zen's journal

I probably should post this in hardware...perhaps I'll post an official link over to the pruduct, so that you readers can get a much better explanation as to what this little gem is, but suffice to say, for the time being, that my new MediaGate 35, by AL Tech (

)
is a multimedia disk drive(enclosure). It interfaces digitally via USB or network capacity. All other ports are out or thru-puts (optical in.)

I'm trying not to get too technical, there's other forums for that. It is, however, hard to talk about this cute thing, without being somewhat technical. I do know to steer clear of the networking capabilities...definitely geek material...

Its primary task is to play media (pictures, video, music) into analog and digital a/v. It has a remote. It has an adaptor for household current (no batts.), and a USB.
It has great potential.

Part of its problem is the poor programming of the bios. I'm wondering how much work is involved in hacking one oif these things...
I wonder if they'd be gracious with the source code.
So then I started thinking about all the Linux freeks over here, and started thinking about how much some of your clowns really know about that shit...it's kinda scarey.
<play us a scary one David {I'll have to tell you guys about David Gedge [formerly of The Wedding Present] play at Conn College at Halloween; and I of course asked David in a mock tutor style to " Daa-Vid' plai uus a scah-rey wun,"
A "wh/Ut? " He replied in his Cockney back, never understanding what on the face of the planet I was talking about...
well, uh, where was i?
Ummm, Perhaps someone might build me a scary bios in liux that could take full advantage of the full ability of this...basically it needs to have a better display when it's playing on the television at NTSC.

The thing is, I would be willing to pay to have someone do this. I would GLADLY buy that person one of these absolute gems if he/she could make the thing giddy-up and go, go, go.

So, yeah, that's what I've been up to.
This was my birthday present from my step-mom.
My dad thought clothes would have been much better.
What a clown. ...always first with queer jokes like that...

So with that said, I'm going to sign-off here, disembark onto the shores of a dirrerent landscape. Those driven by the engine of Geek (factor), I sail for bluer depths, at nigh unto 12:46 stars in the night sky...
gotta go.
pox
zen

This post was edited by zen on Oct 18, 2006.

This is more of my free-form writing.
This is open-letter to the technical department of AL Tech, to the mfg. of my new toy...((see above post for details))
This post is fairly straghtforward. I love this thing for what it does...
as well as it's potential.

**********************************************

To: &lt;a href=&quot;mailto:techsupport@airlinktek.com&quot;&gt;techsupport@airlinktek.com&lt;/a&gt;

My system: Gigabyte GA8Nx-deluxe; Athlon socket939 CPU, WinXP 32bit, 1GHz DDR400 Ramm, , USB 2.0.; West. Dig. 40GB IDE-100 drive in enclosure.

Sirs:
After long deliberative searches, I chose MG35 unit because it offers the best value for my money. I think it has incredible features; an amount of which is stellar. I'm excited to use this product.
I chose Al Tech's Media-gate for a wide variety of reasons, all of which is this unit's ability to liberate user from his Central Processing (i.e. Windows-based) Unit. The fact that it has a self contained bios is a cause for joi, and celebration.
I think it's fair to note that I'm posting this as a record on my blogs, and I'm posting it verbatim. This is just a courtesy to let you know I'm posting.
For the record, I did choose this product despite a VERY BAD review about your service. I'm hoping this is an episode of one, singular, rude employee who has been found out by this point, and disciplined. I would hate to think that that is a system-wide failure. I do promise that if I get bad service as well, your next letter from me will be to send back your product. That to me would be a great loss on my part. I'm hoping that I will be getting great service from your company.
I think it's important to have a good reputation. So in the interests of hearing your replies, I'm posting my emails on my website. If you'd like the address, I sall be glad to oblige.
I would very much like to purchase more of these units, as it stands. I do have one small technical problem, which is the sole reason for this missive. Sometimes I find it amazing, Technologically, how much more advanced the consumer electronics market is in Asia, Korea, Japan and China are. Here is a truly mind-blowing product from Korea!! Yay :)
I've downloaded the latest update from your website, version 1.45. I've tried updating the firmware, but I can not get the program to load, run, nor open. My Question: What application do I use to open v.1.45, as it appears on your website?

Thank you in advance for your kind attention to my request.

yours
Zen Living-ground.

***************

Hopefully, by applying some pressure in the right ways, I can get better service than that last poor shmo who had issues.
I'm hoping i can rate these guys highly in Cust Support....
Let's hope so, any way.

And for anyone not seen the image of this thing yet, here is THE BACK:

and here is THE FRONT:

This post was edited by zen on Oct 18, 2006.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006::0321 hours, EST.

