I sit at my computer on the cool morning of October 8th. Surrounded by empty bottles and old memories, a certain musk fills the air with a bereavement no longer. I am strong, I am fierce, and my barrels are full. As caffeine pours down from the heavens, I once again attempt to remedy yesterday's mistakes.

It's been 6,175 days since I was electrocuted. A guy, let's call him Joe, jammed a stun gun into my intestines during an R.E.M. cycle as a prank, or revenge, or because I am Jewish. I can still see the blue electricity flowing into my guts as the taser is held in place. One month later I receive a false diagnoses for Crohn's disease as my ability to process reality in succession begins to falter. Struggling to find connections between material events, my math ability in decline, I face a future worse than death without seeing it coming...

Three years later I stand proud over having hit a golf ball 200 yards with fade. My maternal grandfather, the inventor of the mandibular staple implant, who replaced my father as a good man to revere, smiles and says I'm getting there. We leave the golf course and head home for dinner. The one-story home in Jupiter florida had a memory room for my Grandfather's Alzheimer's; I circle the bases looking at photographs of African leapords, Michigan Football scribes, playbooks, and memorabilia; a before-and-after photo of a young Cuban boy with a Cleft Pallet is standing next to Irwin -- who never ceased to have a calm, but serious look to his face. While black and white, the photo forever brings color to my life.

"Dinner!" shouts my lovely Grandmother. Tan carpet leads me past a Jacuzzi, and sound system that I helped her learn how to use the day prior; I see lamb chops on the table and remind myself this is paradise. Irwin had cooked them, they were burned but completely edible. I wake up the next day without a stomach ache for the first time in three years. Agonizing, gutteral pain, my tolerance feeling paper thin at times, I whisper, "Thank God", and get up for breakfast. I alert the family I'm feeling surprisingly better than usual. Grandma suggests this is a result of the burnt food, we smile together in unison. I waltz to my bedroom, turning over a large bottle of Pentasa - an anti-inflammatory mecidine - in hopes of a new beginning. Thirteen years then pass without a single pain in my stomach, I look back to that morning of healing with sadness that I still had not yet made the connection that the electricution was the culprit. Beating a lifelong "disease" in three years time because a living God had accidentally supplied a perfect dose of carbon to my skeleton; I am blessed, but I am also cursed.

This is important. This is very ****ing important to me, and to many others.

I'm interested in the applications of shape rotation or even Synesthesia as it relates to formulating poker thought. I have both; while I don't follow the traditional defintion of conflating the three senses, I think mainly using sounds which often form spacial representations of abstract shapes. For example, while experiencing a frontload of anxiety 5 years ago, I processed this geometrically as if it were a gyroscope: two rotations spinning against itself.

I cannot for the life of me explain what goes through my mind while playing through hands of poker. I hold preflop ranges in my mind implicitely, and I'm constantly making and revising estimations, but the calculus from start to finish is something I'm not able to explain. I have played around 3 million hands of poker in my life; it's in my blood, it grinded my destitution to ruble and then built me into a machine. I love it;
I owe my life to it, but it is just amazingly bizarre that I can't communicate such computation.

Readers: What goes through your mind during poker hands?

Maybe tomorrow I will become a techno-sciencio and accumulate a "high net worth".

If you've ever wondered who triumphs above all in the realm of music it's J.S. Bach and nobody is even close. It's not even about volume of masterpieces - JSB has more than a thousand! - but his perfect symmetry contained within a square. What I mean by that is there are implicit guidelines to music - "What is a song?" - "How far can we take this?" - "Is this even beautiful anymore?" - all within a time restraint. Beethoven deserves credit for groundbreaking originality - but his music goes far beyond the square to alien worlds of despair and depression. I suppose Bach could have done similar, but a simplicity would be lost and his work would be less impressive.

Do more with less seems like a philosophy to live by. JSB did this better than anyone.

#1,056

*His symmetry is known as contrapuntal composition.

As the psychopathy page turns...



I need to find out more about the results of situations like these. A dirty chemist instituted a derivative of rocket fuel, and a bad seed authorized it....in the very least. Do we have the means for propper retribution? Are these serial killers free to walk??

Now I know the line. Any cuties reading along wanna get with a future majestrate? 😘

Retiring this account and moving to Las Vegas. I'm not a great tournament player...sort of proud of this result.

"Everyone's Favorite"

Thank you, Mr. Bach, for visiting us from heaven and leaving behind a holograph of what it is.

Listen to this with me. Please, just one more time before I pass...

I'm in no mood to write. Insomnia has bore its slippery head within me again. I put down the 90% vape cart for a week and expected to titrate sleep bit by bit, but by the 7th day it had vanished. I've taken benzos 3 of the last 4 nights; the hangover is to only paint using the color white. I'm back on the cannabis train too (choo-choo!), I have a huge move Sunday and can't afford to not be lucid. The plan in mind is to follow the same route I took when I visited Vegas in 2013; Home -> St. Louis -> Oklahoma -> New Mexico -> Nevada. May course through the google map, might not and just wing it the morning of.

Good-Bye Ruby Tuesday. Good bye absence of growth. Displace me from your sunken tower. Release me and my token oath.

More Bach.

Blog is shaping up nicely. I find it a comfortable hangout, do you?

350mg edibles, 8 hours sleep.......I am reborn.

Everything has been put on hold while I recalibrate. Thoughts and prayers for my brothers and sisters suffering throughout Israel. A glimmer of nightmare optimism - I am here, and not there.

I am iconoclastic AF. But so was Kurt, ergo a virtue.