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[09/10/2016 07:22 pdt]

This week shows the Clodmaster section of the site up to 30 pages and streamlined right back to the master. We love seeing progress on this front so any advancement is wonderful. The truck continues as we have always hoped.

Also, the entire site has been stripped of baggage which slows load times. At this point we are seeing ~200mS loads from servers as far away as Australia. Very nice.

DP is stagnant at the request of admin. He does not wish any expansion to be anything less than his 'perfect' ideal, so we have been asked to forgo any further work in that direction. On the upside, the staff has secured two more top-level domains in order to further the vision and as such they have been aligned with the same. We shall continue the search for any relevant scraps. One day soon, the metropolis will see light.


hexagram




The Cave and the Period


"Walls covered with black murals. Bedroom furniture as a workshop. Memories and memorials hanging in every segment of sheetrock. 'The Lord of the Rings' trilogy flowing from the speakers and across the monitor. Fog hanging outside the balcony. Windows perpetually covered to keep out prying eyes and the world. The aroma of bourbon in the air. Multi-colored lighting creating a surreal atmosphere within.

This was our space for many months.

We still miss it after more than four years. We found some sort of detachment and comfort in that cave which brought out creativity in a damaging and isolating manner. We roamed and worked on various projects both mechanical and artistic and all the while there was stress over the decisions which brought us to the coast. That small rental became our entire world and cradled us as it destroyed us. We wrote for hours, days, weeks, months... all the while wondering if anything could happen to keep us above ground. We connected -- not to living, breathing souls -- but to others across the planet who knew nothing of our detachment and destruction. We worked through Clodmaster electronics issues and made absolutely no progress in any direction. All was simply filling time to avoid the worry. We drank heavily and ate anything which distracted our being from reality. We hid in there and ventured past the door only to replenish the alcohol and other supplies which enabled us to remain in a bubble void of societal noise.

We relished the darkness and sat within it, alone.

The very idea of being around others became alien to us very quickly. Once drapes and lighting were in place, and a few necessary furnishings allowed us to relax, the door to the remaining world was closed and locked. Fuck them, all of them. Leave us alone.

[The images displayed within this entry have been here before, however the need has arisen to link the visual past to our thoughts yet again.]



apartment 1

Looking out toward oblivion



In the beginning, we strove to create an atmosphere which brought some semblance of comfort. The effort all paid off over time, as the glowing LED lighting and strong messages on the walls separated us from the past brightness and clarity. The darkness we felt inside flowed into the cave like a river of needs born of negativity. Familiar media was available at any moment and that is something with which we have identified since childhood. Going through daily activities with said media keeping us company became unbelievably important. The aforementioned familiarity and a sense of one-sided company eventually formed our only friend -- a friend that would never leave, irritate, disappoint, or disagree. That friend was isolated, just like us, and closed up within our space. We were in total control during a time when everything else in our lives stayed most decidedly out of control.

The Shield (which will be explored in detail at a later date) was on the wall in hopes of protection from the haphazard nature of living. We were frightened of anyone impeding our way of life and terrified of others within our cave. The backing on draperies was that of hotel blackout, and the result of such thick, dense coverings was yet another type of control -- light. We have always felt at home in the dark, and the days of Winter have always been the least taxing on our sensitive eyes. With the drapes spanning the glass wall which was the west end of the apartment, we could close out the light and the world, effectively eliminating anyone from glimpsing our activities. Also, RGB lighting inside meant the glow could be adjusted to our variable moods to better follow suit.

The lighting also conveyed the atmosphere outside the cave during the night. As we had become partially nocturnal, during the evening and early morning hours the drapes remained open and the dim reds and oranges showed the others that ours was a space not to be disturbed. Sometimes blood red and other times burnt orange... eyes were drawn to the look of exotic coloring, but the nature of the lighting kept anyone from inquiring as to our lives. The mood inside was rarely positive. The occasional knock at the door was unrealized and resulted in an increase of media volume. Stay away and let us wallow, please. Ignore the colors. Fuck off.



apartment 2

Symbolism everywhere



Nails over the bed in the living room.

Just as the previous decade, the Nails assisted with keeping us in mind of the option of death (the inside of the safe was walled with rounds for the .44 and .357 just in case things became dire). This does not mean he led us there... he simply put things into terms which aligned with our way of thinking. That was the first painted wall covering in the cave and it led us to create more symbols to assist in separating us from the fucking herd outside. His words have inspired us to think freely, uniquely, and clearly, and pushed us to live apart from the mentality of the sheep. We never would have been able to live this long -- nor this focused -- without the compositions represented on that wall. Over a period of years beginning in fateful 1994, he became the unrequited and nearly unrealized love of our lives. He became all that we needed on a daily basis and a force we could not withstand. He pushed and we attempted to push back, but soon we knew he was to be a muse of sorts. Once we accepted this, the path became clear. We are still on that path. Along with Maynard, he helped us like none other.

Nails.

Yes, we nailed the door shut from inside that cave, and those nails eventually found their way to the outside as well. No problem. Nail us in. Tape, screws, glue, whatever. Seal us in. We wish we were there now. Fuck.

