Man of Many Words

In which I review a book that correctly claims America is a religion, but is also pure trash.

2011-08-08T21:32:00.001-04:00

Americanism: The Fourth Great Western Religion by David Gelernter
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

This book speaks the truth about the fact that America should be thought of as a religion first and foremost. The problem with the book is that it is written from the perspective of a devout neoconservative Americanist who feels at liberty to browbeat the reader into worshiping as he does. I couldn't finish this book, because despite the author's obvious intelligence, it was full of willfully ignorant calls to blind faith. In short, the author is correct in his basic assumptions, but he is a typical piece-of-shit death worshiper.

View all my reviews

Man and Nature: A Calculus Beyond My Understanding

2011-07-09T19:56:00.001-04:00

I stand on the front walk to my house and look around. I am seeing certain things as if for the first time, and I am awestruck:

Telephone lines (or are they power lines?) slung between tall, slender, unadorned, wooden totems, strictly for the purpose of transmitting information (or energy) all along the little street.

Metal antennae attached to rooftops. A satellite dish.

All of these comprise the infovascular system (if I may) of our species -- an extension of our bodies, as Leonardo da Vinci would have said. I say they are an extension of our minds -- not an alien, unnatural blight on the landscape, but an inevitable result of the advent of the frontal lobe in humans.

Chimneys spring from rooftops as well, venting whatever we cannot use and do not want in our houses. I do not normally see these, rather taking them for granted a hair shy of one hundred percent of the time. They are cowlicks on the structures we have built for ourselves in our image. Two windows and a door make a face.

Buildings are large cloaks which we can move around in. Very roomy.

I look up at the birds. The swallows with their pointed wingtips beat the air faster than a fish beats water with fins but slower than an electron orbits a nucleus. They trawl for unseen airborne insects. I imagine these birds closing off their windpipes and throats, catching as many insects as they can -- their flight patterns governed by a calculus far beyond my human understanding -- until the sensation of insect bodies, lodged in saliva, accumulates enough to warrant, ahem, swallowing.

The birds flock together, but individually you can see them ruminating. "Should I follow now? How about now? Yes, now. I will join my familiars. I am my own bird. I miss my familiars. I am my own bird, for my attention wanes." They flit from tree to tree. They fly over my head.

They land on a telephone line. Or power line. Unlike me, they do not question it. The wire is part of their real, natural world.

The antennae and bricks of the buildings are hard -- much harder than tree bark, about as hard as very old rock -- belong here too.

The Space Shuttle: Our Tower of Babel

2011-07-08T12:24:00.002-04:00

I find myself genuinely mournful of the space shuttle program. I was born in 1980; the program launched in 1981. It was always there for me.

Space travel will continue, but the space shuttle program was more than that. It was a symbol of something strident and hopeful.

The space shuttle program, in my mind's eye, was the white spaceplane, the NASA logo, the American flag emblazoned on spacesuits filled with heroes. My heroes.

The space shuttle program was the televised launches. The countdown, the ignition, the launch, the blinding blaze of rockets, the disappearing of a handful of astronauts into the heavens.

The space shuttle program was our Tower of Babel. We built it for science, yes, but really we built it to reach God.

I was in first grade when the space shuttle Challenger exploded before it could even reach low orbit. It blew up right there before the eyes of hundreds of thousands of people. A teacher had been on-board. A television was wheeled into the classroom so we could watch the coverage. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Lindsay, crying a little and holding a tissue to her face.

Now, as I read the New York Times coverage of the last launch taking place this very moment, I am surprised to find myself crying a little. I will never go up in a space shuttle. I never knew it mattered to me until now.

On Stories, Origins, Disagreement, God, and Other Things

2011-05-04T23:17:00.001-04:00

The sculptor Auguste Rodin left masses of rough, untouched stone intact on his finely carved sculptures -- to remind us where it came from.

7 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

To agree is beside the point. Just to be is the point.

12 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

We can meet on the mountain -- the greater substance from which our lives spring -- and compare what we made from it.

12 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

We are each given a stone from the same mountain. We each chisel something different. We sometimes mistake our sculptures for the mountain.

14 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

Stories within stories. Facts bending like wheat in the winds of imagination. Consciousness was here first.

16 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

God is about unity. That's all he was ever for. He is just as real as any of your imaginings.

18 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

When the rain comes down, it touches the whole town. That is the story we all inhabit, and it belongs to a being greater than ourselves.

19 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

Those who allow others to have their stories, differ though they might, are brave.

22 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

When we demand that others think the way we do, it is like trying to force others into our homes with us.

23 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

When we violently disagree with each other's stories, our violence is derived from the terror of being alone in our private stories.

25 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

Some of our stories are similar. When we recognize that, we cling to each other, craving familiarity and the end of loneliness.

25 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

A life can go through many stages, each beginning and ending with a spectacular coup against the ego, taking place where cameras cannot go.

28 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

To change your mind is a great adventure. You will struggle, bleed, fail and try again. To change your mind is to die and be reborn.

33 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

When our stories fail us, we grieve. When we, in such uncommon cases, expatriate to new stories, we suffer.

36 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

There is nothing wrong with stories, just as there is nothing wrong with a rose in a windstorm. We choose destruction over loss of identity.

37 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

We may discuss alternate stories with civil tongues, but when the shit hits the fan, we revert to our fondest stories, facts be damned.

39 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

Our stories are more important to us than mere facts. We readily bend or replace facts that do not serve our stories. All of us do this.

40 minutes ago

willconley777 Will Conley

Our veins are filled with stories. We breathe and eat stories. When someone threatens to supplant our stories with new stories, we resist.

44 minutes ago

Heart Spasms

2011-04-26T19:44:00.001-04:00

Just had a physical heart spasm. At least I think it was. Don't nobody panic, it's over. Yes, I should quit smoking. No, I don't have health insurance, and no this is not a "wake-up call" for me.

OK, yes it is a wake-up call. And maybe I will quit those goddamn cigarettes. But I don't think those things are all that are bothering my heart.

Love.

Money.

People and their opinions.

My heroes dying and being replaced by humans.

The maddening questions: Am I wrong about this or that? Seriously, am I wrong, when I think and see and say and do things? Am I just making shit up?

Are all of the windows between me and the outside world mere paintings? Did I paint the scenes to trick my mind's eye? To fend off the darkness, the isolation of being trapped inside a human?

These questions bother me a lot. My breath grows shallow. There is a wailing in the distance. I drown it out with music. When I turn off the music, the wailing is closer. I turn the music back on.

Give us this day our daily chemicals, so that we might live in peace with the shadows.

I think they call it creeping panic.

There is no redeeming positive message in this post. It's just me and my abuse of a keyboard.

Changes need to be made.

Some of My Unpremeditated Thoughts on Artificial Intelligence

2011-03-17T19:10:00.001-04:00

Will any android ever achieve the grace and fluidity of the human organism--not just in physicality but in the electro-chemo-mechanical functions known as thought and emotion? Certainly they can approximate or mimic the human organism--but can they ever achieve the almost water-like nature of a human? Hmm, maybe that is the key to perfect AI: liquid crystality.

I once perused a book called The Society of Mind by cognitive scientist Marvin Minsky. There he talked about how all of the simple functions--push and pull, move and stop, and so on--work in concert to behave in unpredictable and creative ways. Perhaps the key to AI is determining the simplest functional substances that can work together.

A corallary to the "society" concept of the individual mind is that of the group. A giant anthill was once pumped full of cement, allowed to dry, and then excavated. The scientists discovered a complex "metropolis" of highways and biways, ventilation and waste management systems, incubation rooms, and so on--all seemingly designed by a single architect. No one ant knew what was going on on the macrocosm, but by God the thing worked as a whole, and each ant did his mighty little part.

That is how human civilization works, as well. Of course. What else but compartmentation and an invisible "hive mind" can account for the fact that we all know as individuals what the collective should do, but the collective doesn't seem to give a damn what our puny individual thoughts are. No matter how influential an individual, the whole will move in ways much more similar to a flock of birds or a weather system: unpredictable, fluid.

There it is again: fluidity. So an organism of artificial intelligence must be fluid, no? How can we create an artificial human that thinks, feels, and moves with such grace as that normally afforded to humans--or to animals--or to the way a forest grows up and self-regulates and achieves homeostasis?

Perhaps it is time to re-engineer the very concept of intelligence. Why not a stone have intelligence? Why not a mote of dust? Our galaxy is in itself seemingly "of some design"--the way it spirals, pirouettes--like a ballerina, or a dolphin at Sea World. Why not every level of existence be afforded some "intelligence"? Not only will this go a long way towards improving our understanding and respect and empathy for the world around us, but it could help to redefine the quest for a perfect AI.

Maybe we should redefine what it means to be intelligent before we try to create a robotic being that, for all intents and purposes, is a human being in a very real way. Instead of trying to create an artificial homo sapiens sapiens, why not create an artificially intelligent substance or fluid? Maybe it has already been done. Maybe we are surrounded by artificial intelligence already. Orville and Wilbur Wright created an airplane that captures air currents and manipulates air pressures in such a way as to create lift. The human arms cannot do that--and yet the seemingly unconscious airplane wing is impressive and awe-inspiring just the same.

Back to ants: I saw an article in Popular Science recently about real-world "zombies"--or beings whose brains have been compromised by some outside force. There is a fungus that attaches itself to an ant's cranium, injects it with chemical "commands", rides the ant to an ideal location for the fungus to reproduce, and then boom: the fungus bursts out of the poor ant's skull having been incubated therein, in just the right place for its spores to take flight and find more ants to use for procreation.

Pretty gruesome stuff, but besides that, what can we learn from that? What can we learn about the cooperative nature of "intelligence"? Certainly a fungus is not intelligent like a human. But that does not mean it is "lower" than a human (unless we are talking about actual spatial relationships, in which case, sure, yes, it is physically lower towards the ground.) Instead, the fungus is intelligent like a fungus.

We must meet intelligence on its own terms, not on the arbitrary narcissistic terms we set out for ourselves. Yes, it is natural to see the world in terms of what we can most immediately relate to--out own human incarnations, in this case--but why not expand the very definition of the self? Why not say, "Yes, that stone is me, that ant is me, that fungus is me, that galaxy is me." Of course, we don't have to mean this in every literal sense, but perhaps if we simply imagine it to be true for a moment, we can empathize with beings that can help us to increase our understanding of Things.

Fluidity. Self. Cooperation. Unconscious organization giving rise to consciousness. Emergent properties. All of these concepts and more must be applied to artificial intelligence--not just mechanics, electrodes, and software. Why limit ourselves? Perhaps the great breakthrough in artificial intelligence will come not from a tinkerer, not from a scientist, but from a jack of all trades--or a society of jacks of all trades.

These are some of my unpremeditated thoughts on artificial intelligence.

"Giant Wave" by Mark Mallman

2011-03-17T06:38:00.001-04:00

http://www.google.com/m/products/detail?client=safari&hl=en&oe=UTF-8&source=s...

I am looking forward to buying this little number.

2011-03-14T19:51:00.001-04:00

It's a stand-alone portable PA with inputs for a mic, three instruments and a CD/iPod. All the reviews say it's a steal.

Sent from my iPod Touch. Please visit http://willconley.com.

I ordered this microphone.

2011-03-12T17:12:00.001-05:00

It's a Blue Microphones enCORE 100 Dynamic Vocal Mic. It directly competes with the Shure SM58, the reigning champion of all-around live vocal mics.

I have used the Shure on many stages, but have never used a Blue. According to all the reviews I have read, listened to or watched online, the Blue e100 is comparable or better than the Shure in almost all respects--and it is currently $20 cheaper. The price is unlisted in shopping search results as per retailer terms of service with Blue Mics, but authorized dealers like zZounds and American Musical Supply will privately tell you via shopping cart or email that it costs $79 before shipping. The Shure mic is running at $99 these days.

The reviewer in the video below places the Blue e100 ahead of the SM58 in every category: durability, sensitivity, frequency response, feedback rejection, overall sound purity, even "sexiness."

The only category in which the SM58 dominated was in reducing noise caused by handling the mic while in use. Shure sure makes a solid microphone.

Note: The reviewer sells only Blue live vocal mics on his website--a conflict of interest as far as journalistic integrity goes, but trust me when I say this man echos everything else I have seen. He probably only sells Blue because it's the best for the money.

I'm excited to get mine.

