The Message Column

New Years

And I do NOT need to buy a new server. Though for a few days I wasn't so sure. Well, not a few days, It was a sad thing for me to have this happen, and I was resolved to deal with getting a new board.

But I think that what I uesd to do made a lot of sense. When I first started doing this I had two machines. They were essentially mirrors. But using an old machine is like using an old set of skis. You have two sets because the old set is still good. Maybe you haven't found anyone who needs skis? In any case I haven't been skiing in a very long time. Doubt it will happen anytime soon.

But when you get the thing you wanted and it makes it all break . . . that's is a bummer. And that is just too bad. So you deal. You accept. You work hard. But the weather, and the season being what it is, dealing with day to day whatever.

The system is working again, fully up and running like it was never off. And I got to see five or eight years of grime. I am sure I could reconstruct my history of computers. The thing about computers is that you have to let them pass on. Plus: what is it good for? What do you do with it? There are architectures for the very specific purpose of . . . and that is what I want to do. I leave the . . . out becuase in any case, it is kind of being a braggart to say how I 'get' it now. But two computers, means twice as quick. Once you get the render down to 33.333 milliseconds, you only theoretically need one processor. But the set up, the delivery, etc, etc. It's a bummer to think how much power is being wasted and generated for the gratification of video game enthusiasts. How much heat do you want to let out into the room. And by the way that 5 ghz isn't really that well contained in your room. If you are running that fast you got some ionizing radation going on. So where do we put these super processors? As long as it's just rendering, and for the purposes of gaming, and making it a communial endevor, we could link a lot of systems. You think they must build them like that. But they don't want to give out very cool and easy to use items for repurposing for the pleasure of . . . depraved people. I get it. I really do. You can't just let any idiot and their brother know all about all the cool stuff that you can do. You gotta let them climb there on their own. Otherwise? If it's too easy? Sparks and free energy? Otherwise?

Well, so, it's new years. And I could be doing a pod cast. And putting it out there. Just reading this. So that all the misspellings wouldn't matter. and if I don't make any sense when I'm saying it, I can say "oh, ya, here's a place that needs some editing"

That is what this site is. It isn't a business plan. It's a web site. The original blog that morphed into this . . . ego pages of Bill Perilli. What else do you want to call it?

I look in my logs and I found this person referencing one of my pages from 2008. I mean, 2008, I was here blogging away saying how 'phat' I wanted these pages to be. I always felt that 'selling out' was not a good deal, and not my deal, and not anything that I wanted to do, so I didn't do it. I never put up advertising. I do have items for sale, but I don't put them up. And I don't sell any of it. Why? Because it's like magazines. You read them and then you toss them. Sometimes it's about the styles, it's the 'issue'. I've always been a 'collector'. Divesting is always part of thyat. You have to be able to let your candles drift off into the lake . . . to find another shore. Where the campsite for girl scouts used to be, at the lake 'The Lake' where it's really kind of nice, but extreame, you got ta love it or . . . maybe you don't care. I always wanted a boat but I didn't ever get one because. . . there are a bunch of reasons. I used to be one to go rowing. I used to be one to go rowing to the far shore. But not too far because you gotta row back.

Once, one of my more adverturous days, I was with Danny and Chris, and I think their little brother, whose name escapes me (I should know) and we were in their flat bottomed row boat at the Red Rock Point and we tried to row all the way to Grand Isle. There were too many waves that day. We had to turn around. I can still remember how the shore line looked. LIke I would be able to go back there every year, see it again, the glimpse of far shores, people you don't know all with some small piece of beach, only good during the summer, in the Winter you might go ice fishing but you don't lay on a beach.

So we had to turn around. But the trip went much faster. Because we had been rowing into the wind. That's never a good idea unless you know that you are going to turn around eventually and get back rather quickly. I'd recommend not leaving by rowing with the wind. You might go too far and need to pull ashore some where far off and have someone come looking and getting you with a motor boat.

