Hit Or Miss

I post some cool Mars photos, get a few views, go into hiding, peek up a few days latter when the coast is clear and post again.  As you can probably guess I am immune to the social addiction of Facebook Twitter and Gab. Hey, at least I got a superpower.

“I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.” 
― Sylvia PlathThe Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

I read her journal about fifteen years ago. I liked it. That was when I was active reading and playing golf. Did not play at all last summer, that was sad.




Bit of a power trip seeing things that very few other get to see. Ego boost. And the coin flips in the air, flashes George, and always lands tails. And tails always fails.


Still, Rock and Roll is forever.

Playing A Lot Of Squad Lately

Best team based military shooter out there right now. It has the total immersion I look for in a computer game. I did chop some wood and carried some water today also.


“They stood there, King of the Hill, Top of the Heap, Ruler of All They Surveyed, Unimpeachable Monarchs and Presidents, trying to understand what it meant to own a world and how big a world really was.” 
― Ray BradburyThe Martian Chronicles

There is some wild shit on Mars.  And now to return to Earth, perhaps a southern honkytonk. The driving force of life, no escaping it, except to embrace the frenzy.


Up My Game

Really good Rock and Roll will drive a man to new heights of content presentation. A kick ass jam will charge him with the fervor of creation. And if by good fortune he strikes artifact gold in his very next HiRise down load, he can almost hear the alien angels singing.    Remember, you are the music.


Better Get Used To Being My Used To Be

The guitar break in this song is like the flow of the mind, well a certain type of mind. The alcoholic mind. That always wants to break free. That is continually transitioning to a different state.  That just wants to get out. Out where it is-am not.

Once Mars is colonized it will no longer be of any interest to me at all.

Anywhere Out Of The World – Poem by Charles Baudelaire

This life is a hospital where every patient is possessed with the desire to change beds; one man would like to
suffer in front of the stove, and another believes that he would recover his health beside the window.
It always seems to me that I should feel well in the place where I am not, and this question of removal is one
which I discuss incessantly with my soul.
‘Tell me, my soul, poor chilled soul, what do you think of going to live in Lisbon? It must be warm there, and there
you would invigorate yourself like a lizard. This city is on the sea-shore; they say that it is built of marble
and that the people there have such a hatred of vegetation that they uproot all the trees. There you have a landscape
that corresponds to your taste! a landscape made of light and mineral, and liquid to reflect them!’
My soul does not reply.
‘Since you are so fond of stillness, coupled with the show of movement, would you like to settle in Holland,
that beatifying country? Perhaps you would find some diversion in that land whose image you have so often admired
in the art galleries. What do you think of Rotterdam, you who love forests of masts, and ships moored at the foot of
My soul remains silent.
‘Perhaps Batavia attracts you more? There we should find, amongst other things, the spirit of Europe
married to tropical beauty.’
Not a word. Could my soul be dead?
‘Is it then that you have reached such a degree of lethargy that you acquiesce in your sickness? If so, let us
flee to lands that are analogues of death. I see how it is, poor soul! We shall pack our trunks for Tornio. Let us go
farther still to the extreme end of the Baltic; or farther still from life, if that is possible; let us settle at the Pole. There
the sun only grazes the earth obliquely, and the slow alternation of light and darkness suppresses variety and
increases monotony, that half-nothingness. There we shall be able to take long baths of darkness, while for our
amusement the aurora borealis shall send us its rose-coloured rays that are like the reflection of Hell’s own
At last my soul explodes, and wisely cries out to me: ‘No matter where! No matter where! As long as it’s out
of the world!’

Here Is My Song

My Mars photos, my Mars discoveries. I study the ruins, and my life’s work is a ruin. Someday to be found.

Fame is but a fruit tree
So very unsound
It can never flourish
‘til its stock is in the ground
So men of fame
Can never find a way
‘til time has flown
Far from their dying day

Forgotten while you’re here
Remembered for a while
A much updated ruin
From a much outdated style

Life is but a memory
Happened long ago
Theatre full of sadness
For a long forgotten show
Seems so easy
Just to let it go on by
‘til you stop and wonder
Why you never wondered why

Safe in the womb
Of an everlasting night
You find the darkness can
Give the brightest light
Safe in your place deep in the earth
That’s when they’ll know what you were truly worth
Forgotten while you’re here
Remembered for a while
A much updated ruin
From a much outdated style      -Fruit Tree  Nick Drake

Lonely Ass Mars Ruin Making Me Sad

Stupid ruin out in the middle of nowhere on the side of Mt Sharp. Pile of crap that nobody cares or know about anymore. All wore down and out, ravaged by the elements like that boondoggle car will be when it flies past this God forsaken planet.

Whew, glad I got that out of my system.

Hey! I got somebody reading my blog right now in real time!

“The worst readers are those who behave like plundering troops: they take away a few things they can use, dirty and confound the remainder, and revile the whole.” 
― Friedrich Nietzsche


Enough Complex Geometry?

Strange working in the field, xenoarchaeology. A discipline that does not exist. Still, having a solid background in existential philosophy I do realize my incredibly fortuitous  stroke of luck in going down the path, of having the life problem of showing the existence of alien ruins on Mars to people who do not, and are determined, to not believe in them.

I have to chose to believe in my own existence.    And like to believe in the existence of the ruins. With any luck nothing will come of it.

“Almost all our discoveries are due to our violences, to the exacerbation of our instability. Even God, insofar as He interests us—it is not in our innermost selves that we discern God, but at the extreme limits of our fever, at the very point where, our rage confronting His, a shock results, an encounter as ruinous for Him as for us. Blasted by the curse attached to acts, the man of violence forces his nature, rises above himself only to relapse, an aggressor, followed by his enterprises, which come to punish him for having instigated them. Every work turns against its author: the poem will crush the poet, the system the philosopher, the event the man of action. Destruction awaits anyone who, answering to his vocation and fulfilling it, exerts himself within history; only the man who sacrifices every gift and talent escapes: released from his humanity, he may lodge himself in Being.”   The Temptation to Exist by E. M. Cioran (1968)

Car into space. Rash, retribution will be swift.



To All Who Stop By.

Thank you, sorry I don’t post more often but that would just encourage you to come back.

“I suffer from life and from other people. I can’t look at reality face to face. Even the sun discourages and depresses me. Only at night and all alone, withdrawn, forgotten and lost, with no connection to anything real or useful — only then do I find myself and feel comforted.” 
― Fernando PessoaThe Book of Disquiet

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