An Immoral and Base Form of Love (A One-Minute Valentine's Day Song)

2011-03-09T22:33:00.001-05:00

Send this song to your romantic partner as a belated Valentine's Day message. She or he will forgive you for being a forgetful, insensitive, selfish jerk. Guaranteed.*

Will_Conley_-_An_Immoral_and_Base_Form_of_Love.mp3 Listen on Posterous

*Guarantee void where you live.

A Murder of Crows (Or, Hello, My Name Is Jimmy Stewart and This is My Alfred Hitchcock Life)

2011-03-06T17:43:00.001-05:00

Is it crow season, or what? The phrase "a murder of crows", which means a group of crows, seems to be popping up all over the Internet this early March 2011. Enjoy the beautiful photographic and verbal evidence:

Look at my Facebook friend the spoken word artist Bao Phi's photo of one of said murders of crows.
Read this article by my Twitter friend and ad man Jim Mitchem, and be sure to see the photo at the bottom of the post.
Check out the Twitter search for a murder of crows.

I took the following short video clip of a group of birds of some kind--I'm not sure if it's a murder of crows, but they're definitely birds, which I know from paying attention in biology class as well as by dint of having a pulse and at least one functioning eyeball in conjunction with an adequately reliable visual cortex--a few days ago out my front window (not my Rear Window) before noticing the crow meme that seems to be taking the Internet by stealth:

VID01192.mp4 Watch on Posterous

Happy spring to you all. May the crows signal the coming snowmelt. Look out for homicidal ravens.

A Murder of Crows (Or, Hello, My Name Is Jimmy Stewart and This is My Alfred Hitchcock Life)

2011-03-06T16:59:00.001-05:00

Look at my Facebook friend the spoken word artist Bao Phi's photo of one of said murders of crows.
Read this article by my Twitter friend and ad man Jim Mitchem, and be sure to see the photo at the bottom of the post.
Check out the Twitter search for a murder of crows.

VID01192.mp4 Watch on Posterous

Happy spring to you all. May the crows signal the coming snowmelt. Look out for homicidal ravens.

Will Evans asks, and unintentionally answers, "Where are our Byrons? Where are our modern Shelleys?"

2011-03-06T01:02:00.001-05:00

My Twitter connection @semanticwill (real name Will Evans) wrote a blog post in 2010 entitled "Whispers," the opening lines of which I quote:

"Oh, I quite realize no one here will read this, at least not in its entirety. I have resigned myself to this reality, and perhaps the motivation for posting so very little in recent weeks. But once in a while it’s worth testing the waters."

I started reading the post silently to myself, but before I could do so "in its entirety," I reached for my old cheap microphone. I recorded it in my own voice. After listening to the recording and noticing the terrible "pops" the old cheap microphone caused, I walked out of the house, bought a new cheap microphone at a Rite-Aid, and recorded it again. This is the result.

I strongly urge you to listen to the whole post and read it here.

Whispers_2.mp3 Listen on Posterous

Stream my music, download it, throw it on your iPod, bump it in your car system! Free! Now! Yes!

2011-03-02T18:46:00.001-05:00

Hip Hop Like I See It by willconley

And How She Never Hurt a Goddamned Soul

2011-02-28T14:13:00.001-05:00

I'm in the basement

Some basement

Daylight floods in

Through windows in high casements

Place is kind of a wreck:

Plaster coming off the walls

Salting the dingy gray carpets

Turns out I'm the one wrecking the place.

I take a sladgehammer to the walls

A crowbar to a raised platform

Revealing cockroaches the size of cats.

Someone else enters the room

And suddenly I'm thinking up excuses.

Now I'm in a crooked cabin in the woods

Wee hours, starlight, place is a wreck

Unmade bed takes up most of the living room

TV blaring

Turns out I'm not the one wrecked the place:

Some dude swats the love of my life,

Killing her.

He stuffs her in a cardboard box and rolls her

Down the hill,

I chase after,

Thud.

She comes to rest against the neighbor's front door.

And now I'm running

As the sun smashes the horizon

Filling the world with golden light

And I'm thinking about her long brown hair

And how good she looked in a dress

And how she never hurt a goddamned soul.

The Wit and Wisdom of John Kilduff of "Let's Paint" Fame

2011-02-27T13:07:00.001-05:00

You're watching "Let's Paint, Exercise and Blend Drinks" here, on Time Warner Cable here. I'm your host John Kilduff, let's take another caller." - John Kilduff.

John Kilduff runs on a treadmill non-stop while blending drinks, painting, taking abusive phone calls and, perhaps most important, doling out words of wisdom which he makes up on-the-fly. This is California public access television at its finest. The following are some of the deepest, Jack Handy-est utterances of John Kilduff from the video below.

You know, when you're running, and doing a lot of exercise, it's good to eat healthy, and concern yourself with healthy kinda things.

What we like to do is just get some paint on the canvas, alright?

We stretch, too, you know. Before you do this, you wanna stretch. Stretch your body before you get into this kinda position.

Don't kill yourself.

Shoot it out, man, shoot it out.

We're trying to make this a little happier place, ah? OK.

When the day is done, you know when you're waking up in the morning, it's nice and peaceful? Let's try to get that in our real lives.

We'll just cut you off if there's any sense that there's something going on. Hello callertwentyfivewhereyoucallingfromwhatsyourname.

We're figuring it out. Sometimes I like to enter the process without knowing what the hell I'm doing.

You know, we're human. We always, we're all bound to, like, make some mistakes in our...in our lives. So uh...OK, let's not get into that.

You know, you don't need ice cream when you make a blended drink. You don't need milk. You could just, you know, try...try things with ice. Maybe a little milk might not hurt, but you know what? What the hell. Let's try that.

You just hold on, man, hold on.

So let's put a banana in there. And I don't know if this is gonna taste good or nothin'. But I'm gonna do it anyway, you know what I'm saying?

OK, let's not forget about painting, alright?

OK, I think what we're going to do is let this ferment for a few minutes.

See the full gallery on posterous

Exploring My Neighborhood: America's Credit Union Museum

2011-02-26T11:47:00.001-05:00

A few days ago I visited America's Credit Union Museum, located a few blocks from my home. The museum is a house built around the turn of 20th century and used as headquarters for the first credit union in the United States. Apparently, some lawyer opened the credit union in 1907 with a little help and advice from a Canadian credit union pioneer and a local priest.

The lawyer ran the operation in the evenings for no pay. The idea was to pool money from local working class community members and use the pool as a small loan fund. The idea worked like a charm clear through the Great Depression, during which three thousand banks failed but not one single solitary credit union failed.

I entered the museum during normal hours through an unlocked door, but nobody was there to greet me. The whole place was just wide open and unattended for any bum to wander into. I even had to flip a couple of light switches. I had ithe place all to myself and took full advantage of my time there, exploring every room and inspecting every exhibit.

It's a pretty nice museum stocked with period pieces like a piano, antique cash register, and the original desk and chairs at which the nice lawyer dude met with loan applicants. Many of the original documents legally recognizing the credit union are framed on the walls, along with plenty of placards humanizing the history of credit unions in the States.

Pretty momentous stuff if you're a complete and total nerd for niche historical museums. I enjoyed haunting the house all alone with my camera. Have a look at the photos if that's your cuppa joe. I threw in a map, too. You're most welcome.

View Larger Map

Trainhopping Scumfuckers

2011-02-26T00:28:00.001-05:00

To be or not to be:
That is a technicality.
Whether 'tis better to weather
The slings and arrows
Of a thousand sorrys and
You're unqualifieds
Or say
Screw this
And vacate this whore house
For greener pastures.

To board a freight train
No ticket
No destination in mind
Just away
And away
And
And
And forever and always along
Down the tracks
Of whatever and whenever
Amen.

Eight men
Cruising
In steel-smelling; rust-smelling
Chambers in wheels
Chicago to Seattle
Empire Builder
Grunge sponge
A suitcase
A big-time story that's false
But passes time good
As any drop-down TV would have been.

We arrive
Ill-stomached, good-spirited,
McDonald's coursing fatty
Through our veins
Offer a grimace and a
Shrug
For your ever-loving shove.

Sent from my iPod Touch. Please visit http://willconley.com.

Things That Make Me Happy

2011-02-25T16:06:00.001-05:00

Italian-American culture

Jazz

Wine

That's about it for today.

I Loaned My Brain to Science

2011-02-25T02:34:00.001-05:00

Many times, in fact. One of the experiences sticks with me.

I remember it in patches.

They stuck me inside a magnetic resonance imaging scanner--MRI for short. It's like a big sarcophagus made out of metal and plastic. You lay on your back in the dark while a loud hammering noise does semi-circles over your head from left to right and back again, over and over like one of those rotary lawn sprinklers: slow in one direction, fast in the other direction. It's so loud they have to give you over-ear headphones to protect your eardrums; the headphones double as a communication device. They talk to you through that, and a microphone over your mouth allows you to talk back. Essentially, an MRI scanner takes pictures of your brain by surrounding it with a magnetic field and registering the electromagnetic response. If the technicians are nice, they let you look at your brain pictures when it's all over.

While I was being scanned, they sedated me with ketamine--yes, the mild hallucinogen ketamine--"Special K" when called by its street name--until I was about, oh, I don't know, 1% conscious. They allegedly told me a story through the headphones. They brought me out of consciousness until I was about 75% cognizant of my surroundings. While I lay there in the dark, they asked if I remembered anything. I couldn't recall much of anything, and told them so.

Boom, they sedated me again, a bit less this time. I was about 15% conscious, or so it seemed. Allegedly they told me the same story as before. When they brought me back to about 75% consciousness they asked me if I remembered anything about the story this time. I vaguely recalled some girl by a river with a bridge. And there was a troll. And there was a room, and a boy--some boy--and someone was looking for something, and people were standing in a certain geometrical relationship. And I vaguely recalled the girl having red hair. Or did I make that up? It was a distinct impression, at the very least. The red hair felt real, either by their telling or by my imagining.

They brought me fully out of sedation and told me the story for the third and final time. When they asked me if I remembered anything about the story, I told it to them from beginning to end with total accuracy. I won't bore you with the details.

They extracted me from the MRI scanner and wheelchaired me into another room to dry out. A researcher asked about my overall impression of the experience. She seemed really excited about the whole thing. Her face lit up every time I opened my mouth. She made me feel as though my words were important, which encouraged me to speak at length about every last detail. Kudos to her for that.

One interesting side effect during this experience was that at one point I distinctly recall scientists in white lab coats walking around behind me while I was in the MRI scanner. My brain totally made that up. The MRI is sealed on all sides except where your feet are, for one. Secondly, no one was wearing a white lab coat before or after I entered the scanner.

No, there are no lasting effects. Except aliens. I am always surrounded by aliens in pink tutus and they all want to sell me a vegan hamburger. It's cool though. I just play my ukelele louder until the aliens retreat to a far corner to shoot craps for a while.

When I Get It Right

2011-02-25T01:17:00.001-05:00

It feels like liberating a hairball from the kitchen sink drainpipe.

I root around with a plumbing snake,

A steel rod,

A flashlight.

Nothing.

I get down on my knees,

Crank a collar counterclockwise with a fat wrench:

The P-trap clatters to the clapboards

The smell of rust mists into the room

The whole sink shakes

I shove my fingers up inside the main pipe and voila.

Catching the back of my skull on the edge of the cupboard ("Fuck!")

I emerge damp, bruised, triumphant:

"There's your problem right there, ma'am."

The dripping tangled mass

Springy between my fingers

Mysterious catacombed matter.

It's not like I can tell you what hair is made of

Or what precise path to follow should you care to attempt a detanglement

Or the scientific names of the asymmetrical creatures you might find

Should you take a microscopic head count.

I just unclog the pipes.

Sometimes they pay me.

My response to the writing prompt "Write an alternate ending to a movie."

2011-02-24T20:29:00.001-05:00

JFK (graffiti)

Instead of credits, roll the Zapruder Film.

How to Position a Flushable Toilet Seat Cover

2011-02-24T10:58:00.001-05:00

Step 1: Oh, how nice! A flushable toilet seat cover!

Step 2: Whoops, ripped that one.

Step 3: Whoops again.

Step 4: OK, let's see here...

Step 5: Um.

Step 6: Turn it the other way?

Step 7: Jesus Christ.

Step 8: Shit standing up.

If I Could Read Minds for a Day

2011-02-24T10:18:00.001-05:00

washington-post-inside

If I could read minds for a day
I'd read them in print
Dead tree edition
Over toast and orange juice
Letting the top corners flop like Beagle ears
The bottom edge jostling table crumbs into my lap

Thumbing the serrated sides
Ink dying my skin cells graphite.
Scrape a few onto a slide
For microscopic viewing
Bear the lens down
And read the thinks
Your mind has dyed.

