in the cold on the street near death, if you know what i mean (or even if you don't, few do, ever, but that changes nothing)... and even with empty hands, the giving continues... even when it appears hapless or pathetic, the giving continues... even when it burns the eyes, the heart, the mind, it continues... and still, the beauty of it all is i love the feeling of giving... and perhaps the most amazing thing of all is that when someone finally does give back, it's bliss...

the missing

yeah, even though i haven't been home until almost midnight or beyond most nights and life is so very busy with fun and friends and work i love and giving and food and toys and softball and basketball and games i love and diverse groups of people sharing most of my diverse interests and some oddities and even some tv now and then, i miss you and the song just keeps playing on another endless repeat... and me too, i miss me too...

bullsugar! :)

more than the sum of my links

i was, really, so asleep and deeply could have been resting the body and brain as good is meant to be, but instead, i got into wandering youtube for music and mind games and all sorts of odds and ends (and you can find the linkages and other paths right here online as the newest of the hundreds of web spaces i loosely call home forms in sites i saw but you will be fooled to think i am where i've been for i am much more than the sum of my links...

nuts

I have been wondering of late about mixed nuts, specifically about the ratio of one type of nut to the other in the mixture… for instance, is the ratio regionally dependant… do the nut mixes have more of one of the other type of nut if a certain kind of nut grows more prevalently in a given location?... if we looked at the contents of a box of nuts from france, for instance, would it be consitutionally different than a box of nuts from china?... would there be differences in the constituency of nuts from north korea, india, iraq, isreal, south africa, new zealand, canada, or chile?... I think someone should travel the world to explore the many different varieties of nuts and see how they mix…