Art by MeddygonThere is a fine line \ Between genius and madness. \ It is called timing.

I’m only up right now because Maria doesn’t know how to quietly open and close doors.

I had a dream I went to Dennis’ Place for Games, only it didn’t look like the ones out here. It was larger, less crowded, and brighter. Pump It Up was in the middle, but it was compact. The single stage was pushed under the cabinet, and I had to pull it out. Then I had to boot the thing. Then I had to level the stage. All this, and I didn’t even work there.

Not yet, anyway. Josh was reviewing my application. He asked me about someone I listed as a reference – “Jack Crawford.” He wanted to inform me as well that the address I listed for Jack was wrong, and his correct address was [insert screen name]. I told him to watch out, because his live-in girlfriend will answer and throw a fit.

I returned to the PIU machine. The damned thing was one player. No doubles allowed. I messed with the internal settings, and found that the machine was running on Windows 3.1. I started messing with it with a keyboard, though I don’t know how I got the keyboard.

I added a name entry screen, you picked by pressing the arrows to get to a letter, then hitting the center to confirm. Finally the game started.

The man in the artwork of “Unforgettable Memory” was positioned over the Pump logo. Hit center to play, start up a song on easy.

That’s when I noticed a lot more steps than I was used to – I look down, this isn’t PIU anymore, it’s Technomotion.

People start watching me frantically play, and then they clap and all that. Later, I return home.

Home is supposedly 802, though it looked like an inverse of the trailer I lived in mixed with Tim’s condo. My brother, mother, and father all lived there, but everything paralleled my current situation.

Father was not there; There are only three of us in 802 right now. Mother retained her personality, though she took the part of Maria. Tony used dial-up internet access while I had high-speed; that’s the same as Ashley’s setup.

The cat was there. I can’t remember what all Eddie did in the dream, but it somehow mattered.

I really, really, really hate it when people think that giving generic advice on a specific situation will help matters, or make them look smarter, wiser, and more experienced – especially when it’s unwanted and un-asked for.

Well, Maria’s back here. She went straight home from school because she wanted money, or so she says. She called her parents to pick her up from downtown. I bet she just got lost/confused.

#10 Rantt Ô_õ 11/8

I love Dr. Lee influences.

Just thought I should mention that Maria and I were late for class yesterday because she spent 45 minutes on her hair.

She and I had class at the same time, so I figured I’d teach her how to use public transportation. That’s right, she never knew how to use it. I explained to her that we needed to leave really early, because we’d be walking part of the way to get our bus passes.

I set a time for us to leave. She was ten minutes late for that, because of her hair.
The words, “You’re walking too fast,” were common from her mouth. Strangely, I was walking slower than normal.

We waited for a bus, got on, then waited for a train. I had to tell her to hang on to her bags. First thing she did in the train was take a pair of seats for herself, throwing her book bag and purse on the seat next to her.

I also had to explain to her to make sure to get on the NORTHBOUND train to get home. I reiterated- it’s the one that says HOWARD on it.

I haven’t seen her since we arrived at school yesterday. She probably got lost.

Chicago was flooded. “Jefferson” street was slowly becoming a river. It was shallow, but swimable. A bridge had been built over it, but the supports to that were crumbling. I stood, waiting, watching. People shopped around in the city slowly becoming Venice. Others swam in the forming channels. One woman and several others stood upon the bridge and admired the view. The men noticed bits of concrete falling into the water, and darted off the bridge. The woman panicked, and fell with the bridge. She was alright, and was helped to the edge by swimmers. The water was freezing, as it was winter. A man exited the water with his swimming trunks hanging to low. He didn’t pull them up until someone commented that the mouse was out of the house.

At this time I was reminded that I was traveling somewhere for business. I checked my arms to make sure my tattoos would not be peeking out under my sleeves. I also examined my tattoos. On my right shoulder, I had the Powerpuff Girls. On my left, I had “Cartoon Cold Sunday Night.” (I have no idea what that meant.) I put my sleeves down, and the bus I was waiting for arrived.