My Favorite Place to Drive

2011-02-24T09:47:00.001-05:00

No, not pins dancing on the head of a demon. The other thing. See below.

Hellraiser Pin Head

Off a cliff
Onto the head of a pin, like an angel
Is my favorite place to drive
Just so long as the other angels don't jostle me
When I arrive.
They can be so territorial
And I've got shit on my tunic
From shoveling it all day in the stables.
So if they don't jostle and they don't mind the smell of a working angel
I'm cool with the head of a pin.
Can I dance in my car?
Next question.

If She Calls Me on the Phone

2011-02-24T00:07:00.001-05:00

If she calls me on the phone
Do I answer, "
I am a digital approximation"
?
"Press 1 for English"
?
If nexward she implies axforwardslash cramward,
Crawl out do we dare?

Allowing for 4G interference gulleting
Down telecom drawers
Well, bass synths tech know sys
Tem and dese.

Call out your sexcams
For all eternity.

I'll-withered callow stems glory funk blug fjord gunk.

Blargh.

Autocorrect blasphemy calls to me. I'll I'll I'll.

See how the cat doth hump moonweary gallumphing for e'er and ere I saw elbow.

Yeah, forward slash me to ribbons, yeah yeah. Whoa.

Glory gunk if you please continue fallow in your tread, stead, what head.

Give God gore.

Sent from my iPod Touch. Please visit http://willconley.com.

If You Wait, Wet

2011-02-23T20:39:00.001-05:00

Interwoven strands of time

Hairclipped in place

Pigtails punked

Plough through leather libraries with your bulldozer of knowledge acquisition

Thbbpt

It was nice knowing things.

Good morning, world

Deoderant, underarms, under cities, subway potpourri

Gaunt grace glanced glidewards, glinting

Gumwads ground into fiberglass seats

Polished with the ass of a metropolis

Herringbone clouds catch you.

Trick stomach twists tangled tongue torque

It's like a visit to the spam doctor

Take two *plop* and call me in *plop*

Punchlines pulled.

30 gross to the bushel

If you wait, wet.

Meet My Dada

2011-02-23T19:15:00.001-05:00

Aggravation. Alleviation. Teeter down, totter up. No balance. Dynamic equilibrium. Sight block. Limits of experience. Locked in a human.

Help.

Bite brick wall, floss with barbed wire, pain of big rock sharing drowns in my blood.

All my atoms weave their way into other DNA in the year 3014. My protestations whisper in the wind: "Shuuuuut uuuuuuup, youuuuuu idioooooooooots." Whistling through Old West gas station doors, termite-textured.

Please chuck stones on the ground until it splits and you all go mouth-up.

Continue the bound-and-gagged existence and keep hacking at it like John Henry until the mountain collapses.

2012 passed with a grunt.

2013 let out an SBD.

2014 and 2046 high-fived each other with rubber chickens.

Let go of my leg, vile devil. Irreligious of your irregardless.

Sometimes I like walking across the bottom of the fishbowl looking good and looking at you in your submarines as you blow Dumbo bubbles blissfully shredding gunt.

Why? Because all of human activity is conditioning and instinct, with a few horseflies of genuine inspiration getting swatted.

Meet my Dada.

Love in the 21st Century (A Photo Thing)

2011-02-23T13:42:00.001-05:00

The Tool String Quartet: Tribute to Tool's "Aenima" Album

2011-02-18T00:45:00.001-05:00

Dedicated to all you twisted, brilliant, nerdy souls out there.

What Eyedea Meant to Me

2010-10-19T22:15:00.001-04:00

Eyedea, the hip hop MC and all-around musician-philosopher from Minnesota, died in his sleep on October 16th, 2010. No one knows how he died yet. We'll probably never know how, as is often the case with beautiful human beings of note. Frankly, I would like to know exactly how he died, and I want it backed up with evidence and testimony from people who should speak out (you know who you are).

I knew Eyedea, real name Michael Larsen. Mainly I knew him through his music. I also got the chance to speak to him a few times while living in Minneapolis, Eyedea's hometown for life. My hometown too, intermittently. In person, Eyedea was a live wire, though he had a smoothness to him. Kind of like a benevolent velociraptor: methodical, alert, and ready to explode at a moment's notice. He smiled a lot.

I exchanged a few emails with him via MySpace back in the day. We traded thoughts on life and music. He signed his emails "Michael," so I addressed him as such. Michael was kind, frank, and personable in the email medium. Once, I sent him an MP3 of a track I had created with music and lyrics. He replied, "It's pretty cool, but you could do more with it."

Indeed. Eyedea was always exploring new ways to do more with his own mind. His mastery over the hip hop vernacular was simply not enough for Eyedea. He expanded into punk, rock, jazz, and uncategorizable musical forms.

He proved his freestyle muscle hundreds of times, most notably at Scribble Jam 1999 and Blaze Battle 2000, taking the crown in both events. He was only 17 and 18, respectively. He outgrew the idiom immediately afterwards, releasing studio albums devoted half to the battle aesthetic, half to philosophical explorations.

Eyedea's voice was distinct. A middle- to high-pitched rasp. A bit on the nasal side. He was no James Earl Jones, in other words. To me, and probably to many others, Eyedea's voice was an acquired taste. But once you got used to the unusual voice, the rewards were plentiful. I spent days, weeks, months, years, and yes, an entire decade, getting to know Eyedea's music.

I am still trying to pick apart some of his earliest rhymes. Even when the words fly by too quickly for the mind to grasp, Eyedea's delivery style was compelling enough to listen to over and over again. His passion itself--that was the "hook" to his poetry. When he rapped, it was the verbal equivalent of 20 massive fists punching holes in the concrete wall between the conscious and the unconscious.

In this, Eyedea was a John Henry of sorts. You know the legend of John Henry: Holding nothing but his trusty pick-axe, he raced a newfangled mountain-tunneling machine in a battle between the human spirit versus technology. In the end, the technology won by default: John Henry died from exhaustion.

Maybe that's what killed Eyedea. Exhaustion. Maybe he thought himself to death. And maybe the machine Eyedea was fighting was the robot that lives in all of us, trying to take over the mind and heart. He railed against mindlessness. He drove himself through the thickest parts of his own internal struggle. Where there was entanglement, there was Eyedea: Slashing, thrashing his way towards the truth. He took the road less traveled. He took the most difficult routes he could identify.

Eyedea was the bar by which I measured all other MCs, including myself. I look at my own music, and I ask myself whether it would be honest enough, raw enough, genuine enough, for Eyedea. I feel that although he was well known for his verbal fireworks, what Eyedea most valued was sincerity. Still, I always had a little pretend battle going on between myself and him on a technical level.

In short, Eyedea inspired me. He was the vine that grew slowly, covering the structure of my musical and lyrical aesthetic. Those vines will live on in me and countless others.

There can never be enough said about Eyedea. One man cannot sum him up. Help me. What did Eyedea mean to you? It can be small or large. Doesn't matter. What matters is, if Eyedea meant something to you, let us know. You can post a comment here on my blog, or on Facebook, or just anywhere. Let's brand his legacy in the popular consciousness while the iron is hot and the pelt is exposed.

Introducing Jack Move Magazine

2010-09-29T22:37:00.001-04:00

Just a few moments ago, the writer, editor, publisher, and advertising mind Emma Alvarez Gibson published the first issue of Jack Move Magazine, an old-school zine for the 21st century. I contributed a piece to Jack Move; I will leave it to you to figure out which piece is mine (hint: my byline is on it.) I am refraining from giving you the direct link to my offering, because I want you to rummage through the other quality writing on your way to reading my article.

What is Jack Move Magazine all about? From the masthead:

Like an old-school zine.

(But smarter. And sexier.)

Real talk for the thinking person. Real perspectives from real people. And a really excellent sampling of what’s current. We aim to spark in our readers the sort of sky-rips-open, wonder-filled possibility that those old zines sparked in us. Think of us as the zine-analog you’ve been secretly yearning for.

Culture and vision, vision and culture: It’s the stuff that keeps us from slinking back into the primordial soup. We think that’s worth our attention. We hope we’re worth yours.

Mrs. Gibson has a long history of writing fiction, poetry, expository writing, branding work, consulting, and of course ad copy in the course of her life. As an entrepreneur and ring leader, she has enough energy to statically charge even the dampest of spirits. On a personal note, I am grateful to her for encouraging me in many aspects of my life, not least of which is the artistic part of my life. I honestly don't know where I would be without Emma--even though we only met one time, at a Starbucks in Pasadena, while I was still living in California.

The contributors to Jack Move Magazine offer a wide range of styles, forms, and subjects. I hope you get a kick out of it. Click here to visit Jack Move Magazine and get a piece of raw energy.

A Global Anatomy of Power in the 21st Century

2010-09-26T06:25:00.001-04:00

A brief sketch of a hypothetical non-fiction magnum opus: a book about how power works in the 21st century.

Global Power

A survey of the different types of power bases, and how they interact. Governments, extra-governmental corporations, profit-motivated groups, ideologically motivated groups, and unconscious psychosocial movements. Because power does not always rest in human hands, natural phenomena would have to be treated as power bases as well; they would be integrated into the theoretical interactions of human power bases.

National Power

A survey of many countries and a more focused analysis of how power works on the national level. Inclusion of a charting system developed to measure the distribution of power in each country; such a chart would place national, regional, local, private, and hidden power in relation to one another by contact points and weight.

Regional and Local Power

Further magnifications.

Clubs, Families, and Individuals

How power works in small groups, and how individuals change this.

True Power vs. Power in Name Only

A definition of actual power bases. For example, if two countries are better understood as one in terms of power, I would explain why. If one country can actually be broken into multiple true countries, either geographically or psychographically, I would address this as well.

Patriotism

A survey of common and interesting types of patriotism, and an assessment of the influence of patriotism in each geographical region.

Culture

A discussion on how different cultures allow power to distribute itself and to what degree it exercises itself. I would trace the cultural customs and values back as far as relevance allows, in search of an explanation for why power becomes what it becomes.

Gangs, Cartels, Shadow Governments

A survey and portrait of how semi-hidden power bases influence world affairs and the lives of everyday people, as well as their real power relative to official power.

Political Systems

A discussion of various political systems (democracy, communism, monarchy, etc.) and why they don't matter very much.

Language and Art

A discussion of how language and art affect power.

Technology

A discussion of how technology changes the nature of power.

Conclusion: How To Change Power

How to change, redistribute, reduce, or eradicate power. A discussion on fleeting change vs. real change. The key message here will be that real change takes many generations, and that even the most spectacular of world events do not actually change things as much as people think they do. Change must be initiated at the cultural level.

25 Loosely Connected Opinions on the Mechanics of Personal Revolution

2010-09-24T02:12:00.001-04:00

High energy and fast poetry break barriers to entry. Don't wait for permission to speak. Move in, get in front of the crowd, and explode.
I have commandeered microphones in minutes flat. I have created stages out of staircases. You don't need airwaves and Carnegie Halls.
Raised eyebrows become head-scratching becomes stroked beards become arms akimbo become heart-pounding becomes shouts & applause in moments.
Prepare for that moment. Get the message ready. Sculpt it, chisel it, perfect it. An opportunity to unleash the message will present itself.
Blitzkrieg. The revolution of the mind cannot be self-administered. The element of surprise is key. The ego's defense relies on forewarning.
Comedians are like double agents. They appease the conscious mind to gain access to the unconscious mind.
If you want to change the world, be a mind agent. Infiltrate psyches and install messages that fuse to the ego.
"A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down."
Hackers say code is poetry. I say it's also vice-versa.
It is unnerving to think that our minds are programmable. But they are. Propagandists and marketers are programming us at this very moment.
The mind is a battlefield. To ignore the rules of battle is to allow meaningless objectives to prevail. Apply conscious programming.
Changing your own mind is often just a reconfiguration of existing components. To change your mind, an external force must operate on you.
In my experience, fundamental change is something that comes over you, like a force of nature. It's out of your hands.
Choice comes after assessment. Assessment comes after options. Options come after exploration. Exploration comes from perpetual motion.
Vision precedes perception.
Your vision is a hollow vessel. Information serves mainly to fill up and justify the existence of your vision.
Information, facts, figures, and data do not change the shape of your vision. And emotion only serves to heat and thus soften your vision.
The sheer gravity of other visions, in my theory, is the only force that can change the shape of your emotion-softened vision.
Visions can take the form of symbols. Symbols are visions that have been eroded over the years to their irreducible essence.
To draw a parallel to physics: An individual human vision is the "weak" force, while a symbol (collective vision) is the "strong" force.
An individual's vision can make subtle but universal changes to other visions. A symbol makes highly perceptible but localized changes.
In the end, we have only the tools available to us. We have language, for example: an assemblage of blunt objects and surgical instruments.
Language is partially a function of the number of people involved. Its nature changes drastically at each succession towards infinity.
It is useful to understand Dunbar's Number when talking about language, cognition, and revolution. http://bit.ly/cXilP4
We have only so many mental, emotional, and temporal resources to address such questions. There is sacrifice.

