Whichever which way 03:42, August 10, 2011 (UTC)

Take one was disposed of

Take two reads thus:

:Originally a silent ticking ended in an alarm of For Our Elegant Caste

:This is how I wake myself up when I don’t have an alarm clock. I leave four processors running just so they can awaken me with that cacophony

:I’m poor with beats, so now I’m A Whale. It happens to be six minutes and six seconds

:We’ll just keep hush about those six seconds

:So: here’s the speel

:Lonely hollows leave one to invite guests from their lonely hollow. These guests are the best kind. They leave as soon as one busies themselves. So it’s only in those silent moments that they intrude. But we can all do with a little intruding every once in awhile

:In the kitchen, enthusiastically turning with hands pointing whichever which way

:In the shower, with head rolling with nothing to do with it but let it clean itself off

:In bed, when the lights are off so that one can’t even watch the ceiling so well

:These are the moments when there’s nothing going on. This is when the conscious mind can play tricks

:Many people have experienced these sorts of things with the help of alcohol. That’s too much alcohol. There’s a divide between the conscious and the unconscious which are similar. A bit of alcohol keeps the two in balance. That way, we’re not sitting around having flashbacks that never happened, nor are we jumping out of windows because of snakes

:The Devil’s tricks

:Time’s almost up. I forget the key point. Oh well

:Oh right. Movies do it wrong. They shouldn’t have characters that disappear. They should just have random flashbacks that happen to be happening

& that’s where six minutes ended

I came up with a game of sorts while drinking for the fourth time: a topic would be decided upon and an hour glass with only a few minutes time set. When I moved, that hour glass with only a few minutes was the first thing to break. It was in my locker. I picked it up, and finally dropped it. The glass broke. Oh well, all well. After a sober round with the topic of hair, which thus included mention of cancer, it’d been declared with two thirds majority that that awful activity never happen again

People love to talk about nothing forever. But give them a few minutes to talk about something, and now it’s awful

Other topics that come to mind: belugas, narwhals, relations between the English Opening and multivariable calculus. That last one fell flat

Those three topics were at the tail of that first and only session save for that last rant which was given by another who was not around two months prior. The unwillingness to ramble lead to mixing some Bacardi which was declared as tasting like pine with lemonade which would later be blamed for some awful mindblank. Earlier, pine had really been tasted

This all took place on a futon skeleton. The next scene was cued by four simple words: “Get on the bed.” Nobody can say there’re any big words there. Those four simple words cued a scene change which cued all the stage props being shuffled off stage. The futon skeleton is now a mere backdrop painting. No more hour glass with only a few minutes, no more spiked lemonade, no more clothes. That last has been in four previous scenes, though this’ll be the first to complete as implied. There’ll be only one future scene to do such, despite the implication cropping up throughout. That second scene is of no importance to 6 minutes. 6 minutes is about fucking who isn’t, wasn’t, and won’t ever be. Not those who were

So then, take three:

:e4 d5 exd5 Qxd5 Nc3 Qa5 d4 Nf6 Nf3 g6 Bc4 Bg7 O-O Nc6? d5 Nb4?? a3 Na6 Qe1 c5 dxc6 bxc6 Qe2 Nd5?? Bxd5 cxd5 Qxe7#

:There are no numbers because the player never changed. The mind flips itself back and forth. White had less time. Pressure comes and goes with each move

:They calm the storm because when an old position comes up new, it’s the same old position. Memories give justifiable pointers

:When memories randomly come about because of the lighting and orientation of the board, however, things start to change. Continuity needs to be kept in order

:This is why a nervous sweat starts when eighteen digits are dropped. When upon entering a password, it is realized that this is the previous password. Things have changed. Can’t let memories regress like that. Must maintain that contradictions can’t happen

:If there’s no blurring of these recollections, they can’t be sorted by their blurriness. But the dates get mangled. Who needs to sort that part? Switch the content around

:I say no more

Oh the horrors, to have to accept such crudely written things as “Switch the content around”

Can you imagine the horrors of my first attempt, that take which I scrapped so soon? It took over half the time to get down to entering upon where the second starts in rather soon. Half way into mentioning the head against the wall. Time pressure made gender specific delegations. So this solution was cast: androgyny

The horrors. To think people try to talk like this. I suppose I shouldn’t blame them so often

I recently had an outlier occurrence of that common occurence in which one thinks “At last: I’m self possessed!” except in this case, it was followed by “What have I been doing? Aghast, such a fool!” except I was more only struck when attempting to understand the thoughts in such lingustic form as “We can fix this!”