I was traveling by Greyhound to wherever it was I was going. The bus was going to “East Ohio,” and making a stop in “Westfield,” which was where I was going. As we traveled, I stared out into the countryside. Many rivers and bridges were in the view, and many of the bridges were being worked on by construction crews. Thankfully, none of the bridges the bus traveled on were being worked on.

Arriving in Westfield, I find myself in a road-apple ridden amusement park. I look for someone who works there, as it is after hours, and I need to speak to the management regarding a job I was assigned. One of the workers is Isha. I greet her, have a good It’s-been-so-long-since-I’ve-seen-you cry, and she leads me to a store.

At the store are other people shopping, but most noticeably are Jorenko, ZRaven, and Squee. Only Jorenko takes active part in shopping with me for Nintendo products. There are several systems of SNES and NES variety piled in a corner next to a TV, along with many games. For some reason, there are BOX SNESs as well as Box NESs.

We decide to test out a couple systems, just to make sure they work. Sure enough they do, and, for some reason, the NES we grabbed was playing a Gamecube Zelda game. It was great looking, and Link looked like a 3d, cel-shaded version of the Animated Series Link. Whoever was playing was repeatedly attacking the already dead moblin from the cinematic we’d just seen.

I ask the people behind the counter for the pricing, and the man says, “We don’t carry that.” The girl grabs a catolog and slams it on the table in front of him. The man returns to his knitting, and the punk-raver girl flips through for the prices. $12 for a box NES, $14 for the top-loader, $31 for the box SNES, $33 for the top-loader.

And that’s where I woke up.

Legalise, regulate, and tax the hell out of prostitution.

She just walked in, looked in the mirror, said “Trust me, girl, I know.”

Then she waits a brief moment and tries to start up the conversation we just had wherein she didn’t detect I insulted her intelligence.

So I went on and insulted her intelligence, and she didn’t get any of it.

I explained to her how her generalizations are usually wrong and offensive, and she’s like “what generalizations”

To which I replied the pastor conversation (wherein she stated that any man of god who is not a Catholic priest is a man of the devil and will trick you), assuming all online communities are cults, among other things.

“I never said any of that!”

BULL FUCKING SHIT.

She denied every point I brought to mind, and she could only defend herself with actions that happened today. She said I’m being rude, but she couldn’t exactly place why other than I’ve told her to shut up today.

She said she’s PREFER me to interrupt her to affirm what she’s saying. I see that as ruder that asking her to not repeat herself. She would prefer that I smile and nod than counter her non-working mind’s views.

Christ, did this girl just totally ignore anything regarding free-thought when she was growing up?

She doesn’t realize how stupid she’s making herself look when she repeats herself constantly. I attempt to explain this to her. I tell her that people might not comment not because they don’t get what she’s saying, but because they don’t get WHY she’s saying, and saying so much. She replies that I should say something. Again, I explain to her that “I will not speak while someone else is speaking, it’s rude to talk ove-”

Maria: “Nonononono, yo-”

Me: “You’re talking over me right now, be quiet for a second so I can explain this to you. When you talk, you don’t breathe: you repeat yourself right after you just said it, and you leave no room for someone to comment without talking over you. And when I do take the time to follow your rules and comment while you’re speaking, you don’t shut up and you don’t let me add to the conversation.”

Maria: “Nonono, you don’t get it, I just want a ‘uh-huh’ or something.”

Me: “I give you that, but you’re too busy talking to notice; You’re too busy saying, ‘Trust me, I know’ five times to things you barely get.”

Maria: “What do I barely get? I mean, what is it that you’ve told me that I don’t understand? What is something you’ve explained that you think I don’t understand?”

Me: “My situation at the arcade (I get tokens from doing side work for the owner. She thinks I get tokens by flirting with everyone.). My relationship with Troy. (She assumes he’s my ‘Chicago Boyfriend’ while Jorenko is my ‘Out of Town Boyfriend’) My request to not be involved in your dealings with others.”

Maria: “It’s just my way of saying, ‘Okay, whatever.'”