Kayak - Sponsored Post

2010-09-22T22:26:00.001-04:00

Want to fly somewhere and not pay for it? @KAYAK is offering the chance to win free flights with friends. http://promotions.kayak.com/

A blues note.

2010-09-18T15:20:00.001-04:00

The future is a terrible place, in my view.

I was born in 1980.

The 1990s was a wonderful place to come of age. Opportunity seemed endless. I was doing anything and everything I wanted. School was warm, nurturing, splendid. I was involved in numerous extra-curricular activities, mainly arts-oriented.

Outside of school, the winter ice crackled spectacular underfoot and the summer breeze cooled the leaves. Bicycles turned to car wheels. Riding was the stuff life is made of.

On the periphery of consciousness, in the media, the economy was booming harder than ever before. The human condition was getting better all the time, as far as we knew.

Friendship was solid, dependable. Love was rich, sincere, committed.

I was 21 when the planes hit the towers. I took it pretty hard.

Since then everything has seemed bleak. The first decade of the 21st century have been rough on me. I have not aged gracefully. Numerous false career starts have left me doubting I will ever find a solid niche and wondering whether I should even try. Numerous of my personal friendships and romantic relationships have shattered.

The false promise of the 1990s have left me with the 2010 blues. Thirty years old and I'm stuck in the mud with little desire to even spin my tires, let alone get out and push.

So much remains uncharted.

2010-09-15T00:10:00.001-04:00

Eighty percent.

You took some hits.

Some chunks broke off the ship.

And you're light years away

From where you started.

But you're still kicking up stardust,

Line dancing with black holes.

Swing your partner, she's all you got.

So much remains uncharted.

Will Conley
Writer
Web Presence Planner

http://willconley.com

I will not avert my eyes, I will not turn my back...

2010-09-12T15:21:00.001-04:00

I will not avert my eyes, I will not turn my back.

I will stare into the sockets of the skull, the endless black

That never dulls, that never cries, that never blinks, I will not shrink

Until the finish. Nor shall death diminish my resolve, think

Forward.

Will Conley
Writer
Web Presence Planner

Definition of Life, Not Gonna Take Up Too Much of Your Time, and Testing-One-Two

2010-08-28T20:31:00.001-04:00

The following three videos come from my first two weeks in my new apartment in Fall Branch.

Some of the many faces of me, all in one sitting. Look out!

2010-08-28T17:32:00.001-04:00

Seriously, look out.

Will Conley
Writer
Web Presence Planner
will@willconley.com

Please visit:
http://willconley.com

I recorded this, ahem, KICKASS short song under the name of Musclemouth in 2007: "Apocalypse"

2010-08-12T21:14:00.001-04:00

Musclemouth - Apocalypse by willconley

An Unusual Cabby: A Story in 25 Tweets

2010-08-11T16:11:00.001-04:00

An Unusual Cabby: A Story in 25 Tweets

I improvised this story today on Twitter, one tweet at a time. It comes from a place of need. All tweets appear here in chronological order from top to bottom and have been proofread for respectful capitalization only.

Lord, I need a lift. I need to get from here to there. You're the expert, but if I may suggest a route, hang a left and aim for the glowing.

"Hang on to your shit," spake the Lord, and floored it.

In reverse. Pinned by velocity to the back of the passenger seat like a sixth-grade science project, I could just make out my past flying by.

As Fall Branch receded into the future, I saw the places I've been. At this divine speed they appeared as wet Polaroids not fully developed.

Azusa. Pasadena. North Hollywood. St. Paul. Mounds View. St. Paul again. Yonkers. Roswell. New Haven. Geneva. Minneapolis. London. Paris.

We passed green foothills in white caps, threaded through S-curves wiggling between sheer cliffs, blasted out into great expanses of desert.

And then we were riding on water. His taxi skipped across the Atlantic like a checkered yellow stone.

The Lord never asked me whether I was comfortable.

"Thirsty?" the Lord did ask unto me. "Yes," I replied, upon which He handed me an Evian bottle full of brilliant ruby wine. I downed it.

Yea, the Lord got me completely wasted. He pulled over. I fell out of the cab onto a cobbled street. The cab had turned black. "Nice trick.”

London. West End. The Hammersmith Apollo loomed high above my head. The marquee read "BLAST!" Blast, I'm late for my entrance, I mumbled.

"Don't worry," spake the Lord, "You're fired. Get in." I looked at Him, looked at the marquee, looked at the black cab and climbed in. Sigh.

The Lord buried His sandaled foot in the floorboards and off we flew, still in reverse. "Paris, right?" I asked, fumbling with the seatbelt.

I stood on the beach of Brittany at sunset. The blue swingset. The oyster bar. My friend Sanaphay, stoned and puking up oysters. Bliss.

The Lord shoveled me into the cab again, took the wheel, and punched it back to Minneapolis. University of Minnesota. "I'm tired, Lord.”

High school: Marching band, theater, English class, cross-country skiing, crushes, Live, Dave Matthews, lockers, cars and bicycles.

Middle school: Shame, darting eyes, righteous indignation, the stench of skepticism wafting from Mead notebooks. Picking fights with giants.

Elementary school: Mr. Galinsky, a class music video, the Bookworm program, a rosy girl of long black hair named Chastity. And Katie.

Baseball cards. G.I. Joe. Transformers. Mr. Rogers. Barbara Mandrell on PBS.

A wooden fence and a little blond boy named William in red shorts. Me.

An Easter Basket of green plastic grass and chocolate eggs. The reassuring smell of cigarette smoke on Mom's pea coat.

Everything goes black. "Lord, I can't follow You here.”

"Then you aren't ready to go all the way, " spake the Lord. "I'll pick you up in 87 years. You owe Me six hundred large." Put it on my tab.

The Lord sighed. "Thanks for riding with Us." I helped Him with His robes, slammed the door and gave the roof a pat. He threw it in reverse.

The End.

The consignment shop in Fall Branch sells home schooling materials, nightcrawlers.

2010-08-08T22:32:00.001-04:00

This is normal.

Sent from my iPod Touch. Please visit http://willconley.com.

I will no longer be posting to Brand Revolutionary or Man of Many Words.

2010-08-07T18:54:00.001-04:00

Starting now, all further posts to my Posterous blog Will Conley's Random Things will no longer be auto-posted to my Blogger blogs Brand Revolutionary and Man of Many Words.

If you read me on Blogger and would like to keep up on my personal thoughts, photos, videos, etc., please subscribe to Will Conley's Random Things at http://willconley.posterous.com.

I will continue to selectively auto-post to my Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, Flickr, Picasa, YouTube, Vimeo, Viddler etc. as appropriate.

I am not shutting down Brand Revolutionary or Man of Many Words. Both of those blogs still get plenty of search engine traffic due to the occasionally useful information therein. I am just mostly abandoning them.

So subscribe to Will Conley's Random Things, and be merry.

And while you're at it...!

Have a look at my business website: http://willconley.com

No! Nein! Iie! Aniyo! Bu Shi! Nao!

2010-08-07T11:23:00.001-04:00

ALRIGHT, stop NAGGING!

And for the last time, Mom, I don't speak those languages. Do I look like a fucking PhD to you?! We live in a shack and subsist on possum sandwiches and I'm six, for Christ's sake.

(Sedona, Arizona, January 2010)

Props Where Props Are Due

2010-08-05T23:38:00.001-04:00

This should come as a surprise to the good people at Growthink.

I owe my recent interest in crowdfunding (and angel investing, venture capital, and business planning) to Growthink. They graciously offered me the chance to assist them with my writing services. In so doing, they gave me an introduction to the interesting world of seed and early-stage business management.

Therefore I felt it only fair to give them a shout-out here. Growthink is a business plan consultancy, middle market investment bank, and feasibility study service. Since 1999 they have helped over 2,000 businesses raise $1 billion in capital.

Visit http://growthink.com to get an overall sense of the company.

Visit http:/crowdfundingformula.com to view a tantalizing video by Growthink co-founder Dave Lavinsky.

This is NOT a paid advertisement. Just props where props are due.

Feedback requested! Should I keep writing about business topics? Sample article within.

2010-08-02T09:30:00.001-04:00

Hi there.

I am testing the waters to see whether my business writing is of worth to you and your networks. Depending on your feedback, I will continue to write about angel capital, venture capital, crowdfunding, and other business investment topics. I will also attempt to research and answer any of your questions about such topics, to boot.

The more valuable my writing is, the more likely you are to link to my articles and share them with your networks. The more links and eyeballs my articles get, the more revenue shares I rake in.

On the other hand, if my business writing is not compelling enough to warrant viral distribution, I make bunk and it isn't worth my time financially (even though I do rather enjoy it.)

That's why I am asking for your feedback.

Please read my article "How to Determine Whether a New Company is a Good Candidate for Venture Capital Funding" on eHow. It is one of many I have written, but I am choosing this one for testing the waters.

If you like the article, pass it around like the town bicycle. Also click the blue "Like" button, as spotlighted in this gratuitous screenshot:

Cheers, and I look forward to your feedback. Should I keep going?

Aaaand Logo Attempt #3: "To The Moon, Alice."

2010-07-30T17:44:00.001-04:00

Logo Attempt #2. What do you think of this one?

2010-07-30T15:42:00.001-04:00

I have a logo. I made it. It's mine. I am proud of my logo. Mine(c) mine(R) mine™. Look!

2010-07-30T14:02:00.001-04:00

Cow Grazing at Sunset in Fall Branch, Tennessee, July 15, 2010

2010-07-17T23:29:00.001-04:00

There's the beef.

See the full gallery on posterous

Things change quickly in my life. Here, let me slow it down for you.

2010-07-09T18:18:00.001-04:00

These are stills from a video of today's brief but banging thunderstorm today here in Fall Branch, Tennessee, where I currently reside.

I left California a little over three weeks ago. My roommate's landlord decided he can't have roommates, so I had to move out. I chose to come to Fall Branch, where a friend of mine from California is now living. The rent is cheap, the hills are rolling, and the animals far outnumber the people in this little town. The nearest "city" is the Tri-Cities of Bristol, Kingsport, and Johnson City, which straddle the Virginia-Tennessee border, about a half-hour drive away from here.

I have two purposes in life: to move, and to give. I seem to be very good at moving. What I am not good at is giving. The people I met and befriended in California taught me all about giving. They were relentlessly generous with their material belongings, but more important, they were always there to talk to me and lend me some of their light. I decided I need to do that too.

More pictures and stories to come. On this blog I give you only the synopsis. Details may or may not be forthcoming, but I wanted to keep you in the loop.

- Will

A few reactions to my first cautious steps into a study and experience of Theosophy.

2010-06-15T00:11:00.001-04:00

I went to a Theosophy class at Theosophy Hall in downtown Los Angeles last night with my most excellent roommate Pedro. I enjoyed the experience. I wasn't sure what was going on during the presentation and ensuing discussion - were they seeking the truth? conveying the truth? - yet the experience was so intellectually stimulating that I left feeling quite aware of my surroundings. It was a transporting experience.

One guy gave me some free printed matter, which I read today. I also did some background research on the oh-so-trustworthy Internet. (I trust you can hear the measured sarcasm on that last point.)

My impressions are not all roses, though.

I like that the Theosophists encourage free thought. This critique on my first impressions of the study is made in the spirit of free thought.

Here goes.

I agree with Theosophists when they say life is continuous. With death comes birth. Matter begets matter.

But I disagree with Theosophists when they say we are each a distinct personality or soul which is continuous or permanent.

I believe there to be one consciousness, as Thesosophy states. But I disagree with the idea that there is something apart from matter. The one consciousness is matter in different forms. Matter is spirit, not a vehicle for spirit.

