Welcome to Adam P. Knave dot com

So yeah it’s 6:30 AM here. My sched is all sorts of fucked up, so I’ll be grabbing food and then reading a bit more and then hopefully sleeping a bit. Eventually.

But now I’m writing, which isn’t a shock I suppose.

It is, however, a shock to me to return to characters and voices I started what seems like ages ago. To find out that while they’re still there they have also gone and changed in the interim and that you simply can’t capture the past. Instead you can only fumble toward it grasping and groping.

And then the past smacks you in the face and your fingers fly and everything crystallizes into perfect harmonious clarity. For about a second. Because that’s the secret of the world – everything is in the seconds. Nothing lasts, nothing worth having at least. So instead enjoy what you have while you have it, don’t mourn the losses too much and know that in the next second—

right there—

it’ll be back and gone again.

There it was again. Did you blink? Stop that.

There.

Here.

Happiness. Joy. In the seconds, not the minutes. Not the hours or the days and months.

That fleeting burst of perfect.

That’s the idea.

Never forget. Never.

Jules: So he had a spoon?

Vincent: No, man, I’m telling you, the whole point was that there wasn’t a spoon.

Jules: So what did the motherfucker have in his hand?

Vincent: A spoon.

Jules: Well there you go then, he had a spoon. So don’t go tellin’ me he didn’t have a spoon.

Vincent: No, you misunderstand.

Jules: All right, motherfucker, enlighten me.

Vincent: See, the guy had what looked like a spoon, but there was no spoon. It was just a representation of a spoon. But it wasn’t real.

Jules: Now hold on. It looked like a spoon?

Vincent: Sure.

Jules: Did he hold it? I mean did it have, you know, mass?

Vincent: Yeah.

Jules: So if it was a physical object that fucking looked like a spoon, how was it not a spoon?

Vincent: All right, see man, the Matrix was like this – what do you call it – other plane of reality, sort of. And if you knew that you could interact with it in ways it wasn’t designed to be interacted with.

Jules: So you could make spoons not be spoons?

Vincent: No, man, no. The spoon was a symbol. It was just an object in the Matrix that didn’t really exist outside of the Matrix, unlike the people. So it could be acted on.

Jules: So it’s like Plato’s allegory of reality being the shadows on a cave wall, then.

Vincent: Exactly.

Jules: Except the shadows weren’t even real. It was more like a shadow of a dog, but the guy was just making a fucking dog puppet with his hands and calling it a dog and, what, fooling most people?

Vincent: There it is.

Jules: So the whole fucking Matrix is really just Plato with fucking dog puppets?

Vincent: Pretty much, man.

Jules: That shit is weak sauce.

Vincent: Tell me about it. Now can we finish up here and get this case to Mr. Wallace?

Jules: Mr. Wallace ain’t no fucking dog shadow.

Vincent: You got that right. Neither are these waffles. These things are good.

(Vincent and Jules are, of course, property of Tarintino. The Matrix is property of some dog shaped shadow on a cave wall, I think. The words here are mine.)

Fair warning: This week and next this blog will slow the fuck down to sub-light speeds as I focus on some writing projects that need more attention. Not saying “no posts” just saying “god knows how often”. So don’t be surprised if I drop off the face of the Earth for a few days at a time.

In other news: I am super-extra helpful as the second player in super Mario Galaxy. By which I mean I can make your life living, hysterical, hell if you let me play with you.

In yet other news: I got to introduce yet someone else to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. On Christmas, no less.

In yet more other news: Go enjoy a chainsaw powered motorcycle.

Merry Christmas, folks. Feldman is off with his family and Shatner is making some phone calls so I decided I should step in, before the whole thing went to hell.

Good call, Haim.

Thanks, Mr. Nimoy. So how do Vulcans celebrate the holidays?

I’m not a Vulcan, son. That is just a role I play. Plus I’m Jewish, so really this is all no never mind to me.

You aren’t an alien?

Of course not. No, I’m an actor. It’s just a role. You aren’t one of the Frog Brothers, right?

YES I AM!

Feldman was right about you.

That isn’t very nice, or full of cheer. Sheesh, you would think even a Vulcan would know about that.

All right, kid, you’re starting to annoy me.

What? What did I do?

One last time, so the cheap seats can hear – I’m human. Spock is just a role I play.

Don’t be sill…

Though I can do the neck pinch. When you wake up, maybe I’ll explain that again. Maybe not. Now! Where did Bill hide the cookies?

Me? I want some new chains, foo’!

Christmas? A present? I would like an end to crime… poverty… the spread of justice… what do you mean “something feasible”? Fine! Some new winter tights.

I want my Uncle Ben back. And no one better buy me another box of rice! That isn’t funny anymore! All right? It isn’t!

I just want in on the new Star Trek movie, damn it.

Hmmm… I’d like peace on Earth and maybe more music in people’s souls and… what do you mean “something feasible”? Fine! Some new winter tights.

I’d just like for everyone to stop thinking I’m He-Man! I’m simply lowly Prince Adam.

He-Man!

I am not He-Man!

He-Man! He-Man! He-Man!

Will you two stop fight? Sheesh. I know that I want… hmm… the slow painful death of Marsha.

He-Ma… wait what? That’s harsh, little girl.

Pfft. Everyone says that! Marsha Marsha Marsha!

He-Man! He-Man! He-Man!

Marsha Marsha Marsha!

You… you wanna go grab some egg-nog?

Did you spike it?

Of course! HAHAHAHAHA!

It’s a date, Freaky-deak.

Wow, that sounds horrific. Uhm, right. Anyway. I just want to keep being as awesome as I already am. Hey! What do you mean “something feasible”?! Fucker.

In which they spin the boxers around in a machine and then let them box.