Writ Ludicrous

Ludicrous, that writing should be so difficult! In the mind thoughts flow fluidly. In speech, rants segue tirelessly. Pen hits paper; and faculties fail.

Thought! Unbounded by the material; an infinitely associative symphony of synthesis guides your movements. A fanciful flight of possibility.

Speech! The wheels of production greased by evolution; the audience real time critics. Awful, stupid sounds fade away; ephemeral manuscripts memory can mend.

Writing! Majestic dimensionality made flat, living lights compressed. Mutilated and dismembered, their bodies scatter across a page. Ink fixes their form. Carefully arranged squiggles articulate the shadows of the dead.

Colorful dreams pinned; exciting ideas rendered dull. Structure makes plain your vacuity.

Something Broken

I’m not much of a poemer or an artist, but last year I was feeling down and so I sketched out the following.Girl in the corner appearing sad holding a mysterious item. I don't know what it is but I do that it's mine. I know it held a light within for when it worked it shined.

Initially, I wanted to write more about what was broken. However, it’s been so long that these feelings are vague and foreign to me now.  I wouldn’t want to do a disservice to them by trotting out platitudes to cover up my gaps in understanding.

I guess this is the price of procrastination. Poem below in writing.

I don’t know what it is,
but I do know that it’s mine.
I know it housed a light within,
for when it worked, it shined.


Yellow Bird on a Branch
Are you bored in long car rides? Do you like excuses to touch people you’re normally not ‘allowed’ to touch? Does the arbitrary excite you? Are you still reading anyways?

Allow me to introduce you to: Mustard

The rules of Mustard are simple*

  1. Whenever you see a yellow car, say the word ‘mustard’ and poke someone in the car.

*While I worked at Capital One I played this with my carpool who thought is was the dumbest thing in the world until they were emotionally invested. Being the smart asses they were this simple rule was picked apart and we came up rules with advanced play.

Mustard: Advanced Play

Guiding Principle: Whenever you see a yellow car, say the word ‘mustard’ and poke someone.


What is a car?

A car is any motorized vehicle, including compacts, SUVs, trucks, semis and others.

The following vehicles do not count as ‘cars’ and cannot have ‘mustard’ declared on them:

  1. School Buses
  2. Construction Vehicles
  3. Motorcycles

Parked cars can have mustard called upon them. They do not need to be on the road with you for mustard to be called.

Once mustard is declared, mustard cannot be re-declared using that same car for 24 hours.

What counts as ‘yellow?’

First off, the car must be primarily yellow, meaning that 2/3rds of the car body must be painted in a qualifying yellow color. For semis, only the tractor color counts for determining the validity.

What is yellow? For most cars it should be obvious. A few less than honest players may start calling very orangish/greenish/brownish yellow cars much to the annoyance of the other players. So what is an acceptable yellow?

Using the Hue, Saturation and Luminescence scale, acceptable yellow ranges from:

  1. Hue: 50-60
  2. Saturation: 50-100
  3. Luminescence: 35-65

So if there is a dispute, take a photo of the car and use a color picker to determine who is correct.

Calling Mustard

When you call ‘mustard’ you must immediately poke another member of your cohort. Players may not ‘save up’ mustards to unleash a poking frenzy later. If you don’t poke right away (within 5 seconds) you have wasted your ‘mustard’ and lose your right to poke.

Often, two or more players will call ‘mustard’ on the same car at the same time and engage in a poke simultaneously. This is taken in good faith and both pokes are delivered and considered ‘good.’

If a player calls mustard on a non-yellow car, or on a car that has already been called, or after 5 seconds then they are to receive punishment. To discourage this behavior, one member of the group will punch the offender in their cheating face the shoulder. Like calling mustard, one only has a short window of time to administer punishment.

When you call mustard, it is considered good form to point out the car you are calling it on. This helps avoid confusion and lets players keep track of errors to administer punishments.

Bork into the Void

One of my favorite paintings is Goya’s “The Dog.”

Goya, The Dog

From Wikipedia:

The Dog is the name usually given to a painting by Spanish artist Francisco Goya, now in the Museo del Prado, Madrid.
The Dog is one of the Black Paintings Goya painted directly onto the walls of his house sometime between 1819 and 1823. He did not intend the paintings for public exhibition.

I see a dog lost in a dark sea, struggling to keep its head above the waves, staring at an unfriendly sky. It speaks to me about the dark struggle that is life and the inevitably of death.

As much as I have become a “fan” of soul crushing existentialism, I’m also a sucker for Absurdism. Which is why I’m commissioning a piece of Goya’s “The Dog” with Facebook’s Shiba Inu sticker pack dog’s head.

Facebook Shiba-Inu Sticker Pack with the shiba inu catching a frisbee highlighted
Specifically the one where it is catching the frisbee, but sans frisbee.

The final result will look something like this:
Goya the Shiba Inu

I don’t want to print it out because I think the violence of the background expresses itself better through rough painting on a canvas. It would be nice if the doggo’s head was very crisp compared to the roughness of the background. Making it obvious how out of place it is in the painting.

To me it expresses the distraction from the horror of reality through digital media. I think it is especially potent because there is a chance that technology will be the ark that saves humanity and that the dog does not wait eagerly, expectantly, in vain.

The dog retains its skyward gaze, but this time in unbridled optimism. Not because there is anything there but even when drowning there is no reason not to choose to be happy.

I will call the piece: Bork into the void

The Dog – Wikipedia

On depression

I’m afraid of depression.

I’m afraid it will come back one day.

I’m afraid to use the word in reference to myself.

I’m afraid because depression almost killed me.

I’m afraid because I didn’t know why I was so depressed.

I’m afraid because I wasn’t aware how close I was to killing myself.

I’m afraid that depression has left deep scars on my mind that will take time to heal.

But I know that I can’t be afraid to talk about it.

Not talking about how I was really feeling is what let me wander through the woods until I was so lost I couldn’t find my way back.

Not talking about how I felt is what caused the years of repression that I still feel today. The years that knotted my mind with their insidious defense mechanisms. Being emotionally dead but calling it ‘stoic.’ Giving no fucks but actually suffocating in apathy. Seeming fearless when really I had given up on trying to live.

I’m ready to talk about it. I’m still hurting but those times are distant enough, like some sort of sad, strange dream that I can begin to reflect.

I need to talk about it. I grow distant, speechless and my eyes well up when I think about the past, but I have not properly grieved. I have felt the need to cry for months now but, the tears never come. The barriers in my mind have been trained to carefully scrutinize any inbound stimulus and any outbound emotion. I have forgotten how to feel and it’s taking time to learn to open up to my emotions again.

As much as I recognize what those long sleepless nights were about in retrospect, I feel as if I haven’t properly internalized them. There’s a difference between knowing what they were about and admitting to yourself how bad things were. Writing this post helps.