I agree with the Theosophists when they say there is consciousness in a stone, an atom, a planet. I believe Space has consciousness, yes. Science shows "empty space" to be quite full indeed. Where there is anything, there is consciousness.

I do not believe, as the Theosophists believe, that there is such a thing as "the progression of the soul." There are only curves, not some brave charge "forward." There is no ultimate forward or backward. Einstein proved this with his theory of relativity.

The Theosophists state that there is such a thing as a "spiritual evolution" and that such an evolution moves "forward" into "higher" states of being.

Theosophists have a faulty understanding of the word "evolution." You, dear reader, probably have it wrong too. It's so simple. Evolution is a very specific concept. It has nothing to do with strength, intelligence, "karma", or anything else.

Evolution is simply adaptation. Most self-described evolutionists don't even understand this, nor do the creationists. If you need to fly, you get wings. If you need to slither, you get scales. If you need to breathe, you get lungs or gills. If you need to do photosynthesis, you get chlorophyll. If you need to sit there and not move for a few million years, you get to be a heavy-ass boulder. Whatever you role is, that's what you're suited for. If the environment changes or you leave your environment, your features probably won't work anymore. You die. For example, if your navigation system depends on abundant light, and suddenly you get lost in a system of caves, some other being who has been testing out a snazzy new way of seeing in the dark called "echolocation" takes your place. You know what animal that is. The lowly bat. And he happens to be alive when you're fucking dead. That's evolution, dudes and dudettes. It's really simple. Unfortunately, our big-ass human ego is constantly trying (and failing) to understand everything in terms of superiority and inferiority, and so we can't seem to grasp the very simple concept of evolution, which has nothing to do with "worthiness".

Note: When what's-his-name said "survival of the fittest," fittest meant "best-suited," not "most superior" nor "looks best in a bathing suit." A bigger glove is not necessarily better. You need the size that fits your hand, and that's that.

I find it egotistical when I hear anyone talk of "lower" and "higher" life forms. A human is not higher than an ant. It is different, and suited for different purposes. Ants are good at finding one grain of sugar, while humans are good at thinking symbolically. Humans may or may not be more complex than other life forms and materials, but complexity does not equal "height". That is stupid.

The ability to think in moral or ethical terms is an adaption, not an advance or evidence of an immaterial soul. We have morals and ethics because we are not naturally good at knowing what we're supposed to do. If anything, the existence of morals and ethics among humans speaks of our weak instincts. Instinct suits the rest of the animal and plant kingdom just fine. Just because we don't know how to use the tool called "instinct," that doesn't make us better or worse than anyone else. We have morals and ethics because we have outsourced instinct to a linear way of thinking. Make sense?

We are not separate from nature, and we are no more different from the rest of nature than an ant is different from an elephant. Everything is different, everything is special, and every life form must be understood on its own terms.

I do like Theosophy, as a religion, as a group of people. It's definitely not a cult. Just a bunch of smarties trying to find a religious understanding that suits them. They're just looking for a reason to live, and such a thing is difficult to do when you're of above-average intelligence in a "secular" world. Thus this quasi-historical, quasi-scientific religion (yes, it's a religion, even if a weak one) was formed to satisfy the craving for immortality of the ego.

We all have irrational needs. We all need to believe in immortality on some level. Theosophy is just one in a long lie of budding traditions that tries to pass itself off as a rational replacement for religion. There is no rational replacement for religion, and we all need religion. Please call it religion, okay? It's religion. That's fine.

This post has undergone exactly zero edits.

A Dedicated Wife and Mother Generously Shares Her Experiences with Bi-Polar Disorder

2010-06-11T13:04:00.001-04:00

This is the 5th and latest episode of The Search for Meaning at the Brink of the Unknown, my weekly radio/podcast show in which I interview for 50 minutes one interesting person who has a light to shine in the dark places.

We also get goofy on occasion, as let's face it - I have no idea what the hell I am doing. As if that ever stopped me from doing anything.

This week's episode deal's with bi-polar disorder. My guest today is Christy, a.k.a. "Charlie Angel," a.k.a. http://twitter.com/IZTAES, a.k.a. http://iztaes.blogspot.com, who was married to a man with bi-polar disorder and has two children with the condition.

Christy posted a story in late April at her blog Tea and Oranges relating her experiences with those living with bi-polar disorder. In the pieces she lauded the courage of the band Blue October, whose lead singer has the disorder and spreads awareness by openly talking about it. Such openness is not a common thing, given the stigma associated with the illness.

I found Christy's post to be compassionate, passionate, and balls-out honest - and so asked her to be on my show. She managed to take time out of her busy schedule (she has five children!) to share what she knows.

There is no stigma here at The Search for Meaning. Christy's attitude is just as brave and open as that of Blue October. The interview went swimmingly, in my opinion.

As always, share and enjoy this MP3. Stream it, download it, repost it, whatever you want to do with it. I want everyone to hear this.

For some unknown reason (insecurity), I used the eff word once near the beginning. So if you share this with grandma, just bang on some pots and pans when I say it.

I am striving to keep my "um"'s to a minumum. Feedback of any type is welcome.

Download now or listen on posterous

Searching_for_Meaning_at_the_Brink_of_the_Unknown_-_Episode_5_-_2010-06-11_-_Will_Conley_with_Christy_Angel.mp3 (12793 KB)

(http://hamguin-nohiding.blogspot.com/2008/06/start-where-you-are-my-sacred-life.html)
(http://hamguin-nohiding.blogspot.com/2009/07/unfettered-unafraid-not-hiding.html)

Rick Hamrick SHINES as my latest guest on "The Search for Meaning at the Brink of the Unknown" (Ep. 4)

2010-06-09T18:06:00.001-04:00

I am very proud of techie and seeker Rick Hamrick for having reached this radiant place in life. The man really does shine, and made me the interviewer feel quite at ease discussing such matters as the stages of life, money, and, of course, shining.

I suspect Rick has worked hard at becoming such a fun guy. There is plenty ahead of him - and enough behind him - for conveying some very solid observations about life, the universe, and everything. Incidentally, the answer to life, the universe, and everything is not "42," as you will hear.

As always, this show is entirely improvised, and there is no agenda. I apologize for my um's.

Download now or listen on posterous

Searching_for_Meaning_at_the_Brink_of_the_Unknown_-_Episode_4_-_2010-05-15_-_Will_Conley_with_Rick_Hamrick.mp3 (11722 KB)

In Rick's own words, a short backgrounder:

Rick is a father of four grown daughters, all wonderfully unique in their interests and passions. He is a career IT guy who has been between gigs long enough that the gap is beginning to look more Grand Canyonish by the day. Most recently, his wife's career is his focus as he seeks to be all the help he can be in publishing Choosing Easy World, his wife's first book released by a major publisher.

All of that "what does he do" stuff is great, yet there is more going on than just stuff he does.

A few years ago, Rick claimed to be a Sufi mystic masquerading as a corporate IT guy. Now that he is not a corporate IT guy--or is one without portfolio--he has more time to exhibit more of the inner mystic.

While it is still a tongue-in-cheek claim, as he has never formally studied Sufism or any religion, there is something to be said for claiming who you think you can be, then becoming it.

That's where Rick is now. He is becoming. We don't know what, but he is becoming.

Highly Nerdy Former Journalist Explains the Difference Between an About Page and a Services Page

2010-06-08T18:41:00.001-04:00

Whereas an About page is all about establishing brand and tone and giving readers a full journalistic sense of the company as a whole, a Services page is essentially a list that shows exactly what the readers can get from said company. Think of the About page as a news story, and the Services page as a grocery store aisle.

About

An About page should always and forevermore be called an About page. Links to the About page should read "About". The About page should be accessible from anywhere on the website, via a link at the top and/or bottom of the website. Don't hide your About page as a needle in a haystack.

The About page must contain a bit of prose that conveys the journalistic Five W's and H of the company - Who, What, When, Where, Why, How. Often these terms overlap, but make sure each of the Five W's and H are touched on in the About page. Sometimes the 5WH must be conveyed in the design, rather than in words - or in both. You need to give a clear, vibrant picture of the company here - quickly and in a highly readable manner.

Who is the company? Are you tech consultants, green thumbs, an artist? Name names, if you can. Include headshots, if possible. Give a sense of humanity by using a distinctive style and voice.
What is the company, and what does it do? Is it a law firm that specializes in helping their clients to not get fleeced in a divorce? If you sell widgets that nobody understands, what the hell is a widget? Make readers "get it" quickly.
When was the company formulated, how long has it been in operation, how fast does the company deliver services? Readers need you to give them a sense of the passing of time. It makes them feel safe. I don't know why. Just include the element of time, somehow.
Where is the company based? What geographical region does it serve? If the company is decentralized, you still need to mention place names or. We still live on Planet Earth, and so people need a sense of place.
Why does the company do what it does? What drives the people behind the company? What is the mission, the aim of the company? What is its purpose, its raison d'etre?
How does the company deliver services, how does the company operate, how can a reader get the company's services right now?

Services

The Services page is a list, period. When someone clicks on a link that says "Services" - and it should always be called "Services", by the way - they are looking for a list. Therefore it must contain bullet points, headings, and other dividing methods.

A list contains nouns. The nouns can be expanded upon if necessary to explain unknown terms. Include all of your services. If some of your services can only be explained after speaking with a client, or if your services are far too numerous to include every last one of them, you must add a paragraph of prose to give readers a general idea.

Include also an action step in the Services page. This can mean linking people to the Products page, or to the Contact page. (Better yet, include contact info on every single page of your website. Don't make people strain to reach you. Just be there for them every step of the way.)

About the Author: Will Conley is a copywriter and former journalist whose high school "College English" teacher made fun of him until he learned the meaning of "parallel sentence."

You Are Not Above the Law: Three Things Real People Look for in a Business Website

2010-06-08T17:41:00.001-04:00

Some rules never change, nor should they. The fact that you can read these reads proves my point.

This article is from the standpoint of someone who espouses the "path of least resistance" approach to website architecture and information dispersal. The faster your visitors can find what they are looking for, the happier everyone is.

You can be as creative as you want, but only within certain limits. Just like spoken language, there is a grammar to web navigation, replete with tacit rules, signals, indicators, and sign posts.

A good website follows all the rules of clear navigation - and your creativity can thrive within those bounds.

I always relate the story of the behavioral psychology experiment in which two groups of children were placed in two sets of circumstances and their behavior observed.

The first group of children, Group A, were placed in a fenced-in environment and given toys to play with. The second, Group B, was placed in a wide-open field and given the same toys.

Group A was observed to have had more fun, because there were limits within which their creativity could be expressed. Group B had less fun, because there were no limits. They were wary and disoriented.

Freedom is freedom only when there are rules. Every musician knows this. Miles Davis said you should learn all the musical scales so well that you can forget them.

You must standardize. There is nothing saying you can't have personality without following the commonly accepted signals of web navigation. Here are three non-optional elements of a business website.

1. Homepage

A business website should have a home or landing page with enough information for the reader to learn everything they need to know about the essence of what the business does. This means there should be enough search engine optimized body copy there for Internet users to find the business, but it should also project the brand, attitude or essence of the business.

Directly or indirectly, the homepage body copy should convey:

something about the mission of the company,
what the company can do for the user,
who their typical user (target audience) is, and
an introduction to the website.

The body copy of the homepage should incorporate links to the relevant sections of the website. Think of the homepage body copy as the welcome wagon and tour guide to the rest of the website. It should take readers by the arm and lead them to where they should go next - all the while informing them about the company and, if applicable, leading them to an action (purchase, download, further click-through, what-have-you.)

2. About

Every business website must have an About page that is easy to locate from anywhere on the website. When people click through to the About page, they are looking for fast access to
the essence of the company,

what it does,
where it is located,
who is behind it, and
what the company offers to the target audience.

Give the readers what they are looking for. Don't hide.

3. Products

If applicable, a prominent link to the Products page should be easy to access from anywhere on the website. Make it easy to find your products at any time, and you will make sales.

About the Author: Will Conley is a copywriter who feels that no matter what your profession, you should learn the rules so well that you can forget them.

A few thoughts on menstruation, boys behaving badly, ritual, and the Gulf oil spill.

2010-06-02T10:18:00.001-04:00

You're weak, ladies and gentleman. Weak, whiny, woman-girls and man-boys. And it's because we as a culture have no meaningful rituals to separate childhood from adulthood. If we had stronger, more jarring initiation rites to mark the time between childhood and adulthood, we would all be less pathetic and whiny and heartless as adults.

