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Chroma IF

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almost ready? [Feb. 9th, 2014|05:12 am]
Chroma IF
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changed my hair- it was a pretty blue I had for a year, looked good but a little too bright for jobhunting. I meant to make it grey, but the 'titanium' dye didn't take as well as I hoped even though i left it in all night. I think my hair just likes being blue. At least it is now more Matronly than Cool; a strange blue-gray I hope will go with my job hunting clothes.
Got new lenses- old goldfill frames still work thank goodness- the lenses alone cost $380 which is twice the doctor fee!
Now I have to do resume update, dig out my old letters of rec, and prepare to stop smoking weed in case I have to pee in a bottle. I will not knowingly apply for work with constant random testing as it would only be wasting everyone's time, but I figure if you cannot abstain for a few weeks you don't really want the job.
What job? Something in town, I don't drive. Work with my hands, preferably with people, part time so I don't aggravate my old work injuries. Money not really important right now compared to comfort; if I don't like the job I should not be there and soon won't.
Wish me good timing and fresh breath.
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equiescat [Jan. 15th, 2014|01:41 pm]
Chroma IF

i keep trying. this may be part of the problem. there is that about me which prefers a struggle, and sometimes i wonder if i am getting in my own way somehow.
how do you tell your S.O. that you would be happier if you had more sex? That is easy. The hard thing is how to do so without sounding like Complaints. Plus i would like to know whether it's me or not-we have been seeing each other for less than 2 years and my own tendency to drop off a bit doesn't usually begin until at least the 4th year. I can of course seek sex and/or physical affection elsewhere, only it would be unkind to those other people because what i really want is more of my S.O.
whoever says "Men like it when women initiate sex or indicate a desire for it" must be talking about someone else.
Well, wish me luck and balance.
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Catterel [Nov. 8th, 2013|10:22 am]
Chroma IF

Like the beetle to the dung
like the barbell to the tongue
like the barrel to the bung
like the mucous to the lung


lately i have been finding fragments of er, lyrics? doggerel anyway; they are in my hand writing so must be mine. my naked friend (whom I sold at a very high price*) said it's the cheesy lyrics that stand up to the test of time.

i find this true since I began to pay attention.

as nifty as it is to be able to do this by phone, my arms require I cease, fire up the compybox with its attendant keyboard.
i may have something to say after all.

*another story
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I don't feel good. [Sep. 27th, 2012|06:51 am]
Chroma IF
Not a lot to say after all. It is not the end of the world. I consider possible locations of my running pants with which i could go outside and maybe generate some life that way.
I will try this.
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extremely old fragment that ill put up anyway [Sep. 27th, 2012|06:30 am]
Chroma IF
to nail me into a comfortable barrel with thick oak construction and strong staves. a barrel that will not reverberate to the tune of Chrissie Hynde whining about christmas time and through the walls of which will never be heard jingle bell cock or somebody got reindeered.
the 'reliable' part comes when the contractor in question lets me out of said barrel, the air a little stale therein, say around Epiphany.
The barrel should have a hole big enough to pee out of, etc.furnishings can be negotiated later or subcontracted out. interested parties please contact me at this address.
it's not exactly that I hate christmas exactly; I kinda like spending a whole day doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, but I dislike The Holidays, the bending over backwards, the hurt feelings and histrionics, the wildly undulating price of gasoline, the magazines one is invited to purchasse which will tell us how to be Non-Commercial at >erk< Holiday, uh, time.
The hideous smells people feel it necessary to inflict on anyone who goes out for a gallon of milk and a pint of bourbon- you would not believe because your brain has undoubtedly blocked out your memory of LAST years' holiday stench'ed candles and poo pourri, along with the DINGY_DINGY_DINGY_DINGY_DINGY, as a survival mechanism.Three cheers for the human mind! The pumpkin game is sorta fun, Pumpkin cheesecake. Pumpkin waffles. Pumpkin mousse with rouleau of elk, paired with a jejune '09 Chardolot. Pumpkin green tea diet soda. Think I'm kidding? It's The Holidays,

The Holidays interfere with the proper pursuit of humanity, which is enjoying winter, or surviving winter, depending on where you live and what there is to eat. I love winter myself. It's so delightfully Not Hot. In summer people are always chirping at me about what a lovely day it is, their complete failure or lack of attempt to notice that I am visibly ill with all this horrible sunniness making me need to hit them in the face. I am strong in my age and do not do this, it really would not be fair.
The Holidays mean that They are all out driving badly buying stinky things to help them be non-commercial and hurrying to cook something, probably a pumpkin. In winter I have the world much more to myself. I get very wet and muddy and lots of practice which I desperately need, having patience with the aren't your feet cold crew.