Ahoy all. Been down for a bit...mostly busy doing physical stuff....working late, trying to work toward gainful employ in the tech field of actually posting moving pictures on the web.
I posted to Photo Bucket the following sequence:
<a href= "">"Poisoned Game" </a>.
It's got a high-tech edge to it. It shows the scene of my nephew playing a game, and getting ripped-off, transitioned to a sceen of a local character's flourescent-painted van, known formally as "Varuna," or as I prefer "Vanaruna," or "Van'lrunyaova".
There is a certain scene in there where is space in space, reserved for a clever quote...something that ties it all together....

As I said in my
[a=http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.ListAll&friendID=60702651&MyToken=5d0665cd-78c4-4114-96cf-7b6a69402da3ML]
MySpace BLOG[/a]:
It''s now 3:17 am, and the bright idea that I have to get up in 5 hours strikes me like a loaded 2 by 6....

but at the very least, I have something very nice and interesting to show..a web presence. These days it's practically the most important aspect to our modern social-life...our on-line friends. I'm here virtually, but not here mentally or spiritually either. ./...

Maybe I'm just bad or something. I forget often...but at least I do try eventually.

I think that's true there, as it is over here.
Again, I completely disagree with Majic's notion of what MySpace is. I think he's being a bit fundamentalist...or perhaps misinformed bout it. I imagine he's heard lots of negative things about it, perhaps despicable people, but for the millions who use it, it's relatively safe providing one pays attention to some important basic rules. ...don't talk to strangers...
...don't put friends on too early, get to know the person fitrst...
all common sense.
And, as my sister is keen to tell the kid(s), I want to know who all your friends are...another golden rule.

So there it is...The end of my night.
It's extremely late, but I'm going to bed happy tonight. I actually got something accomplished.

This post was edited by zen on Oct 10, 2006.

This photo below is posted in my gallery on Deviantart. This is a corner of the actual Boneski building. The top floor was the residential rehab section. This particular part would have been the females' quarters. The bottom floor held the detox unit. It would have featured a heavy steel screen over the windows.
Seen in the background (behind the railing) is the new administration building. Taken in 1999, it was only 3 years after the official closing of the hospital complex.

The time spent in detox was horrible. We were constantly being monitored, and evaluated. Mostly to see if those fresh off the streets are so far gone that we'll break into the DTs, or convulsions, vomiting, etc.
My current roommate/ex- came to visit me in the first few days. He brought reading materials: books, Rolling Stone and Playboy. Pornos were contraband.
He recalls that I came out in my jammies, and those stupid foam slippers. My hair was mussed up, as they didn't allow combs down there. I was long over due for a haircut. He would tell me later that with all of that, I really did look quite insane.

A week later, I was approved to go upstairs to the residential rehab. I wasn't as bad as many who are admitted into detox. Alot of guys actually do need the time to dry-out, simple to survive.

One of the first things that they do is assign a room, and read the rules. You were assigned your colour group. This is the group that you attend all your meetings with, and one is supposed to be honest and open with them. I never developed those feelings of comraderie with them.
We were also reminded the reason why we were there (court-ordered), and told how important that it is that we do well. Failure from there would mean, as it did for many, the very real possibility of a trip to jail. It was literally the last stop for most of us.
I was reminded that I had to serve my 90 days. That was, at that point, the longest term that anyone was given by the court. To be sure, there was only a SMALL handfull of the 30-or so of us, who had to do that long. The average person had to serve 45 days.

I was not allowed to wear my clothes that I came in with. Early on, i was taken with a small group over to the Lodge building, to an outpost of the Salvation Army. This was called "The Nook." These donated clothes were the only thing we were allowed to wear.
If you've never availed yourself of the opportunity to obtain clothes from the Salvation Army, I'd strongly recommend not depriving yourself of this most vivid experience.
Since we were all outfitted with the "Nook Look" I didn't feel too funny; but the fact is that being a big person, nothing really, truly fit. I felt odd, just being there, trying to come to terms with sobriety, and living a straight life, away from home, living with strangers, and on top of it being totally removed from almost all things that were comforting.
Suffice to say, I had a hard time adjusting.

Anybody who's ever been to an A.A., or N.A. meeting knows what happens when one gathers together a bunch of sick-ass addicts. Tempers flair. Everyone is edgy, raw, loosly bundled nerves. Peoples' true personalities bleed through, like the rust underneath the flaking chrome of a untreated bumper.
I certainly was no exception.