Me: “Wouldn’t it be easier to say, ‘Okay, whatever,’ than pretending you understand and making your own false generalizations about it?”

Maria: “Generalizations? Wha?”

Me: *scoff, smirk*

Maria: “Okay, fine, whatever, I get it, you’re so rude.”

Me: “At least I don’t try to spark up conversation with a person who’s just going to to bathroom.”

Maria: “What, you mean this morning? All I said was hi and you just ignored me!”

Me: “I waved, I nodded, and I said ‘Hi’ back.”

Maria: “I didn’t see that.”

Me: “Then you continued talking to the TV.”

Maria: “I do that a lot.”

Me: “You talked loud enough, as if you were trying to comment to me about what was going on on the TV.”

Maria: “Nonononono, girl, I talk to myself while watching tv. It’s just commenting on what’s on, Ashley does the same.”

Me: “You usually make verbal comments when someone else is in the room, which would not be ‘all the time.'”

Maria: “It’s not like I talk to myself.”

Me: “You just said you did.”

Maria: “Wha? You’re rude! I just comment to no one about what I think is funny or stupid on TV”

Me: “So you enjoy narrating your thought process. I can live with that.”

Maria: “Narrating? What does that mean? You’re rude. It’s not narrating.”

Me: “It’ Narrating. Making verbal your thoughts or actions.”

Maria: “You see? You get it. And the other things I say mean that I don’t care.”

Me: “Alright, now that I know that, I won’t take anything you say to heart.”

Maria: “You know, you’ve got your own sayings and stupid stuff like that, too.” *leaves the room*

I dare her to name any. She’d probably say that my use of three-syllable words is rude. She’d probably say that I’m scary. She’s probably say I’m stupid for hanging out at an arcade. She’d probably say that I’m scary because I play videogames. She’d probably say I’m satanic because I spend time on the internet.

Maria: (insert long one-sided conversation about nothing in particular in which she repeats herself five or so times) “… haha, you’re so funny, you’re like, ‘Ah! Our school’ and you hide behind the door, haha, the commercial for our school comes on and you’re-”

Me: “Yes, I understand that you find my actions humorous, but do you have to repeat it fifteen times?”

Maria: “Well, you look like you don’t get it, so that’s why I repeat myself, like you’re giving me this ‘huh?’ look, you know?”

Me: “It’s more of a look of ‘Why the hell is she repeating herself?”

Maria: “You take so long to respond, you’re like, haha, wait wait wait ‘this is why'”

Me: “That’s because some people actually take the time to think about what they’re going to say before they say it.”

Maria: “Haha, you’re so funny. What do you mean by that? I don’t get it.”

Me: “I figured it’d go over your head.”

Maria: (as I am walking into my room) “Hahah, you’re so funny, Amanda, you scare me.” (returns to watching Jerry Springer).

I don’t know about the plot of this dream, or even if there was one, but it was loosely based on Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (or however it’s spelt)

There were dementors chasing me (I replaced Harry) around. Herm- *cough* Ms. Granger was played by Ashley, and was obsessed with checking the mail. Snape was played by James from the arcade. Jorenko was Ron.

Odd dreams. Snow in it, too.

Before that was a futurama dream. Snow in that, too. Bender was forced to dress as a “nice” santa for X-mas, and he didn’t want to, so he faked his own death, then he and I went out to the movies for the hell of it.

I often wonder how much, if at all, Maria thinks before she speaks; or does she prefer to narrate her process of incorrectly generalizing what she’s just heard?

How many people take into account the muscle structure of chicken as they’re eating it?

Jorenko 47 danced with Cheddar Cheese and now Schroe 47 hates Cheddar.

The air seems as cluttered as my desk with all this noise.

I’m fairly certain this one started in the middle of something, because that’s where my first memory of it comes in. Some guy (I’m pretty sure it was Jon Dark) and I had just finished fighting of a bunch of armed guards. More were coming, and we had no chance to escape.