And if we replaced our self-indulgence with a healthy fear of Mother Earth, the Gulf might not be your "oops" garbage dump.

The world needs to wake and make a big deal of a girl's first menstruation. Her body is becoming a vessel capable of sustaining the species, and we should use it as a time to help the girl become aware that she must eventually let go of the trappings of childhood and accept her place in the world as a mature and responsible and strong human being.

We have turned menstruation into an object of shame and embarrassment. At best, it's aslightly droll and unfortunate event. We talk in code about it and try not to be conscious of it. Silly excuses and lies are made up about why a girl or woman is absent from school or work.

The Aboriginal Australians have rites in which a woman's first menstruation is marked by sitting in a tent for days and days, forcing the girl to come to grips with the fact that she must now let go of childhood and all the weak, needy things associated with it. If she fails to grow the up, the Aborigines can't use her and she gets kicked out of the tribe. In the unforgiving landscape of Australia, ostricization means death. She who fails to mature mentally is a danger to the survival of the community.

Same goes for the men. We need to wake up and make a big deal of a boy who starts to misbehave as a teenager, and throw him head-first into what it means to be a man. We need a point at which a man learns that this rock is a real bitch to live on and he had better grow a pair now.

Men don't have a natural division point between childhood and adulthood as a female does, so ancient cultures have made up rituals to make it obvious that the boy has to grow the hell up or the tribe will die.

The Aborigines have an elaborate, terrifying ritual to snap boys into behaving well. When a boy starts acting all tough and egotistical as testosterone is wont to make a male do, the grown men dress up like spirits, come in making a commotion, "kidnap" the boy from the mother (who plays along), circumcise him, subincise him (splitting), and thus induct him into the mens club. They scare the living fuck out of him in one painful fell swoop and make it abundantly clear that he is no longer a momma's boy, that the tribe depends on him, and he had better shape the fuck up or he's a dead man.

Sure, we have weak certain initiation rites in some cultures. Jewish kids have bah mitzvahs and bar mitzvahs. Catholic children get a smile and a slap on the cheek from the nice priest. Latinas have quinceañeras on their 15th birthday to help them act more like spoiled princesses. Men have rites involving self-indulgence – such as going to the nudie bar for the first time, smoking his first cigarette, drinking his “first” beer, and other “special” “firsts”.

In schools and frats we have ridiculous "initiations" administered by our equally immature peers. Some might say the grade school system itself – and college – are good common ways in our culture to mark the occasions of growing up, but those people are wrong. Like a frog in a pot of lukewarm water heated up slowly, such a gradual, plodding process makes no impact. The person never leaves the comfortable confines of childhood. He never feels a change. And we all eventually boil.

Well isn't all that special. None of our common rituals jar us awake. They are all "just something we go through", and don't really make a lasting change on most humans.

This post was inspired by The Power of Myth, an edited transcript of the Joseph Campbell/Bill Moyers interviews, but it is also inspired by other anthropological literature I've read. I've got a little bit of knowledge, and I'm feeling dangerous, so there you have it. My opinion about why we are all so weak and pathetic and whiny. I am sick and tired of hearing about "emotional safety", and I grow weary of us who lack the fortitude to maintain composure no matter what the circumstances.

This is a tough world to live in, and if you think it's supposed to be easy, then I rest my case: We need ritual. We need myth. To teach us what it means to grow up.

In writing this, I have left myself open to ridicule, corrections, accusations, and other concerns ranging from the legitimate and the banal. So go ahead. Give me your best shot. But before you do, think about what I have said here. Try to make sense of it. Give the information/opinion/perspective a chance. And dream with me of a better future.

I wrote this poem today while walking.

2010-06-01T21:29:00.001-04:00

Along the foothills
Down the boulevard
Threading a path along the valley
Straight ahead wide open territory

To my right mountains loom
If I close my right eye
I can pretend I am back home
Walking along some flat old highway
In the flat open plain of Minnesota

I walk on shifting sand
I stop and dig
Won't stop until I hit bedrock
Then drill a hole until the bit snaps
And plant the first piling
To my impregnable fortress

Nothing will topple it
No one gets across the drawbridge
Without knowing my dance macabre
Coreographed by the hands of puppet gods
Me versus pantheons

A lifelong tangle of war
Until by strings I rearrange the gods my way
And sit

***

Sent from my iPod

Seven Principles and Seven Desires

2010-05-30T14:19:00.001-04:00

Weeks ago I vowed to write a personal declaration of principles. I started writing them today. See below.

While writing my principles I stumbled upon a list of desires too. The two are separate, and I'll explain why in a minute.

Some of My Principles:

1. Faith.
2. A mission.
3. Hard work.
4. Persistence.
5. Breathing.
6. Giving.
7. Smiling.

Some of My Desires:

1. Embrace.
2. Money.
3. Food, clothing, shelter.
4. Happiness (not to be confused with smiling.)
5. World peace.
6. Self-improvement.
7. Release.

Principles are those things I have control over. Desires are those things I have no control over that my gods may bestow upon me if they feel like it.

You might wonder why "self-improvement" goes not in the Principles but in the Desires list. Isn't self-improvement a choice? No, it's not. Look around you. Do you see all the people talking about self-improvement? Do you see them getting any better? No. Self-improvement is a gift bestowed on you by your gods, if they feel like it, and if you pursue your principles.

This is a working document.

A mixed review of my tweets and radio show by one bold fan.

2010-05-30T01:12:00.001-04:00

This is the most balanced unsolicited feedback from a stranger I have yet received for my writing and speaking.

The feedback which you are about to read came to me via DM (direct message) on Twitter - rapid-fire, unrelenting. It is in response to my pot-stirring, "fence-sitting" tweets of the day - as well as to my radio interview series "The Search for Meaning at the Brink of the Unknown", in which I interview one person per episode about whatever they are passionate about.

The DMs sent to me by this person add up to a full-on letter - so that is how I edited and am presenting them here: as a letter.

The letter is blunt, opinionated, critical - to me, amusing - yet balanced with the proper dose of ego-soothing sugar to help the medicine go down.

Well done, anonymous fan. And thank you. I am listening. Your message may even sink in some year. You know how learning and self-improvement can be. Slow.

Here is the letter:

I love the image of you sitting on the fence, not declaring whose side you are on! I'm glad you know about [inner] division. Just don't divide by 0. It's an absurdity.

In the background, I see a line of barbed wire fences on the horizon. In the foreground, I see an extension of a steel gate - like one guard guarding a driveway. If your contention is that you are not sitting on a barbed wire fence as opposed to a steel tubed fence, then it's just semantics that you jest with. Both cases still present a fence.

Enjoy your "pot stirring." It's a refreshing change to the banal tweets.

(At this point I thanked this person for the metaphorical feedback, assured him or her I would be deciphering it for days to come, and complimented him or her on his or her way of criticizing.)

I feel summarily dismissed. Thanks for the criticism/compliments of me, though I did not ask for it. I really enjoyed Ep 2. [of The Search for Meaning at the Brink of the Unknown]! Good sound quality! Your guest for Ep. 2 [Michael Hill, Twitter handle @michaelowenhill] is very articulate and interesting. Good choice on your behalf. I wish though that you had not interrupted him so much.

I find the majority of your tweets somewhat pretentious and purposefully inciting. I Imagine that is your intention, to be taken tongue-in-cheek.

("Good feedback. Thank you. Dismissed? Bullshit.")

Are you always so laconic? I felt dismissed because you did not address sitting on the fence. It sounded like, "You are a good girl, and now run off."

("Just listening.")

You are quick-witted as well! We all have our areas of conceit; your pride centers around viewing the world beneath your superiority. I don't really know you, and as you pointed out, as authors we have no powers over how others view our tweets. But on the whole, I respect you. I admire you for pointing out our foibles. There are so few willing to be open to ridicule or conjecture.

It is my hope that you will not take offense if I have a different viewpoint. I am a fan and will enjoy listening to more of your shows. I value you.

("Can I use your feedback as a testimonial?")

Please do use it - all.

And that was that.

Now how often does a company or a person(ality) present balanced testimonials to promote their product/show? Not often. That's how superior I am.

Now listen to my radio show. You can find it for free right on my Posterous blog, http://willconley.posterous.com. Look for posts titled or tagged The Search for Meaning at the Brink of the Unknown. Stream or download it freely. I ain't a-scared.

Oh, and if you have something I might want to advertise on my show, feel free to make me an offer. Seriously, I want advertisers to pay my rent.

NOW AVAILABLE FOR DOWNLOAD: "The Search for Meaning at the Brink of the Unknown" Ep. 2 with @MichaelOwenHill

2010-05-28T14:11:00.001-04:00

The next installment in my radio series that asks the question, "What the hell is going on?" With honored guest Michael Owen Hill of St. Paul, Minnesota. I enjoyed our freewheeling conversation.

The thing I like the most about doing this series is establishing multiple beginnings. As the subject matter tends to dart from topic to topic, the podcast is intended to give a glimpse, a menu, a selection of things about the guest.

We aim to expand our mind. Enjoy the podcast and share it freely. Subscribe to this blog to make sure you don't miss any episodes of The Search for Meaning at the Brink of the unknown.

Download now or listen on posterous

Searching_for_Meaning_at_the_Brink_of_the_Unknown_-_Episode_2_-_2010-05-15_-_Will_Conley_with_Michael_Owen_Hill.mp3 (11732 KB)

WARNING: This song may be offensive to some viewers. Listeners, on the other hand, will be pants-pissingly delighted.

2010-05-21T13:08:00.001-04:00

"Anyone who worships Bukowski needs to sober up. Nuff said." - @jepun

That is the tweet (and new follower) that prompted me to post my song "Judgment Gun," which includes this disdainful reference to Bukowsky:

You smoke to make your voice sound like gravel

So that one day everyone will finally take you seriously

And revere you as the next Charles Bukowsky

Only wiser

And therefore even more of a jackass

WARNING: This song may be offensive to some viewers. Listeners, on the other hand, will all be delighted to the point of pissing themselves.

Download now or listen on posterous

Musclemouth_-_Judgment_Gun.mp3 (1910 KB)

Track Title: Judgment Gun

Lyrics written and vocals performed by: Will Conley a.k.a. Musclemouth

Original music composed and performed around the lyrics by: Nolan Voss (drums, bass, guitar - I think)

Recorded in Nolan Voss' bedroom studio in New Haven, Connecticut in 2006

Untitled

2010-05-21T12:57:00.001-04:00

"Anyone who worships Bukowski needs to sober up. Nuff said." - @jepun

That is the tweet (and new follower) that prompted me to post my song "Judgment Gun," which includes this disdainful reference to Bukowsky:

You smoke to make your voice sound like gravel

So that one day, everyone will finally take you seriously

And revere you as the next Charles Bukowsky

Only wiser

And therefore even more of a jackass

WARNING: This song may be offensive to some viewers. Listeners, on the other hand, will not be offended in the least, to a person.

Searching for Meaning at the Brink of the Unknown Ep. 2 with guest Emma Alvarez Gibson

2010-05-17T19:14:00.001-04:00

Hi all.

I am releasing Episode 3 of "Searching for Meaning..." early because of the great timing. Writer, publisher and brand strategist Emma Alvarez Gibson (@ealvarezgibson on Twitter) discusses today's release of the new magazine Delish Mag (http://delishmag.com).

As the host I also made sure we went off on many tangents and abrupt topic changes to see what we could learn about life itself.

Enjoy and spread this recording far and wide, if you are moved to do so.

- Will

Download now or listen on posterous

Searching_for_Meaning_at_the_Brink_of_the_Unknown_-_Episode_3_-_2010-05-16_-_Will_Conley_with_Emma_Alvarez_Gibson.mp3 (9457 KB)

"The Search for Meaning at the Brink of the Unknown" Ep. 1 with honored guest Jason Thompson (@PotatoFilm)

2010-05-15T18:00:00.001-04:00

Here via teleconference I interview movie critic, scriptwriter and author Jason Thompson of Los Angeles, California. I've known Jason as @PotatoFilm on Twitter for many months now. This interview was the first time we ever heard each other's voices.

Topics covered include day jobs, movies, music, John Williams, Jaws, Natural Born Killers, the elements of the perfect Hollywood movie that has not yet been made, the problem of clarity in multiplicitous environs, and much more.

My goal as an interviewer here was to delve into the mind and activities of Jason Thompson to see what we can discover about the larger world. To see the universe in the petals of a flower.