Ya, distant shores. A row boat. Or a sail boat. But the power boat, that's the easy way. You look forward and you go in that direction. I used to love it. But it's also been a very long time.

If Chris calls, and he knows who he is because he is in this story, that would be a great day. I suppose I could look him up. I don't know how I'd approach him.

Ya, the lazy days out on the bay, drifting and thinking. Most days there wouldn't even be anyone else around, on the whole Inner and Outer bay. If I were there in June, the boat would be in the bay. I'd go off in it and just bang around. No other boats.

Ya, that life has ended. Cold dead end at the big cliff at the lake. That whole part of Vermont is like that. I love it there. I could live there. But not at the end of that road, so cold and out in the middle of nowhere. There are no store for very many miles. And it's very very very very cold there in the Winter (being right there on the lake). Very cold and very lonly and no one there who cares for ten or fifteen miles. But they aren't that far away.

Being in love with a place is a form of covetousness. And being so affectionate for landscape shows a very low sense of people. When it's about the landscape, and the 'preservation' of 'views', I'm thinking, ya, I get it that some peole aren't impressive by this kind of thing. They see it very differently and they, not from envy, say other things. But having and using boats is a very proletarian thing to do, and boats with motors are the ones that we need to maintain our safety. Yes, let's let most people if they feel morally superior, have their lake kyack. But when the president is out fishing in his row boat and gets swamped by a minke whale (it could happen) we want guys in motor boats (they could be gals or whatever) coming to save him.

And being a proletarian society (American, The Western Hemesphire) whatever presidents get everybody else should get too. If the president has a boat, of course, it's the presidential version of it. And I'm as tall as our current president, who is going to be with Jerry Seinfeld (who is awesome) so I did get the Pawley's Island Presidential hammock (which they donate to the government as a way to say 'hey, we love our presidents').

Now what do you get when you put a motor on a hammock? And those new hover craft that burst into flames . . . must be an interesting discussion with your insurance representative when you discuss that.

Well, how presidential, being a motor boat. Like JFK water skiing. How proletarian if we all could. Well, we all can. It's just that you have to pay for it. Presidents, they don't have to pay and they get it anyway.

It's almost a new year.

some new stuff today.

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Nah naht na na na nahnt na

Sean . . .
  Sean . . .
  
  If I'd known you
    I know we'd have
      gotten along.

   Long time gone . . . 
   
    Sean 
     Sean
     
    I never knew you . . .
    
     Sean
      sean
          
Got to be Strong

 Sean . . .
  Sean.
  
  Oh, Sean.

  Praise     Praise     Praise
   the        the        the
   Lord       Lord       Lord
  for    for    for
 Christmas  Christmas  Christmas
  welcome to The Message Column!

      🖐♥♥Love♥♥🖑
      ♥♥🖑Cops🖐♥♥

      

On Message is off

Ho ho ho

        Bellowed with true jolly

Worried about Christmas ghosts? Falling asleep with the Halmark Channel on? Next thing you know you'll be married to a difficult spinster.

Next on Channel Neather, a holiday christmas fab-a-ganza. Gay wad mid life total-queen (from Worcester county) falls asleep with the TV on and next thing he's in a magic fairy land (what other kind?) of Christmas/Holiday magical marriage for Christmas to a handsome stranger. But the writers that year were sick of the genre and the theme of happy marriage christmas, and instead decided to insert a bit of depravity: he's dreams that he'd have the live that he never had, suddenly he's a handsome young thing again but he's, gulp married to a Shicksta. And not just any Shicksta, but a Shicksta godess. He would never have been friends with such a person, what with all his gross sterotypes about them, and the fact that he would even think with the word 'Shicksta', use them in a sentence, even if it were only a parody story about Christmas and falling asleep with the television on.

Because how could he be having this dream? Becasuse he certainly isn't even gay. Just in the dream. And he surly doesn't live in Worcester county. He's not even sure what state that's in. And he certainly never would ever really use the word 'Shicksta', even in a dream.

