3:57 AM (A Breathing Exercise)

This is a concept that I have been mulling over for a little while, but haven't bothered putting it down in any serious form. It involves cadence and word choice, but avoiding any particular emotional content and focusing solely on how an individual's breathing affects the aforementioned choices. The only real problem is that in text, this is nearly impossible to illustrate because every reads with a specific speed and rhythm. There are adjustments and controls that a skill writer can put in place, but otherwise I am not sure how to approach this. Oh well.


LP0 On Fire (You Should Stop Now)

Oi, you still awake?

Yeah, why do you care?

I have decided to try to be less of a dick.

Right. Last I checked hell has not frozen over and you still manage to come around here and mock me at every opportunity.

I'm just lookin' out fer ya! You sit around most days starin' at the ceiling, waitin' for the fuckin' world to end. It's a fuckin' tragedy! I come around here and there you are like a pile of old clothes! You used to actually do shit! Remember that?

Don't even get me started! The only thing you ever bring up is that New Years party!

That's the best example I can think of!

And I hate you for it. I know that I used to do things, but I am just so under-motivated these days. I just don't care any more.

News flash, genius! Whose fault is that? Yours! Get off your ass and make something of your self. I'm not gonna be around all the time tryin' to kick your lazy ass into gear. Push past this "poor little me" shit and get some balls and do something! Fucking anything! Sort goddamn paper clips for all I care! Just get the fuck out!

I knew you were going to do this... You feign politeness and all you have to say is the same macho psychiatry that everyone else decides is "what I need". I am sick and tired of being pushed around and told what to do! I just...just...

What? You gonna cry now? Don't even start that, 'cause you know that shit doesn't fly with me! It might work with your ma, but I'll crack you upside the head if you do!

No! I am not going to let you provoke me like you always do! I have something to say and I am going to say it. The way I want to say it.

All right then, smartass, go ahead and say it!

Shut up. Just shut up... I just want my life back. The time before you started getting in my face. When I was glad to wake up in the morning, look at myself in the mirror and know this is going to be a good day. The days before the stress-induced insomnia, panic attacks, and nervous stutter.

I know that you remember those days, because, as you might say, we were "a fuckin' team". We worked together and succeeded at everything that we put our minds to. It was fantastic.

What I have been trying to figure out is what changed. That's why I have sitting around staring at the ceiling or whatever other awkward simile you want to use to describe my day-to-day behavior.

So, with that said you can either help me or leave. It is as simple as that. I know that I have told you to leave before, but this time I am not angry. I just need to know where we stand.

Damn. I... I don't know what to say. I gotta think about this. You always were a fuckin' headcase.

Just figure it out. I am tired of fighting.



Well it is 4:18 AM and I can't sleep. The Boondocks are playing on my TV and The Kleptones' "The Underground Hand That Buttoned The Widow" is sauntering its way into my brain. Hooray for iTunes shuffle mode.

I spend most my nights like this. Trying to write something interesting or build a track, but instead I fill my head with the work of others. Dick, Baudrillard, Nietzsche, McGruder, Vonnegut, Nilsson, MacFadden, Davis, Menuck, Reznor. Purveyors of literary, philosophical, and musical reality. Crammed into the recesses of my brain.

Nine Inch Nails' "Coronata Radiata" on loop. Hooray for iTunes loop option.

The problem is. The problem is that when I turn all of these things off, it is louder than it was before. My brain speaks in bursts and echoes. It stumbles upon itself and builds to a cacophony. I can't sleep.

Exhaustion comes with the dawn. Sleep comes but is marred by empty dreams that wrack my limbs with spasms. When I wake, my hands are stiff, forearms sore, and legs ache. I smell of cold sweat and nightmares.

Moby's "At Least We Tried" on shuffle. Hooray for iTunes shuffle mode.

It's 4:51 AM and I don't want to sleep.


Rollback Semantics

Operations can fail, but failed operations are guaranteed to have no side effects so all data retain original values.

Let's start with a little story.

A story? What the fuck?

Did I ask you? No. Now shut the hell up and listen.

Oh. Now you have balls. Fine. Get on with it...


He stared at the sky every night trying to get back to his grandmother's farm in upstate New York. There was a certain peace that came with these thoughts, but was tempered with time and distance.

Sitting in his room in the city, there was no night sky and this ate at him.


Damn it, what the hell did I say! I am sick and tired of you interrupting and questioning me! No! No more! If you don't have anything important to say, then shut up and sit there! I let you push me around waay too much! We are supposed to work together and all you do is piss me the hell off! Get the FUCK out!

Jeezus! Sorry!

No! Not this time! You are not welcome here anymore!


IBM BIOS Code 181 (Personal Logic Failure)

What the hell is your problem. I told you last time that this won't work and you did it anyway.

Screw you! You're not the boss of me!

The hell I'm not! We live in the same place and someone has to be the mature and rational one!

Mature and rational? You fuckin' kidding me? When was the last time you did somethin' without being asked first? And what the fuck are all these projects you keep startin' and very "maturely and rationally" not finishin'?

Hey, those are projects that interest me and keep me on the level. They keep you busy, don't they?

That ain't the point. I got my own shit to do and most of 'em don't involve finishin' THAT shit.

Oh, real adult. Insult my work. You are doing exactly what thought you would. Lash out when you don't have a reasonable answer. And, for the record, it is not "shit". They are instruments that take time to put together, test, and become familiar with.

What-the-fuck-ever. You never finish shit anyway. What about that clock? How long has it been? Two years? The only thing ya did finish was that damn synth and when didya finish it? On FUCKING NEW YEARS! You coulda been out partying your ass off, maybe even gettin' your dumb ass laid, but NO you had to get all mopey and fuckin' lame and drag my ass into it.

Hey, it's not like you were much help. We're supposed to be a team and what do you do, you sit there, twiddling your thumbs! Get the hell out of here! I don't need to take this. I have a instrument layout to work on and you stomping around here pissed off is not going to help my concentration.

Oh yeah, like you'll get that done. Good luck, asshole. Later, prick.

Fine, get the hell out. Damn it. I wish that guy would leave me alone.

I heard that numbnuts! You're gonna pay for it later!



An Introduction

I am ZeroSquared and this is my blog. This a terrible way to start a blog, but somehow every blog starts with this essential statement of failure. There is nothing that can be said here that hasn't been said hundreds of thousands of times, but I, like the hundreds of thousands of others, believe that my voice is at least somewhat unique.

There will be no discussion of "how I am feeling today," but my personal analysis will be a significant aspect of this work. This is a simple outlet for the overactive space that exists between my ears and an attempt to better understand myself. Here you will find arbitrary discussions of philosophy, sociology, literature, electronics, design, art, technology, and construction. All of these subjects exist with spectra of their own and as a non-professional in all of these subjects, I pick and choose how I understand and apply my knowledge of these subjects. I look forward to hearing from everyone and anyone.

Let's begin.