I hope you enjoy this natural, improvised conversation as it meanders its way around the central topic of movies - and quietly wades into deeper waters en route to clarity.

Download now or listen on posterous

The_Search_for_Meaning_-_Episode_1_-_2010-05-15_-_Will_Conley_with_Jason_Thompson.mp3 (11136 KB)

After hearing this 10-minute improvised recording, what do you envision my call-in radio show focusing on?

2010-05-14T18:26:00.001-04:00

Discover Simple, Private Sharing at Drop.io

Testing Drop.io Voicemail-to-MP3 Embedding in Posterous #It'sTheNerdHour!

2010-05-14T16:44:00.001-04:00

This might or might not work. :)

Discover Simple, Private Sharing at Drop.io

"Jump" - A poetry and music soundscape by producer Justin Dullum and spoken word artist Will Conley

2010-05-13T13:50:00.001-04:00

Jump by Dullum And Conley
Download now or listen on posterous

Will Conley - Jump.mp3 (1624 KB)

The talented, innovative musician Justin Dullum and I recorded my poem "Jump" at his studio, D.O. Music, in 2002 - back when we both lived in Minneapolis. I gave Justin carte blanche to do anything he wanted to my poem. I threw him some suggestions - make it "echoey", use heavy bass hits, have lots of cut-and-paste of my voice - that sort of thing.

This was the result.

Listen to samples of Justin singing and playing guitar at http://www.isound.com/justin_dullum.

Teach Like Your Hair's on Fire: The Methods and Madness Inside Room 56 by Rafe Esquith

Brief Review of "Teach Like Your Hair's On Fire" by Rafe Esquith

2010-05-08T11:19:00.001-04:00

My rating: 5 of 5 stars This was instructional but mostly it was beautiful. I cried. This teacher will blow your mind over and over and over. Read it if you are a teacher, but also read "Teach Like Your Hair's On Fire" if you want to know how to live a better life. I learned - and re-learned - a few priceless lessons. View all my reviews >>

Hobo to Will via pic-text moments ago: "Million-dollar view. Didn't cost a dime."

2010-05-04T13:56:00.001-04:00

A hobo on social security from Connecticut named Eric passed through Azusa last week, befriended me, set out eastward via bus yesterday carrying only a backpack, a tent, and a duffel bag, made three hundred miles in a day, camped out under the stars who-knows-where, and pic-texted this image to me moments ago with the words, "Million-dollar view. Didn't cost a dime."

This is about six layers of my voice and nothing else: "A Drone Tone Poem"

2010-04-28T18:42:00.001-04:00

A Drone Tone Poem by Musclemouth
Download now or listen on posterous

Musclemouth - A Drone Tone Poem.mp3 (2974 KB)

Enjoy.

Twitter: http://twitter.com/willconley777/
Facebook: http://facebook.com/wconley/
Posterous: http://willconley.posterous.com/

And for my fellow social media omnivores, here is my entire Web footprint: http://willconley.extendr.com/

Rant? Poem? Satirical allegory to be read in the voice of fawning PBS naturalist Marty Stouffer? You decide.

2010-04-28T16:21:00.001-04:00

Hi!

I'm Marty Stouffer.

*fawning, smiling Marty*

And this is:

Wild America!

*uplifting nature music*

Last week on Wild America,

we saw the bald eagle removed from the endangered species list
and take to the Technicolor skies!

*caw!*

Soaring freely amongst the smog,
this majestic creature surveyed the land
for some well deserved prey,

dove for a three-headed frog and
drowned in a river of pig shit outside a factory feed lot in Upstate New York.

*intense nature music*

The flowing river carried the eagle
along with several newly evolved strains of lethal microbes
spawned from the fanatical use of antibiotics
to your local water treatment facility.

The porcine feces was strained through a colander
and piped into some lady's quadruped bathtub in New Jersey.

*Marty takes a long drink of vodka from the plastic bottle*

*music picks up speed*

Curiously, her antibiotic hand soap had no effect
on the avian bird flue she subsequently contracted.

Had her grieving dog not hacked to death on its bark collar
alerting the neighborhood with its rotting corpse,
the old lady would never have been found.

*kazoos*

This week on
Wild America:

We'll see donkeys and elephants fight
like junkyard dogs

over sacred cows and red herrings

to the passionate bleat of
three hundred million well fed sheep.

*eerie silence*

*Marty shooting up*

Next week:

Jackals
rape
everything.

Same shit different day,
I'm Marty Stouffer.

Here is a song I made about how I am a slut.

2010-04-27T20:11:00.001-04:00

The Circle Game by Musclemouth
Download now or listen on posterous

Musclemouth - The Circle Game.mp3 (2881 KB)

Listen to and download, free of charge, "The Circle Game" by Musclemouth, an alias of mine. I recorded this song, which is a hip hop fantasia of sorts on the Joni Mitchell song by the same name, in 2007. Its lyrical contents may or may not still be applicable to who I am today, depending on whether I am lying.

Yes, the song is named after the Joni Mitchell song.

Yes, the lyrics to the chorus are identical. Yes, the rest of the lyrics are mine, all mine.

Yes, the music was made from a slowed-down, beefed up, drum-enhanced sample of another song whose name and creator I do not remember.

Yes, this is acceptable within the realm of music, especially within the realm of hip hop, whose roots rest squarely in the art of sampling and re-purposing.

Yes, all the vocals are mine, all mine.

Yes, you can have it for free.

Yes, you can and should share it with your friends, family, enemies, ex-significant others.

Definitely share it with your ex-significant others. You'll look like a perfect lady/gentleman compared to the me represented in this song.

Will Tries to Pour Heart out to Tony Beneath Major Low-Flying Airplane Corridor

2010-04-26T16:32:00.001-04:00

This is just a very rough rough-in of a sketch comedy idea Tony and I came up with. All improvised using some sound effects on Tony's phone. Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/willconley777

Dr. Strangetweet: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Sponsor

2010-04-23T19:20:00.001-04:00

I am experimenting with in-stream advertising on Twitter.

I am terrified of losing friends over it.

What is in-stream advertising?

In-stream advertising is allowing an advertiser to post a tweet using your Twitter username, among your regular updates. An in-stream ad usually has a description of the product or service, and a link. Such an ad also contains a disclaimer hashtag for transparency, such as #ad, #paid, or #spon (short for "sponsored").

The idea is you would post multiple regular tweets (5, 10, 20, hundreds) per single ad. Theoretically this would strike a fine balance between regular content and paid content, so that no one calls you nasty names like "spammer" or "marketer" or "capitalist" or "content provider" or "deserve to get paid for all the work you put into creating interesting stuff online" or...

Oh wait, maybe advertising isn't all bad. After all, we let television and radio and movie theaters and the ass of your pants have advertising. Why not a tweet stream?

There are two common types of in-stream advertising:

Contract: The advertiser pays you a certain amount of money to post a few tweets via your stream over a given time frame. For example, an advertiser might tweet through your profile three times in a week - once at the beginning of the campaign, once in the middle, and once at the end of the week. They might even rent your Twitter background design on the Web for the same period, as in the case of Twittad (although Twittad 2.0, due out next week, is updating some of its distribution methods. Big things are brewing there.) When the period is complete, you are paid through PayPal.
PPC: Pay-per-click. You are only paid when someone clicks a link in the ad posted through your Twitter username. Dozens of ad networks use PPC as their distribution/revenue model. Magpie is a big one. MyLikes is another.

For normal human beings who lack superpowers such as flight, superstrength, or mainstream fame, payouts are usually a few bucks. Not bad. Not Benjamin-burnin' money, not "I'm On a Boat", but not bad.

I am trying multiple Twitter in-stream advertising networks because I want to compare them. Which ones have the best revenue model? Which ones do advertisers like the most? Which ones do I as the user like the most? Which ones do my friends and followers like the most?

I am taking it very, very slow. I am working with a live audience here - my followers. There is no controlled survey panel, here.

If I tweet out the wrong type of ad, or if a product or service I help to promote does not at least somewhat measure up to my standards, I will be rightly seen as untrustworthy, and my revenue model - *trust* - is gone.

That's why I'm terrified. Well, no, not terrified. Not after writing this post. Just scared. No...not even scared.

Actually, the fear is gone. I have confidence in what I create and share online. I believe in the words I write, the films I shoot, the photos I snap and select, and the other things I share. I believe in the genuineness of the relationships I have cultivated, and I am not afraid to lose a few ideologues who frown on the idea of making money from the content I create.

Those same ideologues are probably too busy blithely sitting through and readily tolerating a television commercial for Goldman Sachs to care about little old me, the free-of-charge content production machine.

We should all get paid for our efforts. And besides, the advertisers I take on to support me? I guarantee I am not letting anything by me. If it's not relevant, if it's trash, I am not running it. All of my advertisers have to have something going for them - a product or service that I am not ashamed to show to my friends - before I approve them.

To be continued, when I feel like it. :)

For a good time, visit:

Twitter: http://twitter.com/willconley777/
Facebook: http://facebook.com/wconley/
Posterous: http://willconley.posterous.com/
YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/user/willconley777

And for my fellow social media omnivores, my entire Web footprint: http://willconley.extendr.com/

A Sort of Ode: Nature, Man, and Why I Respect Anyone Who Chooses to Exist

2010-04-23T14:36:00.001-04:00

Mankind is an astounding innovation.

We procreate, we fill the Earth, we alter Her skin. We send bits of Her to other spheres, sometimes even riding along in little Earth bubbles, and back again.

We hold hammers and swing cities into existence. Show me one volcano that can do that.

Mankind can out-blast a volcano. Nukes. Out-sweet sugar cane. Aspartame. With paint we vie with flowers and macaws. The Sistine Chapel. Mankind is skilled in mimicry, driven by ego, helped by cunning, given wing by dream, and foiled by choice.

We do these miracles - for better or for worse - despite impossible odds. Such power deserves respect.

When you respect someone, you honor his appointment as drafted host to the awesome forces of nature that move through him.

We did not ask to be born. We were selected for the job of existing. Within our bodies course dozens of hormones each with its purpose, each its predestined agenda. With microscopic cells nature builds our bodies and conducts an endocrine symphony of autonomic functions and semi-conscious urges - including those that direct us to eat, sleep, fuck, and defend.

To make matters more complex we are arranged in interdependent communities of humans within an interdependent ecology of plants, animals, minerals, and astronomical forces. How we deal with this system of urges and consequences determines how gracefully we behave.

It's a hard job, existence. Yet here we are, transcending our limits daily and constantly bringing psychedelic dreams into the material world.

That is why I respect any individual who chooses to live, and why you should respect him too.

On Being Twitter-Genuine

2010-04-23T12:52:00.001-04:00

I like social media. I use it for fun. I use it to connect with people, trade thoughts, open doors, and enrich my world IRL (In Real Life).

I use Twitter the most of all my Web profiles. Its 140-character limit encourages thought condensation. Twitter forces you to crack the shell and present the nutmeat of your message.

What are most people looking for when they go online?

Enrichment. That's it. People go online to enrich their lives - and the lives of others, believe it or not - through knowledge, information, interaction, creation, and commerce.

People want to feel as though they are not just wasting time and energy staring at a computer screen and tapping away at buttons. Activity does not equal experience. Those who go online to waste time just haven't found what they are looking to experience. It's easy to get caught up in virtual distractions and aimless Web wandering.

We need realness. Texture. A pulse.

On Twitter specifically, we need you to be more genuine. We need to feel as though your tweets are popping off the screen, and entering your being, and changing who we are in some small way.

How to be more genuine? Put another way, how can you be more you, online?

The first thing you need to understand is that the real world - the offline world - is better than anything you can find online. The five senses must never be forsaken. Understand this, and you will bring a vibrancy to your Twitter persona that 95% of users seem to have forgotten.

I spend a lot of time online. But I'm a multi-tasker, as they say. I walk a lot. I talk with real people wherever I go. I'm outgoing. I look at the world. As I write this, I see mountains to my right, and a clear blue sky above. The weather is chilly for a Southern California April, about 60 degrees. There is music playing on the outdoor speakers here at this coffee shop. "Hearts of Fire." Traffic rolls on all around me. People getting in and out of their cars.

Real life is what you want to share online. Avoid getting caught up in link bait (the gratuitous sharing of links), and other self-referential treasure hunts leading nowhere.

Be you. Be a thinking person. Be a philosopher. A humorist, an observer, a communicator, a mother, a musician, a Costco employee. Be what you are, and strive towards what you wish you were. Reach out to people. Share what you are feeling for real. Tell the world where you're at, what you are doing. The mundane details of life, the amazing revelations that occur to you through your senses or through your soul.