See, the problem I’ve been dealing with is similar to the paradoxical thought process of thinking about not thinking about something. Silly that I should press the paradox a year so long, but alas

So here’s to my first use of the word aghast

I’ll explain. This is referencing: Here’s to my first use of the word quip. It turned out black sambuca is really black

In truth, black sambuca is really dark blue

I call out here’s when drinking alone. I was recently calling out cheers when drinking Red Label at one in the morning with my packing roommate. George, the end of a roommate, youth, pirates. The last was with Goldschläger. If there wasn’t a cheer to good Effen vodka, there should’ve been. It didn’t need to be watered down with energy drinks

I suppose it’s superstitions like this that the aliens were denouncing in 8. But I think it’s also this: it’s good to have something sweet to think about while taking down something so bitter. Sambuca is rather sweet

Enough of that. Take four:

:Water’s on the ground. It’s too soon. What’s going on?

:Sitting on the black futon. Only a sip’s been taken at this point. Voices replay strong as music when first waking. A few more sips drown the voices. Ready to write about ballerinas

:This dischord that cannot be proven. There’s a direct way to deal with this: after having watched these awful sequences play out over and over (That’s another thing movies don’t get right. It’s repetition that forces acceptance) it’d be best to demonstrate the dischord by having the mirage be contradicted by the very painting whose chippings have brought such vile life

:Disambiguation should never be left up to the ambiguous. The softest touches can counter testaments against their existence in citing the wind

:But that was a year ago. When a process which should’ve started several months before had only then begun

Here’s to the hope in silence

Here’s to five:

:She won today, not so that you think she plays so poorly so often. Was only getting use to time control on all those oddly played past things I’ve forgotten. Anyways: e4 e5 f4 exf4 Bc4 Qh4+ Kf1 Nf6 f3 Qxd1? Nf6 d4 Bb4

:No. All wrong. Can’t fit black castling and such in there. Black was weary of an early Nf6 since it’d block the queen. In any case, anyways, either way, whichever which way, ended with Qe1#. Possibly missed that move first time around

:Oh well, all well

To note: somewhere in there black castled, white returned the pawn, and knights were traded. No other blood was spilt before the Queen mated with support from the bishop on the fourth rank

How do I know this auxillary information? The character who lives for six minutes is much too in a rush to sit down to a game of chess with clocks set for a potential 15 minutes. Nevermind interlacing the writing component. So I have to lend my own games which I’ve already played

& then they aren’t even transcribed right (Another error: Qxd1 should be Qxf3). Things people do with what you do

Anyhow, the dying have so much more to say. So take six:

:She’ll show up for short periods of time. Say six minutes. Then the world will collapse and everything will get back to normal and oh God why can’t these phantoms stay awhile. They barge about, tell what to do, to stand in the corner for reasons neither can remember

:Follow diligently. Suspended disbelief makes art prettier, so why can’t it make life prettier? But time silently ticks, or maybe it passes by with every passing hour letting off that second hand click. How long before the next cue? Where is this going? For once, stay?

:The dishes are always dirty. Claim to clean up, but leave it all a mess. It’s alright though. People need people more than a tidy house

:Won’t these single shot existences move yet? Can’t they make more than hollow echoes?

