Lanczos method

He listened to the radio. Surprisingly clear for this time of year. Bridgeport was up on Abbotsford 3-2. A tight game. Abbotsford is coming off being shutout at Peoria. Embarrassing really. You have to come back strong from games like that. Richard Pryor was from Peoria, and he probably never watched hockey. He grew up in some weird brothel.

Now lost in a thought, Heldrich Erbostron reached into the shallow, damp closet and picked out two slabs of rotted steak. The steak, now rotting in its own brine for 3 months, had formed a yellow crust in the middle, but a moist green ring around the perimeter. He liked hockey, and he liked his methods for steak curing, as he called it. But, just like hockey was not actually for him to play, these steaks were not for him to eat. The steak was currently stored beneath some umbrellas and some old newspapers, just like his forefathers had taught him.

Once removed, the steak would be, as usual, set aside to be viewed. Once absorbed and tuned in by the rest of them, it would be served in the as is state. Heldrich had an army of evil automatons, created in the abandoned post-industrial zone of Cleveland. Atop the floor viewing area of a foundry, a place Heldrich called home, he sat and massaged his steaks. The automatons sought a nostalgic rush from the area and from the rewarding work, but were not programmed to do this. Instead, they were programmed to work monotonously on small time parts and projects and dwizzle away their existence. They had always been programmed to do this. They needed energy for these tasks, and the rotten steak meal provided just that. In fact it provided a wealth of nutrients specifically designed to be loaded with bacteria required to build up immunities. Efficiency. Efficiency was held in highest regard by Erbostron and his types, and his newly developed systems would encourage it. Or so he thought.

Pete Kovalstok, one of the better built automatons, also happened to be a very good automaton. He was in the Soviet army, somehow, for 5 years. In addition, he had studied heavily the Charles Manson mind re-programming methods in conjunction with advanced mathematical methods while doing time in the military. Before much work had even been accomplished in the name of Heldrich, Pete had built a dated cannibalistic suicide cult using only his mind and the powerful Lanczos method to reprogram. Within days, the formerly abandoned industrial site was only occupied by 201 corpses. Twenty days later the corpses had been sold to a wholesaler for scrap, leaving the vintage factory grounds in their original abandonment.

Join the dreaming dead

Next week, in exactly one week, people will turn out to the Wisconsin polls to determine some amount of their own fate, albeit not that much. Even politicians would admit such. November 2nd is the earliest possible day for voting per law, which means that we get bombarded with seemingly less shit within one week of election, although this is simply a mirage. The weather turns to an old man's ass this time of year, and so prolonging the vote one week further actually benefits candidates (the ones that have a deep war chest), as they depend on people in Wisconsin to sit in front of the television while avoiding the elements.

So, here we go, the modern advanced struggle for power continues, completely exclusive of educated voting centered on real issues. Hell, I'll be the first to admit that I'm not educated very well on this election. I'm beginning to wonder who is, or if it's worth it. I know who's running, and I know the basic platforms of each party this election cycle. I also know that we're in a new era of political platitude. Insults, accusations, and manipulation are used in inventive ways to make us believe something is changing and/or happening. Mainly inventiveness here is defined as a threat against your livelihood used to make you vote a certain way. Christ, I guess we should be amazed that at least something is being presented to us. Really, we should. In actuality, and even the politician would have difficulty denying this, the motive for running rarely comes from the desire to serve. Or, more specifically, the motive changed at some point for most politicians. The benevolence of servitude has been lost in the high-profit business of lobbyist 'rights', bribery, and power attainment. The former two reasons are legitimate, and one can reap decent rewards from corruption. The third seems to be a human condition rooted in ego, sold to oneself by the promise of job security and further cash and maybe, if we give any credit, the idea that they will make positive change. No credit will be given here. Both political parties, barely differing from one another, seek power above all else.

So, good luck to you Wisconsin voters, let's make this happen. Together, we can, or so they say.

Joining me at the bottom of the pool

Last week I came upon a heap of Iron Maiden records recently acquired by Half Price Books. This was a good fucking day. A sad day for somebody indeed, but nobody that I know. They obviously died or were forced to get rid of their Maiden collection in order to make room for newer, better stuff (like some giant inflatable Christmas decorations. It was, after all, rather immature to listen to those records). In any case, the day lives in the heart of me.

Now, what I really came to the table to discuss is the art of dance. I know that a) I am not good at dance and that b) if it were possible for me to be good at dance, it is unlikely that I'd put the effort in to come to resemble a champion or even to be able to move semi-elegantly. That being said, I've come to learn, through brief study, that dancing is a great life-saver. It keeps people slim and healthy, just like mom wanted. It keeps the heart pumping it does, and on top of that, it's great fucking fun. Wow. But, as I said, I won't likely be showing up to any fox-trot recitals or break-dancing shows. Not me. My BMI is slightly elevated, I know, and I could certainly benefit from some routines. But, let me tell you, it's not in the cards for me. My knees are clammy and my wrists are like glass. There's just no way. Unless, of course, I could do something for charity. In this case, I would get out there, for the children.

Donations, the amount left to your discretion, can (and should) be sent to me.