I look at him, saying, “It was nice knowing you,” and give him a quick kiss. I’m certain we are going to die, because I’m about to pull my trump card – I have one final attack that would get rid of all of them . . . and us. Jon is scared and confused, but I am calm. We are all going to die – why am I not scared?

A blue wave of energy rotates it’s way into the room, going through the walls and making it’s way into the room we’re in. I look at it and smile, happy to see this end. Jon freaks, asking what’s going on, what’s going to happen, etc.

He hides behind me, and starts kissing my neck.

And then we die.

The next thing my eyes see is an underworld. Not really a fiery Hell, but more of a series of underground caves that just happen to have lava floors in some places. It is, of course, familiar to me, but one element is not – Jon. How did he get here? More importantly, how do I get rid of him?

I explain to him what this place is – It is the home of the angels and demons, and this is where we are placed until we are issued a new body. He asked me what I am, angel or demon, and I explain that I am one quarter demon and (this part made me laugh when I woke up) my mother was half-Shikima . As I explained, I walked do different places, doing my usual routine, and Jon followed me. I remember him muttering, “why couldn’t you be an angel?” I laugh to myself and think, “I never said what the other 3/4 were.”

Whoops, time to regen.

Stabbin thugs, and other things I can’t remember, because stupid bitches talk loud and harm my brain and memory.

Maria just got back from her weekend trip to her parent’s house.

First thing she asks me to do is rat our anything Ashley said to me about her.

I told her to leave me alone. She was shocked. She then tried to convince me that it was alright for me to tell her anything Ashley had said about her. I again told her no, leave me out of this, and never try to bring me into this again.

And she left.

—-

10:53

When she left, she didn’t shut the door. She just returned to shut it, but only shut it half way. I don’t mean half-way as in she didn’t pull it closed, I mean it’s literally half-way. 45-degree angle.

Dream 1 was the steps to Muhon on crazy. Seriously. I dreamt the steps to Solitary. Might have something to do with the eight hours of Pump It Up yesterday.

Dream 2, I was in Ohio, in an apartment that resembled my Aunt Mary’s from a while ago. I was a bit angry at my mother for holding me there so long, and inside. After a while, she let me go outside, and I used a pair of shingles as skis, and chopsticks as ski poles. There was snow in the large parking lot, so I skied all around the place, and even down the mounds that the plow made.

But soon, it was time to go. I was happy to go, but still sad to have to stop skiing. I had to go because my train was leaving soon, and my mother just seemed to ignore the fact that we’d been there so long. I recall (in the dream) that mother had said, “Don’t worry about bringing your bags and ticket. We won’t be there long.”

It’s now about forty-five minutes until my train leaves, and we’ve still got to go home and get my stuff. (Mother has done stuff similar to this in real life.)

Time passes, and I’m at the train station. I rush to get my train. For whatever reason, Jorenko’s there waiting for me. We’re both going back to Chicago, I was just separated from him for a bit.

The trains resemble CTA trains from the outside, but on the inside, they’re two-floor things, with first class on the top floor.
Jorenko and I are seated in the rear car, with seats facing in, and behind us, the back window. For whatever reason, we’re permitted to decorate the area as we see fit. Apparently, it’s going to be a long ride.

About a half hour into the traveling, though, we hear a crash. Someone runs into our car and yells, “The lift has fallen through!” The train grinds to a halt, and we soon find out that the lift on a car near the front has fallen not only the small drop, but completely through the floor of the train. Everyone who had crammed into the small lift as a joke had died (crushed under the train) and they took others with them by tearing out the floor.

Before they evacuated the train, they needed it off the tracks. (I think these were high-speed, always-moving, never-delayed trains, so it was imperative that we be off the track, lest we take out the next train as well.) We rolled in reverse, then forward again, then in reverse on another track. After a while, each car was lifted, separately, by a large crane. This meant we would be the last ones lifted.

Nothing had happened to us, and we didn’t even see the thing that had caused our wreck. Jorenko and I started packing up our little decorations. One of the things I had was a little green Q-bert, and a Mr. Saturn figurine. I reached for them, and someone else reached for them at the same time.

