Dear (E:Strippers),

Thanks to about a dozen of you repeatedly telling me that I should take up posting here again as I walked around (e:enknot) 's party on Saturday night, I have returned to try to keep an online personal journal here about whats going on with me.

For those of you who do not know, I am EJTower, the guy who was walking around with the laptop and a microphone at the party? I am 6'6" tall ? Putting it together through your happy drunken haze? Good.

So here I go, my good faith start. Thanks for your interest.

~E.

December 11, 2006: Today I tried to burn down my house.

In the morning, you understand, I am incredibly incoherent. This problem has plagued me for many years and as such I have designed my life to be a post-noon life for the betterment of all humanity, but mostly myself.

On those rare occasions that my life gives me cause to rise before mid-day I do my best to get a hearty breakfast, otherwise I am in the habit of being rather temperamental. Down right asshole-ish if you must.

Today was such a pre-noon day in need of a hearty breakfast start. So I turned to the pantry and pulled out an oatmeal bar; the kind that are delightfully tasty when warmed in a microwave. Then instead of proceeding to make the oatmeal bar in the microwave as I should, I instead made a short tangential trip to the freezer to get two hot-pockets for lunch whilst at work.

In my morning stupor I decided it would be a good idea to preview the directions for the making of these hot pockets, so that upon arrival at work I would not be completely helpless in front of my coworkers. Coworkers who delight in making fun of the helpless for no other reason than they enjoy being mean. Anyways, I read the directions on the hot pocket box:

Two minutes on high, rotate once after one minute to ensure full cooking.

Then I broke open the package for my oatmeal bar to allow proper ventilation of steam, as per its directions, set the microwave and proceeded to wander upstairs to check out the work of the painters who had come to work on our house a few days previous.

Satisfied with the competency of the painting crew which was by now three days gone with the landlords money, and anyways out of ear shot of my angry morning painting criticism; I returned to the kitchen to find the microwave beeping happily while it filled the room with thick gray smoke.

With retrospective eyes I can now see how the microwave might have thought it was being helpful, seeing as it had successfully completed the task of cooking the oatmeal bar to my specifications. At the time, however, I could give the microwave nothing but my total scorn because I wanted the oatmeal bar done well, not well-done.

Now, before I relate to you the comedy of errors that proceeded from the moment of my finding the thick gray smoke emanating from the joyfully beeping microwave. You should know that the error lies in having been forced to wake before noon, everything else is a sort of casual catastrophe caused by that situation. For example it was clearly not my fault that, after reading the directions for the hot pocket, I proceeded to type two minutes into the keypad of the microwave. A microwave which just assumed without asking that I preferred my oatmeal bar charred to a crisp and covered in molten plastic for good measure.

For the record the difference between what you type for a hot pocket, and what you type for an oatmeal bar is only one zero. 2-0-0-start for hot pockets, 2-0-start for oatmeal bars. Now onto my comedy of errors.

Seeing as the room was already filled with gray smoke, from ceiling to floor, I decided to open the door of the microwave to make it harder for me to breath. Now filling my lungs with gray smoke I decided it was time to try to open the windows. Our kitchen windows are the crank kind, but you see some time ago both of the crank leavers disappeared, and were replaced by a single set of channel lock pliers.

So now that I was choking on the gray smoke, and unable to breath, did I run from the room? No no, like my diligent microwave chef i continued on longer! After finally getting the windows open I hung out them and scoffed out the smoke from my lungs.

I then proceeded to run about and clean the whole room. ah, there is more but it is not quite so much fun as all that. thus dear reader, i will give you the short of the rest of my catastrophic morning:

1 burnt oatmeal bar

1 broken glass

1 soaked pair of pants

1 instance of hanging myself on a door knob by the cord of my headphones

1 late arrival at work who smells like an arsonist having just completed his job

Over the past few months I have been impossibly busy with school, but during that time I bought a microphone and began a project I have wanted to do for some time. My own podcast. So it is with a bit of a girlish gleee that I introduce: Cognizant Flux
Episode 1: The Test Signal [MP3]

Part I: Editorial - The Challenge of The Future
By ~E.J. Tower

Part II: Sketch - Zombie City Day 3
Johnny Left ~E.J. Tower
Theadore Kazonski K. Tower
Zombie K. Tower

Part III: Mediaddict 1 - Net Laws
By ~E.J. Tower

Music: Fade Away Helios
By Somnambulist

Whilst I was out walking today I stoped to take a picture of a rose and look who is in the background.

In the past week I have biked a great many miles, and have learned some importaint things about biking and getting around our city in general.

Lesson One: Don't stop to talk to strangers on your bike. If you do, then don't let them get within reaching distance of you.

Now let me deflate the drama by saying that my material possessions and I are perfectly alright. I was on my way back home from south buffalo on bailey near clinton street when a guy on the side of the road whose car had broken down shouted to me.

He was a rather large white guy of about 230lbs and 5'9" his car had two flat tires. He asked me if I had seen a bus on my way out of South Buffalo, I said that I didn't. But as we were speaking he began to close in on the 15 feet I had left between him and I. His next question as he approached me on my bike was "can you give me a ride to Broadway?" My "oh shit" meter hit about 10 at that point and I peddled away from him a bit. Said that I couldn't and left him there.

I don't know if he was serious about riding my handle bars. I would think it would be clear to anyone who can see my skinny physique that it would have been impossible at best. But I was definately very serious about him not getting close enough to give himself a ride on my bike.

Lesson Two: I have more problems with the residents of south buffalo than I do the residents of the east side.

For some time now I have said that this is the case. In terms of people deliberately confronting me in a hostile manner, south buffalo wins for most number of times.

Those baggy jeaned kids in south buffalo have some terf ideas in their heads I think.

Lesson Three: If you make good time one trip, but pull a muscle, thats just the same as making bad time for two days.

Today I made it from SPoT down town to my house around the walden and harlem area in 30 minutes. But I pulled a muscle in my right knee. I am hoping I will be fine in a day or two. Being fine by morning would be nice though.

~E.

Out of this Kingdom of Rust
By: E.J. Tower

We live in the bones of our grandparents economy,
Worshipfully preserved; behold its corpse in gruesome detail!
Empty eye socket buildings staring out across this kingdom of rust,
All safely guarded against the arrival of change.

We people of no name,
Looking for identity in ruins of what was,
Seeing not the self-made self in what could be
If only our chains would rust away too.

We who dream with such hope,
Each day set out to build an empire out of vestiges,
Each day returning with bleeding dusty hands,
Our undertakings thwarted by clout unseen. Fret not!

We are the flames of life breathed into this dead blast furnace,
To smelt away the rusted impure.
We rise each day from ashes, and spread wide our fiery wings to fly.
They cannot stand each day in crucible for long.