Hey! I answered a list of questions!

when did you last feel exposed? what happened?

Well, I’m pretty comfortable discussing my money, sex, religion, and politics. This is apparently slightly unusual. What I tend to hold back on is, uh, feelings and stuff. I have problems stemming from shyness and anxiety. I tend to not deal openly with them. Recently, I’ve been trying to be more honest and upfront with these problems, both with my friends and with myself. This isn’t easy for me, and I am exposing an area of myself that is very vulnerable.

what lines from any work (song, fiction, poetry) do you identify with most?

Two.

“Nothing is forbidden. Everything is permissible.”
–Hasan-i Sabbah

“After all, we only go around once. There’s really no time to be afraid.”
–Source unverified

what’s your personal philosophy?

Treat well those closest to you. God is fake. Question everything. FIVE TONS OF FLAX!

do you have any writings (personal or no) that explain who you are that you wouldn’t mind sharing?

I wrote this in 2003:
http://www.cautionwetfloor.com/riding.html

what is yours that you find most personal? (it can be anything). why is this item or thought or idea so important to you?

I save old letters. And greeting cards. And various personal scraps. I have a few old valentine cards received in high school. On one is written, “I told you I’d find you some games to join.” Another says “To my other alien friend. Together we will conquer this rock.”

Time travel can be confounding.

I love the new Dr. Who, but am only passingly familiar with the past seasons. My question is this: If you are the last survivor of a dead race of immortal time travelers, isn’t that pretty meaningless? I mean, wouldn’t he run into his dead buddies at Woodstock?

I don’t get it.

Maxwell Flint and The Westwood Case – Chapter 5

It is impossible to state that one is often surprised by the route one’s life takes, without sounding tragically clichéd in the process. My name is Maxwell Flint. I am a hard man of letters, and as such, have taken a blood oath to oppose cliché at every turn.

It had come to pass that I had left Canton, Ohio alongside a woman who I am reluctant to refer to as “Alice”, so certain am I that such is not her name. After fornicating the night before, we had begun traveling by car to the great state of Arizona for murky reasons pertaining to a legendary inheritance known as the Westwood Estate. I will not report whether or not I found myself surprised by this route my life had taken.

I spent much of that first afternoon setting up a website to further the woman’s cause. I felt a twinge of pride that I considered it to be “her cause” and not “our cause”. She may have pressed my flesh upon, and into her’s, but I had not let my guard down. I knew that snake upon her back to be more than a mere tattoo. It was also a blunt visual metaphor for her true nature. No, this was to be her website, and her’s alone.

Truthfully, I had little to do with the actual website. The inner workings of the “World Wide Web,” as my late grandmother used to call that which is more commonly known as the Internet, might be constructed of actual magic code, for all I know. To facilitate the creation of the site, I enlisted the aid of a friend to whom I owed enough money that he could still cling to the hope that he might see it again.

What follows is a chat transcript of our conversation:

MFLINTHMOL09: Jerry, you poxy bastard! I need a favor!
JZZ8249: Max you useless fuck. I need 600 dollars. If only I knew a useless fuck who owed me 600 dollars…
JZZ8249: OH, WAIT!
MFLINTHMOL09: Actually, that is why I need you. I got a job. You help me with this, and I’ll have your money by week’s end or else my name isn’t Maxwell Flint, man of hard letters.

I’m afraid the next bit of that conversation isn’t really suitable for print. Suffice to say, he agreed, and by the end of the night he had fashioned a truly beautiful website. It was a perfect forum for my dispatches. Jerry’s know his business.

Ideally, I would include its URL in this narrative, significant as it is towards the events in my story. Unfortunately, the thrice-damned Department of Homeland Security has threatened me with indefinite detention if I were to dare take such an action. Normally, I wouldn’t dream of compromising my craft due to a bit of bullying, but I have the security of our homeland to consider.

That evening, a great number of beers did occur and my client and I again had sex.

Previous chapters can be found here here.

It is impossible to state that one is often surprised by the route one’s life takes, without sounding tragically clichéd in the process. My name is Maxwell Flint. I am a hard man of letters, and as such, have taken a blood oath to oppose cliché at every turn.

It had come to pass that I had left Canton, Ohio alongside a woman who I am reluctant to refer to as “Alice”, so certain am I that such is not her name. After fornicating the night before, we had begun traveling by car to the great state of Arizona for murky reasons pertaining to a legendary inheritance known as the Westwood Estate. I will not report whether or not I found myself surprised by this route my life had taken.

I spent much of that first afternoon setting up a website to further the woman’s cause. I felt a twinge of pride that I considered it to be “her cause” and not “our cause”. She may have pressed my flesh upon, and into her’s, but I had not let my guard down. I knew that snake upon her back to be more than a mere tattoo. It was also a blunt visual metaphor for her true nature. No, this was to be her website, and her’s alone.

Truthfully, I had little to do with the actual website. The inner workings of the “World Wide Web,” as my late grandmother used to call that which is more commonly known as the Internet, might be constructed of actual magic code, for all I know. To facilitate the creation of the site, I enlisted the aid of a friend to whom I owed enough money that he could still cling to the hope that he might see it again.

