Friday, March 8, 2024

 3-8-2024 Last entry was three years ago. I've been journaling through that time. I've also been creating music as well as posting, anonymously lately, on Reddit. I'm an introvert. I'm very private. But lately I feel I owe it to myself for some reason to post here. 

There's a big contradiction involved. But then I've always been contradictory, paradoxical. I'm generally secretive, yet like an open book. I've been called an open Rolodex. 

In a few weeks, I'll be copyrighted some tunes I've written in the past two years. Who knows, I might make the solopsistic gesture and put some of the lyrics down here. Solopsistic because the statistical odds of anyone ever finding this site are close to zero. And actually, that's perfect for an isolationist introvert. To thine ownself be unknown. Do not let your right hand know what your left hand is doing. Or your right hand. 

Where is fancy bred, in the heart or in the head?

 



Friday, August 20, 2021

You Don't Know Me

 Thank goodness no one looks at the madness I reveal here. To you, this is just a blog that doesn't exist. To me, it's CYA for possibly misleading anyone that I'm a conformist/normal person. I never was. 



Duration VI - Octavio Paz

 

I will speak to you in stone-language

(answer with a green syllable)

 

I will speak to you in snow-language

(answer with a fan of bees)

 

I will speak to you in  water-language

(answer with a canoe of lightning)

 

I will speak to you in blood-language

(answer with a tower of birds)


Wednesday, March 3, 2021

 I'm working on a novel. This is where I am with the prologue. Copyright 2021 by Dan Ellender. All rights reserved.

 

The Bingo Mafia 

 

Prologue

 

    Tyler Brandt hoisted himself out of the limousine in front of Gulf Central Care Center  as usual, and went to open the door of the pearl white Maybach 62 Landaulet. It was a fine, clear afternoon. He was a rather large young gentleman, stiff and clean in his handsome chauffeur's uniform. Looking down, Tyler saw with pleasure that his shoes absolutely gleamed.  He opened the back coach door with a flourish.

 

    But no one got out. That is to say, there was no one in the back seat to get out. Only a woman’s hat and dress coat, and a pair of pale blue silk lace gloves.  At first Tyler simply stood there, in his usual half bow. Then he looked up into the cool, insular back seat with his eyes, which quickly grew wide. Slowly his head lifted and then the rest of him. Standing stupidly, he felt a soft humid wind blow through the live oak trees.  Tyler felt himself starting to sweat.

 

     Looking around and seeing only residents out in their wheelchairs and walkers, the big man finally allowed himself to panic. He leapt into the back of the Maybach and tore through it, pulling forward the front seats and even taking up the brocaded gold floor mats. Finally he got out, opened the trunk, and quickly extracted the two small pieces of luggage that Helen Batiste-Lenoir always brought back with her from New Orleans. He climbed completely into the trunk, searching inside it. Then Tyler struggled out and even looked under the big car, soiling his crisp uniform on the concrete. But Mrs. Helen Batiste-Lenoir herself had disappeared into thin air.

 

    This was all too much for Tyler, who had enjoyed the best job of his life for the past two years. The frail little woman, a prominent resident of Gulf Central Care Center, had been in the back seat when he’d left the French Quarter and put in his earbuds. He would have sworn to it. Now, she'd simply vanished. Tyler was sick over what might have happened to Miss Helen. In defeat, he got up off the ground and sat down on the curb, wringing his massive hands and staring straight ahead.

 

    The morning was still fresh and bright, with all the sounds of a southern spring. A mockingbird sat in one of the tall oaks and chirped like a cell phone down at Tyler.  The sky was crystal clear and the humidity of the day was slowly escaping from under the sprawling oaks and tall pines. But for Tyler, everything had changed as soon as he opened that car door.

 

    His life was finished. He was a failure at the job he’d held onto with such pride. His wife would never understand. They would have to move, probably back to Morgan City. Where was Miss Helen?

 

    The tiny woman had always been nice to him. Riding back to New Orleans last week he’d asked her “Am I like driving Miss Daisy, Miss Helen? You know what I mean?”

 

    “Now, Tyler,” she’d replied. “You know that I think more of you than that old woman thought of Morgan Freeman. You're better looking than him, too.” Then she was on the phone and had him raise the windows up.

 

    Tyler felt someone softly tap him on the shoulder. He looked up from the curb, where he was still sitting like a drunkard in a dead stupor. With the sun framing her shoulders and hair like a halo, Sharon Castle looked down at him.

 

    “Awwwww, what’s wrong, Tyler?” In the bright crisp morning  a gunshot and crash of glass filled the air, startling the mockingbird.

 

 



Sunday, June 11, 2017

The Local Astronomical Bubble


Recently I found out our solar system is in a distinct bubble of gas with actual borders and tunnels into other bubbles. Look at the wikipedia article on Local Bubble and you'll begin to understand: Our galaxy is not a uniform vacuum; rather there are distinct areas or volumes or maybe 4d space where particle density and the temperature of vacuum change. Our solar system has been in a particular region of this particular bubble for about 44,000 years. When you look at a section of galactic space, a 3d model, it looks like a complex manifold. Why am I not surprised.



Philosophically, this means that our conception of space, at least this layman's conception, has been fundamentally flawed. Does it make a difference? To me it does, because we now seem to have a scale of time and space we are within. Also it gives credence to the possibility of different continuums than our own.



And finally, it's important because this knowledge implies how much we do NOT know about how our reality operates.