No. If my feet were cold, Id'a put on some socks and shoes.

Actually I think it's a beautiful day. I sure do love being a grownup so I don't have to eat pumpkin anything, don't have to wear anything itchy and red that doesn't fit, don't have to lie to any children about Santa Claus, and don't have to give anybody a goddamned dollar except the guy on the corner with the cardboard sign. The one who is not going DINGY_DINGY_DINGY_DINGY_DINGY.

Merry Christmas.
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Writer's Block: Do Not Forget [Mar. 11th, 2012|03:48 am]
Chroma IF

[Error: unknown template 'quotd']uh...my ass? well, ideally, a piece of rope, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, my glasses, my ipod, and a box knife
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Ms. found in a telephone [Apr. 21st, 2011|09:08 am]
Chroma IF
[N/P: |Snoring]

I did not know how to answer it,so missed a possible chance to reunite this found-phone-thing with its soon-to-be-former owner.
Now it does not ring. No service.

Screen lock: internet.
Erasure procedure: more Internet.
How to get screen unlock code from provider: more Internet.
Nothing written down inside battery compartment: Ah Shit.
Erasure procedure.
No more screen lock.
No more 'contacts' either- since the mention of something IN my eye makes me ill, this to me is OK.

I can find the number for STBFO's voicemail but cannot leave a message without that one's phone number.
Did I know *that*, I'd be done with this shindig, which may happen soon anyway.

Let's see, what do we have now?
One '3G' slippery blackplastic with fairly good video res unless one moves around quickly. I will assume that the blonde youngster with the makeup is the s-t-b-f-o, that the pretty stud-faced long-dark-haired youngsters are her friends, that the van is Mom/Dad's, that the cutie in the blue undershirt is her brother or oughta be, and that it is okay to speak of these people as kids: they smoke Marlboro Reds, for chrissake.

Much drunkenness and hilarity, I laughed my ass off looking at her movies, which god alone could (not 'would') convince me to post without consent. Looks a lot like youngster activities I helped instigate.
Except where we did it with weed and Smirnoff, our friends on guitar, in the countryside, with 110 snap-cameras and a 35MM on loan from John Rugebrecht, these guys do it with, well, different weed, JD, and [Tupac? I have no idea] some other dude, in a loud lossy format, in someone's apartment. Everyone's different, I say far too often.. .

Actually I kind of like this girl. She seems like the kind of person who would lend you her eyeliner (black) at your steady's prom, when you had changed clothes at the last minute and so left your own makeup behind. The kind of person who was real good at being poster-pretty (sexy) so I didn't have to. She may even end up being the great mom I never woulda been.

I will try craigslist, then use the thing for a video camera. The sound isn't quite as good as my ipod but it has a better res, and I have the cables to charge it.

Please write your name/number/something inside the battery compartment, under the battery, with a sharpie, cover it with clear polish. Replace battery afterwards. I have no need or desire to get over on you, only to get your phone back to you as I would want my own back.

In the meantime it will make a nifty camera.
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Writer's Block: Available: 3 bedroom, 2 bath, with hot and cold running chills [Apr. 21st, 2011|05:11 am]
Chroma IF
[N/P: |Compaq Armada hard drive]

Would you live in the perfect house or apartment rent-free if you found out a brutal murder had taken place there and it was rumored to be haunted? Why or why not?

That would depend on the nature of the brutality. Define brutal: bloody? lengthy? disfiguring? external circumstances ( as in 'pregnant'- never mind if this pregnant person had been making you a 'child called it' or 'elderly', usw.). Did the killer sit and watch the killed die? Did the killed have time to be pissed off? 