Whilst nailed within the cave, we wrote. We also worked on electronics, photography, drawing, and other interests, but the writing was a cathartic process just as in years earlier. The idea of creating something significant from our minds was magical, even inspiring. We attempted to be third-person, but ended up drafting woes and pain (just as this black hole of a blog). The beginnings of the stories which took their shape over many moons have not seen completion. The ideas and outlines became too great to detail. Other writings, however, became poignant. And further, they are out there among the active server pages of the electronic world. The essays (and those as of yet unpublished) are safe -- backed up all over the office and the planet. The archive here is evidence of the backward yet somehow still creative nature of our minds. We have found much importance in maintaining every stitch of our work no matter the circumstances within life. We need to keep everything as it was written during all times, good or bad. The cave was all bad until we attempted to lift ourselves out of the sludge and move forward. That typically resulted in a fall of sorts. Sometimes a very bad fall. We always recovered, though, and from that point seemed to be enhanced and more relaxed. And as such the writing continued and continues. We still love it.

This site did not benefit greatly from the experience of living within the cave, unfortunately. Most of the work was in the Clodmaster direction and did not add to the personal nature of Coma. In fact, the site was not even named Coma at that time, nor was the domain. That information must remain under wraps and is a part of the archive, in a manner of speaking. We simply cannot have certain aspects of the site's history brought into the open (hence the '02 archive on permanent hiatus). The word control has permeated this entry and for good reason -- we need it like nothing else.



apartment 3

Massive paintings representing isolation



All of that writing -- be it paper and pencil or keyboard -- helped to keep us distracted from the outside (and from them), and served to mold us into what we are today. The sound of the keyboard and the endless availability of information has provided comfort on some odd level and a link to the past. During the early years of administrating this site we found the idea of editing and coding had become a visceral need along with other aspects of life. We closed ourselves in to a small area and let the words flow out to the world. This is still the feeling even today. While in the cave, it became not only a similar need but a method for communicating our feelings in such a way so as to avoid any direct backlash from others. We were anonymous, cut off from the herd, and free to broadcast. On more than a few occasions, unfortunately, we bled the words onto the billboard that is FB. This was bad and forced us even further into hiding and led us to speak more pointedly. Lashing, burning, screaming at the sheep around us and pursuing further isolation placed others who actually knew us into a defensive posture. The entire affair became a tug-of-war which we had no intention of losing. Our ground had to be maintained and we did whatever was required to keep others both at arm's length and in their place. Ouch. We are still capable of such scathing material, but the need has diminished slightly. Hence exploration of the form prominently displayed on these pages since the beginning of fifteen.

We wished to explore further, and since roughly 2007 the thought of expanding work here into such a discipline seemed enticing. The interest and subsequent obsession remained behind locked doors due to fear of being inappropriate. Now? Fuck it... we no longer give half a flaming shit who reads nor reacts. Bring it and suffer.

The current incarnation of our web presence has become even more of an outlet than in the past. We have total control over the entire domain, several other domains through which we can expand and file our subjects, and enough storage in three different directions to hold everything we've ever written more than ten thousand times over. The domain ownership cannot possibly be overstated in this day and age. It represents a segment of the electronic frontier against which no one can push. The domain and related space is immune to sanctions of any kind and enjoys the largest freedom of creativity in history. On top of all of this, it is global and top-level in the parlance of the now.

Why do we go into this and how does it relate to the title? Well, this is an extension of what we enjoyed while cooped up in the cave. We had the space and freedom, but did not fully realize the implications. Now, we do. And the result is a feeling which has become a combination of the cave and the ability to keep it in amber. And holy fuck do we need to remember. Everything.



apartment 4

The universe we inhabited alone



Late ten, all of eleven, and the beginning of twelve have formed a period of time unequaled in our history. There were many things which we still found the ability to enjoy, and they were chafing against so many memories and trials that the comparison from one to the other is that of exponentials. Even now we sit and type these words during yet another period -- one of equal uncertainty and difficulty. The troubles of that period remain and are carried every single day, and now combine with the vast differences of the current times. Steady workload brings income which allows us daily comforts such as food and a warm place to sleep. We have found that throughout the past many years, and no matter the location of life, we can sink into the evenings with the things we need in order to find solace. To this day we do the same. We sink into the night and separate ourselves from the outside and the others by creating our own world. It works, and it works well enough to keep us alive despite the demanding and often overwhelming need to escape. Vegas is always there... waiting, welcoming, and invisible, as it were.

During the end of eleven we were still with NASA. The routines of that career were absolute and filled with habits which were carried from those of decades earlier. While in the cave, working at NASA became a comfort all its own, and daily life there extended into our little realm with similar routines -- scheduling, buildings which welcomed us as a part of their history, and a comfort born of others whom shared the same. We were a crew which worked as one. We all enjoyed the benefits of such a unique place of work, and for the other two-thirds of that small group the activities were just as important. Extremely similar goals, moment by moment, and they carried us through the days.

The manner in which this helped while in the cave is important. We could count on certain aspects of our lives as being under our total control. The workplace was the same. When the time came to head home after a given day, we did not necessarily yearn for the cave because the comfort of work helped to keep us grounded while away. Once home, we adjusted the atmosphere to align with our mood and sunk right into that which we needed most. The simple truth is this: Work was not so detached from home. The period of time between leaving home and returning home was somehow 'ok' and satisfying.

Still, without the cave to keep us upright, we have one hell of a time remaining in the light. Many aspects of life have become reminders of the near and far past and we cannot seem to escape them no matter the effort."



archive this way



Random Quote:

"Life is not lost by dying; life is lost minute by minute, day by dragging day,
in all the thousand small uncaring ways."
-- Stephen Vincent Benét


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