What follows is a chat transcript of our conversation:

MFLINTHMOL09: Jerry, you poxy bastard! I need a favor!
JZZ8249: Max you useless fuck. I need 600 dollars. If only I knew a useless fuck who owed me 600 dollars…
JZZ8249: OH, WAIT!
MFLINTHMOL09: Actually, that is why I need you. I got a job. You help me with this, and I’ll have your money by week’s end or else my name isn’t Maxwell Flint, man of hard letters.
I’m afraid the next bit of that conversation isn’t really suitable for print. Suffice to say, he agreed, and by the end of the night he had fashioned a truly beautiful website. It was a perfect forum for my dispatches. Jerry’s know his business.

Ideally, I would include its URL in this narrative, significant as it is towards the events in my story. Unfortunately, the thrice-damned Department of Homeland Security has threatened me with indefinite detention if I were to dare take such an action. Normally, I wouldn’t dream of compromising my craft due to a bit of bullying, but I have the security of our homeland to consider.

That evening, a great number of beers did occur and my client and I again had sex.

Originally published at The Triangle. You can comment here or there.

Maxwell Flint and The Westwood Case – Chapter 5

Previous chapters can be found here here.

It is impossible to state that one is often surprised by the route one’s life takes, without sounding tragically clichéd in the process. My name is Maxwell Flint. I am a hard man of letters, and as such, have taken a blood oath to oppose cliché at every turn.

It had come to pass that I had left Canton, Ohio alongside a woman who I am reluctant to refer to as “Alice”, so certain am I that such is not her name. After fornicating the night before, we had begun traveling by car to the great state of Arizona for murky reasons pertaining to a legendary inheritance known as the Westwood Estate. I will not report whether or not I found myself surprised by this route my life had taken.

I spent much of that first afternoon setting up a website to further the woman’s cause. I felt a twinge of pride that I considered it to be “her cause” and not “our cause”. She may have pressed my flesh upon, and into her’s, but I had not let my guard down. I knew that snake upon her back to be more than a mere tattoo. It was also a blunt visual metaphor for her true nature. No, this was to be her website, and her’s alone.

Truthfully, I had little to do with the actual website. The inner workings of the “World Wide Web,” as my late grandmother used to call that which is more commonly known as the Internet, might be constructed of actual magic code, for all I know. To facilitate the creation of the site, I enlisted the aid of a friend to whom I owed enough money that he could still cling to the hope that he might see it again.

What follows is a chat transcript of our conversation:

MFLINTHMOL09: Jerry, you poxy bastard! I need a favor!
JZZ8249: Max you useless fuck. I need 600 dollars. If only I knew a useless fuck who owed me 600 dollars…
JZZ8249: OH, WAIT!
MFLINTHMOL09: Actually, that is why I need you. I got a job. You help me with this, and I’ll have your money by week’s end or else my name isn’t Maxwell Flint, man of hard letters.
I’m afraid the next bit of that conversation isn’t really suitable for print. Suffice to say, he agreed, and by the end of the night he had fashioned a truly beautiful website. It was a perfect forum for my dispatches. Jerry’s know his business.

Ideally, I would include its URL in this narrative, significant as it is towards the events in my story. Unfortunately, the thrice-damned Department of Homeland Security has threatened me with indefinite detention if I were to dare take such an action. Normally, I wouldn’t dream of compromising my craft due to a bit of bullying, but I have the security of our homeland to consider.

That evening, a great number of beers did occur and my client and I again had sex.

Er.

So Jason Todd was resurrected in the past because Superboy punched time in the present.

DC and Marvel are clearly having a who can be stupider contest, and I think DC is totally winning.

Simply beautiful

blue_straggler found the best internet quiz ever:

If I were a Springer-Verlag Graduate Text in Mathematics, I would be William Fulton and Joe Harris’s Representation Theory: A First Course.

My primary goal is to introduce the beginner to the finite-dimensional representations of Lie groups and Lie algebras. Intended to serve non-specialists, my concentration is on examples. The general theory is developed sparingly, and then mainly as a useful and unifying language to describe phenomena already encountered in concrete cases. I begin with a brief tour through representation theory of finite groups, with emphasis determined by what is useful for Lie groups; in particular, the symmetric groups are treated in some detail. My focus then turns to Lie groups and Lie algebras and finally to my heart: working out the finite dimensional representations of the classical groups and exploring the related geometry. The goal of my last portion is to make a bridge between the example-oriented approach of the earlier parts and the general theory.

Which Springer GTM would you be?
The Springer GTM
Test

Maxwell Flint and The Westwood Case – Chapter 4

Chapter 1 can be found here.
Chapter 2 can be found here.
Chapter 3 can be found here.

“Well, that was unnecessary,” she told me. Her blunt pronouncement would have hurt my feelings, had I not agreed with it.

My name is Maxwell Flint. I am a hard man of letters, and at this point in my narrative I had just performed the act of love for the first time in more years than I feel comfortable confessing.

Despite the novelty of the act, I had found our passionless fluid exchange to be wholly inferior to the onanistic acts I routinely shared with my right hand. “If we opt to do that again, I ask that there first occur a great number of beer,” I told her.

She agreed, and informed me that she intended to take a shower. It was only then, as she rose from the bed, that I noticed the intricate tattoo of a serpent coiled around her back. During our earlier fumbling, I had apparently been too distracted by her general homeliness to observe the tattoo of the giant goddamn snake. While I have never paid much attention to the animal kingdom, my research indicates that the tattooed snake was a “boa constrictor.”

“Big snake,” I cleverly noted.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” was the inevitable riposte.

In the morning we began our trek. We were heading to Arizona for reasons I dearly wish I could make transparent, but which I must currently obscure. One last time, I assure you that it is my intent to reveal all in a manner that if anything, will be overdramatic.