Part of the intention of rehab is to put the "client" into unfamiliar surroundings. Another part is to pressure him to get his feelings flowing. Another part is to challenge one so that he can know his boundries, and limitations. At that point, ideally, one's supposed to ask for help, or at least acknowledge that the First Step is correct, that one is powerless.
One of the frirst things that i was told by one of the other clients is that I needed to "accept things." I was resentful of this, of him talking to me like that, saying that. He didn't know me. He wasn't part of staff, so he shouldn't tell me what I need.
Another aspect of the rehab is that we're supposed to challenge each other. That is the purpose, allegedly, of the colour group. To challenge one another to better ourselves, and face our true nature. At that point, I didn't feel like challenging myself, or anyone else, much less have anyone challenge me. I simply wanted to "do my time" and get out.

After a week in the rehab, clients were allowed to start participating in recreation time. I tried to explain that I was healthy, and that I'd been active out on the streets, but it didn't matter. Rules were rules.
The first rec thing that I remember was softball. Often, our rec time was dedicated to running a circuit around the perimeter of the Boneski building. I believe one full lap was an eighth of a mile. Mostly I would just walk, and talk with one or another of the females there. When asked why i wasn't running, i'd complain of sore feet due to my flat feet.

One of the rec sessions we were escorted through the tunnels to the (former) staff clubhouse. That was an interesting experience in itself. The tunnels are long, extremely long, and dank, and dark.
It is these tunnels, like those of many other similar asylums, that have given rise to many rumours, seemingly from the moment they became ensnaredd in in the public consciousness. It's not difficult to believe that the imagination is the only limit to the public's perception of what happened in those tunnels.
During the walk through that dark, deserted place, I was told that they stretched out to the far reaches of the grounds. A map of the grounds shows the tunnelling system underneath about one-third of the buildings, not extending to the "newer ones"--those built in the late 40s or later.
Walking thru the belly of that menacing underground serpent, with it's tentacles sprawling an eternity of steps, we had no problems believing that they touched every building on the grounds.
Contrary to popular belief, the main reason for the tunnels was not to convey inmates during the rainy and snowy weather. They were designed entirely with the purpose of containment; to bring inmates from one building to another, ncluding the chapel, without running the risk their escaping.
In our case it was indeed true that we were being escorted through them to keep us dry.
We came upon a huge steel door, with a bank safe-like locking mechanism on it. Behind, was a store house of canned goods in amount long enough to last the residents of the building directly overhead about 3 months. This was one of the fall-out shelters spread around the grounds.

I wouldn't say there was a point where it felt things were going smoothly.
It was during one of these lapping sesions that this kid Kevin f*cked with me. As I was walking with one of the ladies that I really liked talking to, he goes to run and jump inbetween us. I see him out of the corner of my eye, and give him a good elbow as he's plowing through. Even though he instigated this, I still got in trouble because I was bigger physically. I had to apologize to this prick, after being called into "conference" with him and one of the staff.
Things started going even more sour with him after he complained to staff that someone put bleach in his clothes. He insinuated that it was me. Of course it wasn't, cause I didn't want anything to do with this little creep. I was questioned by staff. Since they couldn't prove it (can't prove something that isn't true), i was let off with a verbal warning.
My friend Mike told me, once i was discharged, that in one of the groups he confessed to doing it himself.

The second "incident" that put me "over the top" was during a nighttime goofing-around session with one of my roommates. This guy was my next roommate, after the first of the original two left. I get to know him pretty well. This guy said someything goofy, and I said I was going to "slap his pee-pee."
The new roommate, who'd been there all of three days told staff that I sexually harrassed him.
The next day, I was asked to leave.
It was that day which was the day after my sister's wedding. She was really mad, cause they wouldn't let me attend her wedding. I was mad too. That definitely was not fair.
As far as I'm concerned, George (his real name) was a f*ck. And a fake. And if there's any justice in this world, he's still an addict.
I completed 60 out of the 90 days I was supposed to do.

As I was leaving the grounds, I couldn't help but take one good, last look at all the incredible, crumbling, decaying architecture of the complex. I thought to myself that I was going to come back, and explore at depth these buildings.
Two days later I did come back to one of the meetings.
The nightly meetings were actually open meeetings, and the public was welcomed to join. In fact, they were encouraged to join, especially if the person had more than 90 days sobriety. I had 62 days at that point, but I came back anyway. I'd just got a haircut. I wanted to talk with my friend Mike, and the few others that I'd made there. I wanted them to see that I was well, and wouldn't be discouraged in my recovery, despite what occurred only days before.

