kingtycoon | (no subject)

Walking through the snow the other night, all along mayfield, it's been the same snow for months now, it's been cold. We're talking about art & art ideas & movements and then also personae, identity, thoughts concerning that. I tell her the story of how I started to call myself Kingtycoon, and how one day I wrote this manifesto & spent my last few bucks printing off copies to hand out and denounce reality at strangers. All of which are true things that once happened.

She gets excited & a little mind blown, something has changed & I'm about to be thrilled to have transmitted the gnosis. "You know dad, I thought you called yourself that because of Zoo Tycoon." And I laugh and laugh. It's still pretty funny.

We've had a good set of weekends to correspond to a bad set of weeks. In a moment our group here at work is meant to have a department-wide lunch. The second banana honcho tells me she's planning to bring up flagging morale- which is a balsy move. I wonder if she will. She's not wrong, it's been really ugly around here for a while. Quit without a backup job ugly.

Weekends have been good — birthdays and all that. I got to be 43 and it's alright, I guess? My knees are hassling me in a way they haven't before and I felt it furiously yesterday at the opera. Bridget got us tickets to see the opera of Moby Dick in Pittsburgh — so I got a car and we drove out and saw it and drove back and the hard part was sitting in the fancy theater because 100 years ago people were apparently miniature.

I love Moby Dick and I really like the opera — so it was a nice confluence of favorite things and out of seemingly nowhere. Who knew? Facebook told me about it — on my phone where I can't quite block advertising like I'd like — but I was advertised properly, algorithmically. It was just okay. B said the 2nd act made it alright, redeemed, and I wasn't pedantic enough to say anything about how she meant the 3rd act. But she meant the 3rd act. I disagreed, but only because... In Moby Dick the captain is drug to a watery hell by the whale he's been hunting, pinned to its side by his own spear — his ship smashed to bits and the only one to see it is some nobody riding the coffin of his dead friend. It's such a climactic climax, it's so fucking strong — you could write your whole book just to get to that scene, so everything short of what I imagine it to be is not enough.

Anyhow, Pittsburgh is very nice, pretty. Even in this dingy brown & gray season. It's a pretty place and I'm in a good mood today & I can't help but wonder if just changing the view has improved my disposition, have I been too much in this crumbling old town?

... Oh man. So the grill wouldn't work for lack of propane & I fully expect a tantrum to be inbound. Who even knows anymore about anything? But... Okay. I think I have a plan. Maybe spring has come at last? The sky is blue, the weather has broken. Maybe I'll work forward with these ideas I have, these books I could at least make.

Oh! Yeah, so... My D&D character got promoted to a divinity and then that campaign kept going with people following him as worshipers — so I went ahead and started making his scripture, because of course I did. I think I can get this finished up sometime in the next couple of weeks.