:Promising to stay, so warm to fall into, but then the slightest smile raises horror as to what inevitably is now to pass

:& gone

The hell? That didn’t get into dying and living being the same thing with a different perspective at all

Take six take two:

:In punishment, I’ve lost five seconds to live. Instead of being a whale, it’s Well Water Black

:So then, let’s get this over with: I’m going to die in six minutes. Like I have already, six times prior

:Dying and living are the same thing, with a different perspective. Instead of counting how long you’ve been alive, you count how much longer you’re going to be alive

:& I’m pissed off with having to keep being thrown through this six minute deathly haunt. See, while alone from myself, I’m not alive. It’s when hollow hangs the pictures around and starts to act out a play. That’s when creation is sparked and something happens. But it better end within six minutes, because all the pictures are being blown away. As idealistic as one might be about how idealistic such pictures are, reality comes about and starts ripping my reality apart

:I can say a whole lot more once I’m allowed to talk in first person. Who needs useless indirection?

:Let me steal some moment to place it so gregariously for you. This is after the climax of that second scene the author feels no point in authoring. The four simple words I previously quoted eventually initiated another set of four simple words: I love you / Yeah

:& people tell me I have a vocabulary? Fuck

The hell? No first person. No clawing my hollow. 6 minute speels are suppose to be about the present only. About the mind creating a reality which hasn’t been implied. Get your act together and leave me out of this. Leave me alone

This time to Drum Courts Where Coral Lies. Take six take three:

:She’ll show up for short periods of time. Say six minutes. In six minutes, like seven times previous… there’s a lyric: I’m dead

:Another year without me: I’ll die, this I’d like to see another

:Why can’t these phantoms stay awhile? Even if they barge about, telling what to do, such as to stand in the corner for reasons neither can remember

:Death is coming, there’s no time argue. Dying and living are the same thing, with a different perspective. Instead of counting how long you’ve been alive, you count how much longer you’re going to be alive

:But time silently ticks, or maybe it passes by with every passing hour letting off that second hand click

:While alone, there’s nothing to take a heartbeat. Only alive when hollow hangs pictures about and starts to act out a play. Creation is sparked. As idealistic as one might be about how idealistic such pictures are, the real reality comes about and starts ripping the constructed reality apart. Can’t follow diligently and suspend disbelief. It makes art prettier, so why can’t it make life prettier? Won’t these single shot existences move yet? Can’t they make more than hollow echoes?

:Promise to stay, so warm to fall into, but then the slightest smile raises horror as to what inevitably is to pass

:& gone

To note: the unattributed lyric is from Program to Hunt 2007. Another nicely relating noun in there: man built labyrinth

Something which hasn’t surfaced so explicitly in the subsequent speels: Time. That there’s much to say about time, but not enough time. Thus delegated to another time. Sometimes it’s best to let themes fall back and disperse. With how prominent time already was, such was the case. Here’s some relevant last words: I don’t have enough time to think of some proper witticism, so I’ll let you, who’ve still time a bit more, decide what I’ve supposedly said

Which, if we assume this a confidential environment in which these words are conferred, the decided words are as real as the visitors received when nobody’s around

We can correct all our mistakes. We need only agree they’re corrected

To think I claimed the first law of thermodynamics would change before the past did. But one place to another, the contexts all change. This is why the best things are told without context. People love contradictions, because people love paradoxes

eg: If conservation of mass is violated, it can be fixed by removing the mass from the past, but now the past has changed, which changes the present, which can be reinstated by adding said mass back into the past, but now conservation of mass is violated again

A weak paradox, since it isn’t sentient. But interesting in that at no point are both statements incorrect. Mutual exclusion, will you ever grow a pair and tell everyone their simply flat out unquestionably and unmistakenly wrong without a slightest of doubts for consolation, only immolation?

Now I’ll reveal that in haste the dying may lie: how would they know whether I said Yeah or Okay?

No more lying around for the dead. Asleep In the Eye of the Storm: take seven

:Without them, I am not myself. Without me, they don’t exist. Synecdote?

:It is justifiable to lie when the continued application of said lie will result in its truth. This is best found in the application of one’s self. To maintain honesty about who you are will only constrain who you will be

:All there is to say? I suppose that’s it

:Four minutes to live. There’s better things to do than monologue that span of time

:Insert here whatever it is I should’ve said, but instead decided to tend my guest

:Will never know

To note: the concise wording of the second line: Lies are wanted truth

We who’ve still time a bit more will say whichever which way: You, I love