Share multi-media when appropriate. Direct friends and acquaintances to things online that you find amusing or useful or moving.

But be always on the lookout for that which is genuine. Don't be afraid to say something controversial. There is too much self-policing going on both online and offline. We don't need self-censorship, because that is boring and useless. We need genuine thoughts.

We need you to be yourself. If you do that, people will flock to you. We're hungry for the genuine.

For a good time, go to:

Twitter: http://twitter.com/willconley777/
Facebook: http://facebook.com/wconley/
Posterous: http://willconley.posterous.com/

And for my fellow social media omnivores, my entire Web footprint: http://willconley.extendr.com/

Untitled

2010-04-21T14:19:00.001-04:00

This is the latest in my series of documentary video clips starring my friend Tony, who is black. Followers of this series know Tony to be a frightening figure, what with his being from the ghetto. Note the intimidating bling (Blackberry on a lanyard) bouncing from Tony's neck. As you might already be aware, I am only friends with Tony, a.k.a. "The Tiger", because I am afraid not to be. You understand, right? Here he is depicted effing ish up, old school, on the real, in Oaktown, but in Los Angeles, but actually Azusa. Ish is rough here.

Here also is a new character in the saga: Victor, who is Latino.

For the record, I myself, who am white, am white.

Get to know Tony in-depth: http://willconley.posterous.com/tag/tony

Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/willconley777

"Stone, Gem, Rock." (My third set of three related haikus a.k.a. "tri-ku".)

2010-04-20T17:08:00.001-04:00

Humming through darkness,
palm thumps stone. Fingers encage.
Water falls, stone glows.

"There it is, your gem.
"You've barely scratched the surface.
"All this time, still pure."

Nodding donkeys pump
black gold from blue and green rock
awash in starlight.

Three related haikus, or "tri-ku." Example here.

2010-04-14T15:07:00.001-04:00

Lines. Calligrapher
meditates, drags brush through ink.
Stroke: "Vapor, Air, Sky."

Condensation trail
horizon to horizon
begins to disperse.

Razor crosses palm.
Platelets like poppies bloom one
by one by one by

The Crystal Ball: These Eventualities I Prognosticate

2010-04-14T11:43:00.001-04:00

The next step in our cultural evolution is the televised celebration of self-actualization, followed immediately by the realization of the movie Idiocracy.
After Idiocracy, a religion of sticks and stones that emphasizes not sitting on cacti and hot stoves will spread like wildfire.
Economists will rule all. Unfortunately everyone will fancy himself an economist, so, still more-or-less anarchy but with dolphin-safe tuna.
Then, philosophers will emerge from the rabble. People will say how smart the philosophers are and how cute they look in cages.
Philosopher-safe tuna will be invented.
All the bubble gum will lose its flavor. A dark time.
At that point the sky will turn forever grey due not to global warming or other chemical or physical change, but to a lack of imagination. The good news: Charlie Chaplin will make a comeback. The bad news: It will be as the title role in "Weekend at Bernie's 4,753."
Then IQs will soar. Children will play Duck, Duck, Partical Accelerator. Mindful parents will play "Baby Jung" to their newborns.
Mysteriously, socks will cease losing their partners in the laundry.
At some point, reality television will depict a suburban strip mall and people saying "Hey, Hi, What up," and not really playing head games.
The last possible date of the apocalypse will pass without incident. In the face of such security and well-being, a general sense of meaninglessness will pervade the popular landscape.
Finally, Conan O'Brien will migrate to TBS. The end.

- inspired by Nostradamus, Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett, and the distinct sensation that I am dematerializing

Built to Last: Here I note 2 archaeological discoveries of the distant future, and 2 older ones (4 images w/descriptions)

2010-04-14T11:02:00.001-04:00

Four photos of logos built to last, two of them contemporary:

A communications conduit access cover stamped with the Verizon logo, circa 2000 A.D. Will be excavated at Azusa, California.
A power conduit access cover stamped with the Edison logo, circa 2000 A.D. Will be excavated at Azusa, California.

And two older logos for comparison's sake:

Roman Legionary stamped brick from the Roman Tenth Legion that sacked Jerusalem, c. 70 A.D. Such stamped bricks paved roads and comprised buildings.
A personal seal that belonged to a military commander, c. 650 A.D. This seal is rare in that it depicts a Hebrew in the style of an Assyrian warrior.

Within a range of intention, a random outcome. (Photo)

2010-04-13T21:04:00.001-04:00

I am proud of these photos.

2010-04-12T13:07:00.001-04:00

Each of these streak photos was taken along San Gabriel Parkway in Azusa, California while rapidly moving the lens across, toward, or away from the subject using a Samsung R451C cell phone equipped with a very basic 1.3-megapixel camera and tuned in Picasa 3. In my opinion the most geometrically complex photos in this set were captured during an apex of a zig-zag or shaking motion. The photos are meant to be viewed in a series, but I'm curious as to whether you have any favorite shots.

A trio of haikus.

2010-04-11T16:32:00.001-04:00

Speeding comet tail
like whip of lion tamer
cracks upon Leo.

Horizons dilate.
Pupils stretch to lines, reaching.
Places weave fingers.

"Grapevine," said the post,
"Climb. Cling slowly. Cover me."
In darkness, tendrils.

- Originally posted on my Twitter. (@AlanEggleston commented: That's why they invented the exclamation point. "!")

There is something so triumphant and so undeniable about a well-executed flash mob.

2010-04-10T22:10:00.001-04:00

via youtube.com

Some things you just have to respect.

Frankly, this is one of the most beautiful public stunts I have ever seen.

2010-04-10T18:48:00.001-04:00

via youtube.com

Dearest Suniva: The Sacred Love Letter, Cornerstone of Our Civilization

2010-04-10T02:57:00.001-04:00

The only favor she ever asked of him was to write her a love letter.

He wouldn't do it.

He never did it.

But then he did.

When she read it, it broke her.

The Love Letter was written in indigo ink on an 8-1/2 X 11 sheet of premium printer paper folded in three sections and tucked into a business envelope sealed to the corners. On the front of the envelope in indigo ink was her name:

Suniva.

Dearest Suniva.

That is how the Love Letter began.

Dearest Suniva.

That is all we know of the Love Letter. The rest has been surmised through decades of scholarly research since its discovery at the Atlantis Dig. Most data pertaining to the Love Letter is sourced in the oral traditions of families whose chief occupation has for centuries been the preservation of the metaphysical human heart.

According to the Keepers of the Oral Traditions of the Metaphysical Human Heart, the Love Letter opened with an anecdote. A little story about the sender's morning, which contained rain. A sentence or two to set the scene, so that the recipient could imagine him sitting down to write. Imagine him thinking of her, thinking of what to say.

With his indigo ballpoint pen he addressed his Dearest Suniva. His only Suniva, his darling Suniva, his Suniva forever and ever. The handwriting was flowing script, for he was of the morbid sort, and she the sort who longed to be imbibed.

There is some conflict on this point. Some Keepers of the Oral Traditions of the Metaphysical Human Heart insist that the Love Letter was written in the neat, block print of a successful IT engineer. Others passionately argue that it was the chicken scratch of a broke artist.

The Love Letter contained three fresh strawberries of the sweetest variety, the kind you can purchase only by the side of a highway. It also contained one bunch of grapes, plucked one by one and fed to a goddess. There was also a pomegranate, halved, its powerful seeds glistening amber in the sun by a tree by the lake in the summer.

The sentiments expressed in the Love Letter were born in the great hall of the great palace in little storybooks worn soft through years of "Read it again", and the Love Letter whipped up stardust bouquets through ominous astrological constellations.

It quoted Yeates and also Dickinson, if tradition is correct.

These are the facts.

They who recount the nature of the Love Letter invariably – to a person – take on a rosy glow when doing so. Their eyes close to slits as a smile approaches the corners of their lips which, when opened to speak, give the listener the impression he is opening the Love Letter for the first time - and that he is she who first opened it untold eons ago.

"The Love Letter," say the Keepers of the Oral Traditions of the Metaphysical Human Heart, "is our Rosetta Stone."

The Love Letter, in addition to being the cornerstone of our modern era, is well understood to have been extremely sexy. The Keepers maintain that the recipient of the Love Letter turned white upon reading it, and died of empty veins. No evidence of a wound is mentioned in the fossil record.

The envelope and salutation of the Love Letter will be on display at the British Museum of Natural Love through Thursday, December 87th, 3045. Tickets: $140 million. Students and Seniors: $40 trillion. Telepath Joe Kearney, docent, for more information.

###

Dearest Suniva,

I love you so much, baby. Hope you're having a nice day.

Love,
Joe Mann ;)

Get to know Tony's patented walk: "The Tiger"

2010-04-09T15:31:00.001-04:00

This is my friend Tony's patented walk. It is called "The Tiger," because that is Tony's nickname. Tony is was too awesome for the front of a Wheaties box, so they stole his nickname and made a mascot out of him for the front of a box of Frosted Flakes. Tony didn't sue, because Tony is nice like that. But if you diss his walk, he will sue. He will sue you right into the East River.

Note: Audio track was paid for dearly, but I could only afford 27 seconds of music. The film you are about to see is 34 seconds in length. To offset this handicap, you are encouraged to whistle the "Smurfs" theme for the remainder of the video, as Tony demonstrates here.

Another note: This is merely how Tony walks when he is not driving his whore magnet.

My shadow looks very trucker. My jeans look pasted-in. Weird.

2010-04-09T13:50:00.001-04:00

Row of Salvador Dali bronzes depicting Don Quixote. What is this technique called?

2010-04-09T11:17:00.001-04:00

I saw these at the Shatford Library yesterday near the old printing press and the 1948 Intertype.

I've got questions for anyone who knows.

1. Are all of these made of bronze, do you suppose? What gives some their gold tone and others their silver tones? Does it have something to do with galvanization?
2. What is this technique called - in which the material is raised three-dimensionally? Are these called "bronze casts"? "bronze bas-reliefs"? "bronze wall hangings?"
3. Is the subject Don Quixote as I guessed?

Even if you don't know, educated guesses would be appreciated. I ask out of plain curiosity.

Mariachis stormed my coffee shop this morning looking like a million bucks.

2010-04-09T10:59:00.001-04:00

Nine nice young mariachis, El Mariachi Juvenil, stopped off here at Starbucks in Azusa, my usual morning spot, on their way to a gig. They were all smiles and good vibes and holding sandwiches. Not all appeared to be Latino. They humored my request to pose for me -- minus one mariachi, who was absorbed in a conversation with someone off to the side.

They were nice enough to pose, so I'll be nice enough to pimp them out. Here you go:

Their business card reads:

Front:
Haga Su Fiesta Inolvidable con El Mariachi Juvenil (Make your party unforgettable with the Youth Mariachi)
Camino Real (Royal Road)
David & Rosalva Martinez
Información (626) 334-1193

Back:
Mariachi Juvenil
Camino Real
Musica Para Todo Ocasión (Music for All Occasions)
David & Rosalva Martinez
Información (626) 334-1193

1948 Intertype C4 used keyboard and molten metal to produce lines of type for newspapers.

2010-04-08T15:53:00.001-04:00

Shatford Library, PCC campus, again. (See a simple printing press here.)

Old Printing Press in the Shatford Library at Pasadena City College

2010-04-08T15:39:00.001-04:00

Meet Tony's whore magnet: a 1934 Ford suped-up with a gratuitous fifth wheel.

2010-04-08T15:11:00.001-04:00

This is my black friend Tony's bitchin' pimpmobile. You might know Tony from such films as "Meet Tony. He's Hardcore" (http://bit.ly/meettony).

This dream machine kicks out 40 horses on four massively tiny cylinders. She's a state-of-the-art 1934 Ford with sweet rims, plus an extra wheel up front by the driver's seat so Tony, a.k.a. "The Tiger," can caress it like a woman's head when he kicks back and rolls through the 'hood in this teal whore-magnet.

Tony is pictured here with this, his preferred mode of urban jungle-ruling, sporting a fresh, steaming cup of Starbucks Pike Roast, because he does not. Mess. Around.

Even though Tony, who is very special as you can see in the YouTube video here, kicks my ass every morning when I see him chillin' by Starbucks just to help me to understand his plight as a black man, I hang out with him because I'm scared not to.

Tony owns the title and deed to this killer piece of machinery. Ask him to show it to you sometime. I dare you.