“Those are mine,” I said.
“Nuh-uh, you probably don’t even know what they are!”
“Q-bert and Mr. Saturn.” I grabbed them.
“Let go of them!” the fat man-child said, and tried to get them from me. I pulled on them, and bit at him until he let go, then put the things in my bag. I had also kicked him a few times.

It was our turn to be lifted. Jorenko and I had buckled ourselves in again, and held onto our bags. The other people laughed at us, saying it was an unnecessary precaution, the cranes were perfectly safe.

The cranes worked by grabbing with two separate cranes each end of the car. The far end, where the people laughing at us were sitting, slipped out, and the slammed into the ground. They cried, were shocked and appalled that such things could happen to them. Had Jorenko and I not been buckled in, we’d have fallen face first from one end of the car to the other, straight into them.

We tried to keep from laughing. The fact that the other crane dropped us next helped us do so. We were off the track, so they just rolled our car the rest of the way, then let us out.

Well, fuck, we can’t go to Chicago yet.

Dream 3 somewhat stems from Dream 2, but all knowledge from Dream 2 is forgotten.

Mall time. Jorenko’s gone. I’m with someone I don’t know very well showing them around. I’m pointing out restaurants and stores, asking if she wants to go in anything, and she doesn’t. (I remember this mall from an old dream.) We get around the entire mall, and she hasn’t looked in anything. “Well,” I said, “I’m going to the arcade, you’re welcome to join me.”

She silently followed, and got in the VR machine. I choose my character to be one of Cassandra’s female body guards in Perfect Dark. Another player joins, and chooses a blonde buzzcut male, resembling the American ideal of a soldier, or Duke Nukem in olive drab.

We have jetpacks in the level, and I make full use of it. The other player and I have shootouts, per the norm of the game, but he takes to hiding under the platforms and shooting up.

Camping. Bad camping at that. The platforms are long and easy to get under from many angles. I sneak up behind him, under a platform, and take him out.

I quickly get out from under there and move up to a top corner of the place. It’s dark, he can’t see me. I can see the entire level, and I watch him check all the platforms for me. When he comes up from the final one, I blast him with a cannon ball.

The game goes on for a while longer, but it’s a blowout. I win yay.

Dream end.

We moved the PREX machine; it’s facing a different way. The 2nd-player side of the stage is next to the window, so when people look in, they have a better view. I was the first to play on the new setup and it was damned cool. In Another Truth on Doubles, there’s a part where its a bunch of 17 and 39 doubles, and it ends on the 39 of the right side. There was a lady standing right outside the window, watching. When I hit the end step, she flinched.

Someone asked me how I could believe in a higher power and not believe in “God”.

Conversation as follows.

Me: Name something you’re good at.
Him: Drawing.
Me: Name someone better than you.
Him: You.
Me: Name someone better than me.
Him: Edward Aldrich.
Me: Name someone better than him.
Him: I dunno, Van Gogh?
Me: And then there’s someone better than him, and then better than that person. These people are going to be better than other people at other things, too. Eventually, you’ll come across someone who’s better than everyone else at everything. That is the higher power, though he would not be the Christian God, or Muslim Alah, or any other idea of God.

Toad just reminded me how much I hate Rare for changing Joanna. The image gallery he linked to reminds me of a porn shoot.

—

I loved Perfect Dark. It was the greatest game ever, and that was partially because the main character was not a fucking bimbo. Joanna was a competent agent, short haired, skilled, and forceful. She was NOT someone who’d look good in a playboy bunny suit with anti-gravity breasts. In-game, her figure was normal. Average. But the marketing, and now the redesign, put her more disproportionate than Barbie Dolls.

It really disgusts me. I was going to buy an X-Box because of Perfect Dark, but now . . . Now I don’t want to buy anything from Rare at all.

They’d better change the name of the series, because that thing is not Joanna.

I don’t want to deal with either one of them, but only one of them respects my wish to be left out of it. The other keeps trying to drag me into it.

—

I moved to Chicago because I hoped to mingle with other cultures and learn more about the world.

I get stuck with people who have no idea what culture is.