I think I lasted another month before "going back out."
Things happened, and I was arrested again, this time for stealing something very large. I landed in jail. about 8 months later.

Fast-forward to 1999. Driving past the Hospital, seeing it closed, I took a side trip onto the grounds. I snapped a bunch of pictures of Boneski, and brought them home. I decided I was going to create a movie about Boneski, and my stay, and my attempt at rehabilitation.
I went back a half-dozen times with and without R.~, the person who visited me only scant few days into detox. We snapped hundreds of pictures of the grounds. At that point, we were allowed to be on the grounds if we didn't go into the buildings, or in any way vandalize them.
I finished the 12 minute movie about my stay at Boneski, using those stills, and voice-overs from people who were in that, or another rehab, or the Hospital part. It showed in 1999 at the annual CPA art show, at the Real Art Ways, in Hartford.

I look at the pictures I've taken of the exterior, of the places I've been on the Hospital grounds. I see the interior, where I haven't been. I look at all the brick, and mortar, and steel, and mesh, used to create these monuments to a time in recent history when people were labled: imbaciles, morons, dumb, insane, and can't help but wonder if it's not just better to tear them all down. Would it not be better for humanity if these monstrosities were razed, and completely destroyed? Are we better-off ridding ourselves of those demons of our past, of a dark and unenlightened age? By destroying them, wouldn't it free us of that terrible tyranny of that legacy?
Perhaps so, if that is the result from such actions.
However, where does that leave us? It seems that here in America, The United States of Amnesia, we would prefer to trade our past for a false future. It seems that perhaps it's not just America, the "first world", but humanity itself is capable of inflicting terrible pain, hurt, and torture upon ourselves. By destroying the primative remnants of that time in psychiatric history where electroshock, and trepanning were commonplace, and considered "good medicine", we only allow ourselves the excuse to forget from where we've come.
By destroying those mediaeval monuments to our hubris, and arrogance, we do not stop torture. Human beings are still being tortured by the same civilization that approved of eugenics and labotomies. By levelling the last standing vestage of those barbaric times, we are condemning ourselves to repeat those same atrocities against our brothers and sisters. We are condemning ourselves to cultural suicide, so that the only element left standing is that which agrees with the status quo, a brutal, torturous, twisted, godless spirit.

This post was edited by zen on Aug 26, 2006.

Norwich State Hospital for the Insane is its original name when it was granted its charter in 1904, when it opened its doors to the emotionally unstable.
**This is a link to some of my photos of Norwich State Hospital (NSH), c. 1999.

I was going to post a quick link to a previous post I'd made about Norwich State. However, going through my 14 pages of journal entries since I've been here, I was amazed to learn that I haven't made one single post talking about the Norwich State Hospital (NSH), (as it is currently referred.)
Knowing what an important part the hospital played in my life to this point; this discovery is amazing.

I'm not going into specifics about the history of NSH. That can be found here: History of Norwich State, for those inclined to know more about it. More pictures, taken by a different photographer, are also seen. This site also gives a map where one can see the relative size and scope of this "sprawling cottage style" layout of the 500+ acres constituting the grounds.

My story starts in June 1992, when I was court-ordered to the care of Boneski. Eugene T. Boneski Treatment center at Norwich State Hospital, formally, was a rehab. It dealt with any and all manner of chemical dependency: alchohol, heroin, cocaine, marijuana, et al. Mostly, it handled individuals who were court-ordered to attend treatment, or those who had no money with which to have their addicitions treated. I fell into both categories.
Those who had money, or insurance, would have checked themselves into Elmcrest in Portland, or Stonington Institute in North Stonington.
People who commit crimes while under the influence, or claim they have, especially when young, will be usually given a chance to go through treatment. Depending on the severity of said crime, this may be the only punishment, or it could be coupled with probation. Some people will end-up at the rehab as their last step before a prison sentence. These are usually people who've shoplifted, or stole in order to support their habits.

In my case, I broke into cars. For the record, if I'm going to be honest, I'll say that I never burglarized the cars to support a habit...I only told the court that I did. I really just did it to show I could. Kinda like a rite-of-passage, if one will.
Mostly, I stole car audio. After getting caught, one of my neighbors labeled me as having an "electronics fetish." I think he might be right.