But that's what dreams are. They take you to the far away place. You can't ever really be anyone else. But maybe you think in a completely different way. Far fetched plots of movies that are playing the background while you while away the passing moments of life in a semi-dream like state, believing in unbelievible people, accepting writing assignments for stories that just aren't ever going to be hits. Far fetched, just keep on writing. Who cares if anyone reads this.

He wakes from his semi-daze. He walks to the television and rips the plug out of the back of it. This knocks it against the hanging tinzle and gives him a little bit of a scare. Afterall, it's just a movie. It's just a bad dream. It's just a rancid story idea for a movie that will never be made: Ghosts of Gay Land Christmas

The myth of the story of the making of the movie, from the novel of the same name, The Ghosts of Gay Land Christmas, Being But a dream within a dream within a paradoy teleplay that never actually gets written.

So what do people choose to do with their idle mid-winter hours? Watch too much television? Worry about the problems with the other people of the world?

But I still do worry about Christmas ghosts. And I don't think ghosts still have a sexuality. Now there is a story. "Now that the hormonal attraction is over, there's nothing. I feel nothing." Naw, I don't like it. The guy would still love his love even when they are dead. The idea of sex wouldn't be part of it. It's a mystery, best left outside the story because it can only be overly false.

Well, I do think about the various genres of holiday movies. And it's a curious kind of industry, this spinster Christmas genre. Ya, we'll probably get another couple hundred of these, like they used to do the detective made-for-naptime movie of the weeknight, back in the 1970's. Every so often a show would get it right, a crew of writers would make the stories less false (I can't say 'more real', be cause in fiction that isn't real). And so we don't just throw it all away, becuase some of it was schlock . .

So, well, if you read this far, I guess, I can now wish you a Merry Christmas!

 🖐
 hello!
 

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Spaceship Snowman Holiday Freakout

🖐♥♥Love♥♥🖑
♥♥🖑Cops🖐♥♥

      

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Remember the Sultana!

April 27, 1865

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     oh those arbitrary frames!
      spinning, but not this line.
     
spin me a yarn neon
spin me a yarn neon
spin me every where but not here!
   photo pile!
   
 Done That!
 
 
 

When she takes her time
she's always real good with her rhyme

 

Most stories aren't that interesting.
It's someone who needs to find a cheese grater.
Or someone has to chase a receipt that gets taken by the wind
they skimper and skamper across some frazzy field full of weeds and fallow things
the detritus of the last few centuries, the
carcass of a . . . . 

Most stories are just someone
flipping a channel, a bird
flies in front of the windshield and
he doesn't hit it. It flies away
unharmed.

Most stories are like someone
forgets that they left the baby in the car seat and
they get all freaked out about it and they
rush out to their car and
the baby is there and the
dog is watching it the whole time from outside the car
and everyone is safe
including the baby and the
one who left the baby there feels
some guilt and
next time
doesn't make the same mistake.

Most stories are he goes to the stores
buys what he needs
brings it home
or he goes to the field
harvests what he needs
or he plants some seeds.
Then he has to transplant them
And the ones that the rabbits can get at
don't really grow that well.
And the ones that he puts in pots way up high
grow much much better.
And peas
that are planted in the shade
don't do very well
cut down a tree
cut down the idea of cutting down a tree.
It's a great big tree.
they are all great big trees.
too many needles, not enough vacuum.
That is the only word that I know which has two u's in it side by side.

In Wicked Need of an Edit

🚛 🎓 🎔 🌀

Political and Media Inanity

Truck-u-later

You're hired!.

Don't we all want to hear that. I'd like to hear it soon.

Dec 17, 2015

We sure do need a billion dollar idea.

At the end of the play everyone gets to go home, don't they?

She might be a faux-hadi if . . .

Her bridal registry is at a gun shop

they are laughing so hard that no body can hear them

  Praise     Praise     Praise
   the        the        the
   Lord       Lord       Lord
  for his    for his    for his
 unfailing  unfailing  unfailing
   love!      love!      love!

  well, nothing more here today.