If 'twas haunted I would be more likely to live there as long as the haunters did not do anything worse than switch the salt and pepper in the shakers. Unsettling, but essentially harmless.
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call me Hep [Feb. 28th, 2011|12:23 am]
Chroma IF
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By signing on to Somebody'sPersonalWalletStuffBank you agree.

The individual heretofore known as 'you' and who may bear a strong resemblence 903:12 AM 2/24/2011213903:12 AM 2/24/2011

oops. see what I mean? dint even know my kb had a timestamp; or maybe it is my elbow.

personally I avoid to broadcast name and face and never together if I can help it. why?
because I have a less than ordinary face and if they saw me for one second they would find me, and that would not do.
look, it is not easy when your name is Hepzibah Czerny. Call me Hep if you like. I am thinking perhaps it should be 'Hepa' but go tell them that. Or call me Mad; tis short for Madeleine; my street name: and now you know what I look like.

A name is a label; it is what one is called. It is for the use of anyone not oneself.
I usually call myself 'you' if I ain't mad at myself - my parents started that one.

I may know that Lasangacide was J.C. Stanton, but in order to compliment him personally on his Poetic Midnight Snack Cereal one must first find him. James Tiptree was Alice Sheldon, but she is dead and beyond the reach of her directors-at-work who might have objected to one of their employees being, like, so penetrating and thoughtful and painfully open-minded.

Han Lu Han, anybody there?

I'm real, I am: smack my ass and find out.
This is what comes of educating the intelligent and the gifted: when you fail to properly load them, they invent the Internet.

I wasn't there: it sounds like a way for people, not personally known one to another, to conversate about something they'd in common. Left alone for too long, they invented UNIX, which is apparently an object of contention to be sawn in half, just like the old story, to be divided fairly among the claimants. It's too bad, really- a few years ago anybody could be UNIX: all one had to do to do it was do it. I cannot, but I would like to be able to pay someone to be UNIX for me.

Now people not known one to another use the net to 'meet' one another and another and another and we do not want each to find out about the things they *don't* have in common with us.
This is reasonable enough for me, but I was spawned and gently reared by a neo-Luddite so do not constitute a quorum.

"The death of community" "They are lonely because they don't know any real people because they are too busy meeting fake people"

There are fake people on the internet but they are at present fairly easy to spot. "Pretty Marya Teen Raped Crying" is "Naked Liane Wet Pussy Shaved" is "Throw Five Words From List". I'd be interested to know if this goes on in languages with other character sets and if the format is the same, but this is rather like asking people on the street if they are detritus or Detroit: one is lucky to get any answer at all.

I know some real people but they do not necessarily want to discuss the finer points of this and that at 4 am.

100 years ago the town minister may not have wanted to see your genitals, or if he did he possibly would not have wanted anyone else to know.

"The boys" do not want "the girls" around at certain times any more than 'the women' want 'the men' around at certain times. Neither of these will thank anyone who attempts to Break Down This Awful Barrier- I know, I have been on both ends and resented it both ways.

I'll tell just about anyone just about anything, but will tell no one everything. You all can get together and piece it out if you like, just don't bother me about it. "Hepzibah Czerny is really sync separator!"
Well, duh, as they say: anyone can see that sync separator is a nom de net: look it up on google and see.

Time to go outside and see if the neighbors are done with that Awful Stuff they do at times, and repeat my own advice to myself: do not expect things to be what they ain't.
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Nativity! Versioning! Irrationific! Free Where! [Dec. 3rd, 2010|06:18 am]
Chroma IF
[Current Location |Bad software! Down!]
[N/P: |P-Ring]

I've bumped along with the Gates Gang since MS-DOS 5, and betimes paid retail to do it. They did not seem to hear my howls of dismay, nor smell the stark pitiful abandonment stench curling skyward from a nameless part of my brain on the day I came home to find that my Computer Guy had just installed a NeaT New Windows OS that *wouldn't run Fractint*....Woe!

That was maybe eight years ago.

I have acquired a very nice if very noisy little HP which has a lovely clean install of ....WINDOWS 98!

It runs Fractint.

I am content.

Good night.
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