The stay in Boneski in '92 was indirectly related to the rash of car stereo thefts. That happened in 1985-6. It was that, in addition to all the Disturbing the Peaces, Drunk and Disorderlys, other larcenies, and various sundry misdemeanors that I did in my teens.
At a certain point, regardless of the individual crimes, nowadays, if the court sees a pattern, it will label one as a "habitual criminal." The next step up from that is a "career criminal," and that is a REALLY bad thing. Despite the relatively minor nature and value of the offenses themselves, by the time 1992 rolled around, the court was tired of my routine. Having been arrested every year--like a dysfunctional, fucked-up clock that would ring once a year, in late Sept, or early October; (coinciding, oddly enough, with my birthday on Oct. 1), it was decided that i needed more than just probation. I needed "special" help. It was after whatever f*cked-up thing I did in May I think it was, 1992, that i was sentenced to a stay in Boneski, the rehab.

It wasn't simply the crimes, or indescriminate drinking that led me there. It was all the above, and the fact that I'd tried "cocktails," taking the Geranimals approach to self-medication, and mix-and-matched various chemicals at the same time, that really worried the evaluating clinician.
It was determined that I should be sentenced to 90 in treatment to dry out, and get some order back into my life. Truth be told, I really was wreck at that point. Even though I wasn't using "heavily" at that time, my brain was pretty fried.
Sometimes I think that they really sent me to the wrong part of the State Hospital. I think that I probably would have fit in perfectly into the Kettle building, the one housing the patients hearing voices, and seeing things coming out of the darkness aiming to sweep them into a dimension of one of the seven rings of hell.

Driving onto the grounds of the Hospital was an experience I'll never forget. The main enterance, at that point, was past the Kettle building. A 6 story behemoth dominating the grounds, like a resting giant ready to swallow all those who can not answer the question of their sanity correctly, I rode past it, my mom driving, knowing, just knowing that this had to be bottom. I'd finally hit it--or at least thought I had. I was now at the State hospital. I was going to be living, for the next 90 days at Norwich State Hospital for the Insane.

At my intake, the attendant asked if i'd had any drugs or alcohol lately.
I made the very stupid mistake of joking "Yeah, at my going away party last night." Bad mistake.
As a reward for my poor judgement, I was treated to a week in the detox unit. Truly hell-in-a-box, it's the place that all the homeless people at some point, I'd found out, would be taken to dry out. They'd stay for 3 or 4 days, a week or so, then be released to the streets. The people surrounding me smelled bad. They had poor hygiene. We were allowed to go to our rooms, or the day room. There were 5 or 6 channels on television. The books and magazines were old. I wasn't allowed anything off the streets. Noone at that point had visited me.
That truly, to that point, was the lowest that I'd been. It was exactly like prison, with the exception that there we could only wear our pjs, and foam rubber booties.

During this time, I couldn't help but look out the windows for long hours. It was during that point that I truly became enamoured with the surrounding architecture of the surrounding buildings, many built during the 1910-20 expansion.
The external architecture was incredible examples of institutional styling. But seeing how I was treated, in 1992, I could only imagine what happened in those buildings which had been close many years before I was even born. What type of barbaric experiments, and trials had gone on in those buildings?
I resolved that if I ever got out of there in one piece, I would come back to the Hospital grounds, and snoop around. I would see what went on in thos buildings, or at least look for clues.

I'm posting more recently because I have more time spent in front of the screen. I'm now officially back to school. I'm going for my certificate in computer technologies. This is something that I've wanted to do for quite a while, and have been looking forward to this for about 2 years. I'm finally here.

This month, I'm in a software module. Even though I'm not a "software guy" it's still fairly easy. I have all my assignment caught up to day, so I have time to kill. It almost feels funny saying to myself: this is dedicated time to posting in my journal.
It feels funny dedicating time to myself, to doing what I like doing. I can even con myself into believing that which I love doing isn't worth my time.

The last time I attended classes was in the Spring of 1990. I still laboured under the impression that I was going to be a Communications major. It was at one of the state-run colleges, Central. This was my first "stay away" trip to school, living in a college dorm. I lived the stereotypical college student life. Put simply, I made a mess of everything. I earned the nickname "pukey." My roommate ended-up hating me, and to this day, when I see him on the street, basically avoids me.
I was not ready for prime time.

I had no idea what I wanted from life, or what I wanted from myself. I didn't know how to behave in public, or how to act in moderation--let alone drink in moderation. Subsequently, I wasted that time, and that money--which I'm still paying back.

Now here it is 16 years later. I've been through alot. Age, time has a way of mellowing out one. I'm now capable of paying attention in class, to be there everyday, and to actually learn.
I don't so much enjoy this particular class. I do, however, enjoy being back to school to gain the possibility that I can do something eventually that I want to do as an occupation.