Caffeinated Youth

I am fucking appalled at the lack of outlets in San Francisco. I just walked quite a vast distance to end up at Paramo Coffee Roasers, and I have simply settled on a meager number of outlets, limiting where I can sit. Definitely the coolest coffee shop I have been to in the city; the coolest one I could fathom going to rn. It’s actually the entry to an apartment building, so there is hella space available for lounging, which is what I do best. Paramo is a blessing, and you have to reside in the city for some time to receive it apparently. Perhaps I should indulge you all with a little history; my longevity in the coffee industry. I have never worked in a coffee shop, or been a coffee roaster, but on the consumption end I have many hours of servitude invested in the industry.

The entanglement of coffee into my life began long ago, in a place called John Harbor’s. A Coffee Shop. This was a location I spent many, many hours at during my teenage years. Located on Main street in Menomonee Falls (just like Ernie Von Schledorn lol) this was a beautiful place of business, blossoming with young artists and entrepreneurs. Truth be told the dedication to supporting the artists nearly went beyond the business aspect, as the coffee shop did eventually close its doors. I was there during the final hours. The story I have to tell of John Harbors is entwined with another story about a man named Devyn who lived with me for nearly a year. He moved into my grandparent’s basement with me, and both my grandma and grandpa were extra cool about it; everyone else in the family pretty much thought it was weird. I never had sex with Devyn, and I suppose that’s the weird part. I don’t find myself attracted to men however; it’s just not what brings me happiness. If having sex with men brought me happiness, I would imbibe, alas…

I digress in a major way! The point of those words is to convey: I have a plethora to spill about John Harbors and my experiences there; how it helped to make my youth foamy and rich, but today we are only focusing on why they helped to build me as a proper consumer of coffee. I was offered the opportunity to try many coffees from many roasters. I was a teenager with no job at this point, but still the coffee with abundant. I learned with it. I drank it all black. I smoked a lot of cigarettes at this point in time, as I smoked for 10 years. Coffee and cigarettes pair well together. The last night John Harbors was open I smoked a cigarette inside, along with some of the other folks who worked there. Not the owner, him nor his wife smoke. Those were good times, and also long ago.

Since then I have drank many cups of coffee in many coffee shops across the United States of America. One of the best cups I have ever drank, and certainly the best atmosphere I have experienced, was at a small shop in Seattle called Ancient Grounds. Lavish with masks and art. I was introduced to this coffee shop by the manager of the Seattle Green Tortoise. I spent many mornings at Ancient Grounds for the remainder of my stint in Seattle, and wrote some of my earlier blog posts there. The crazy thing is, as I write currently, I’m still writing one of the first blog posts. I have a long way to grew. A whole lot of coffee drinking to did. The absolute

My acct of yesterday.

constant in my life, is the maintaining of constant vigilance. I slack; I over-analyze. I practice. I practiced. I became one with…

When I set out to drink a cup of coffee, the factors are considered first. In a new city it’s easy to head someplace close and be fascinated by the newness of your neighborhood. Occasionally I still opt for the long walk. I have buried many-a-footstep into sultry pavement, and Google captures the richness of my travels in real time. Today I will share with you my account of yesterday, and know there are many days in my life which appear the same. I walk a lot. I really like walking, I guess. Recently I started jogging/running more. If you follow me on FB you would have heard about how I am always late, and because of this realized I enjoy running. Once upon a time, I went to the gym often. Nowadays I have a different body, and exercising it is probably best: left to the care of a medical practitioner. Ha. I beat this motherfucking body of mine pretty bad. Someday…I’ll tell you all about it. Someday, I’ll probably just get a gym membership and start running on an elliptical again, that’s what I used to do; easy on the knees. I’ve only two knees and I can barely keep up with oiling them.

I am the great digresser. I digress af. I digress all over town, come home, talk through dinner, talk through Jeopardy!, fail to teach my kids anything valuable because I talk until their bedtime, and everything I talk about gets lost in translation anyway because I never stick. to. the. point.

I have a love hate relationship with coffee. I grew up on it. I love how it smells, and tastes. I love how it makes me feel, sometimes. Kinna makes me sweat more than usual, and that’s not super cool of coffee. There is no way I’m drinking de ’cafe, especially not yet anyway. I do love coffee, that is the one truth. On occasion you can find me drinking it all day long. Someday it will help me save the day like Fry. Now, I take to the pulic-transitmobile!


168 w/peculiar amount of sleep.

There are 168 hours in a week. Did you know that shit? I thought it was much less. That’s 6 hours of sleep a night, plus three 40 hour work weeks, and 6 extra hours! You can work two full time jobs, and still have 46 hours of time to chill the fudge out. Work three jobs and use your extra 6 hours to sleep, and be late for everything. Obviously life is not that simple; not this clean cut. However, I had never examined the time I have in a week quite as I have this morning. With proper organization and execution, a person could undertake quite a serious project if they wanted. Or if they needed to, God Forbid. Well anyway, that’s todays update. I have an article for the ASMR Magazine in the works, something educational AND relaxing. How awesome is that? Today I continue to seek work in the city of San Francisco. Although I seem to be much better at sitting on the internet and making connections. Woe is me!


I Just Started ASMR Magazine

Welcome! To the temporary home of ASMR Magazine. If you are unfamiliar with ASMR, it is an acronym for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response. Those who are familiar with ASMR, can usually agree to describe it as “a tingling sensation, usually down the back, but with the ability to extend into other parts of the body.” I am one who experiences the phenomenon, as it is commonly referred to. Spine tingles triggered by a variety of sounds and sights; my personal preferences in relaxation are strange, I promise you that.

It feels so long ago now, that my infatuation with the ASMR community commenced. MMXIII. Two-Thousand Thirteen. In these 5+ years, I have watched the artists grow in number, and considered strongly the perpetuating of my own videos. A lover of the arts, I did believe I was cut-out for ASMR videography. The day has not come for me in that aspect, but as you may have guessed by my writing to you, I have addressed my fascination with the medium of ASMR, and intend to partake, while taking advantage of my strongest skills. I believe there is a want, and thus a need, for ASMR literature. Right on time, and certainly better than never, I have arrived. A blogger, blogging about ASMR.

Just as I bought in a brisk action, I have today acquisitioned, as well as asmrmagazine the Instagram page!

If you have an interest in ASMR, please join me as I sprout forth my first venture in regimented print, and a whole-on larger task than I usually upheave. There will be laughter and tears. There will relaxation and tingles. There might even be Calvin and Hobbs references. HeartofZeus and ASMR Magazine are not one entity, but they are both my births, and thus I have accepted the responsibility of raising them both into maturity. They both also, at current, share as a home. You can expect updates on this.

Also, if my normal HeartofZeus content begins to slip away, DON’T FRET! I have not disappeared forever. Ideally, I’m working hard. God Speed to me.


Taking the Tortoise’s Shoes.

I have for some time considered the writing of this article. I now see it will probably turn into a series of articles. I once wrote about Milking the Tortoise. Today I write about the Tortoise again, but in a different aspect. The tortoise needs help. Not from everyone, just from me; just like everyone, except for me. Far into the future, the Green Tortoise will be different, just as everything will be different. This we can be sure of, in fact it is one of the only things we can know. Change is coming, otherwise death is coming. That is what makes Earth the most beautiful place I’ve ever lived.

Futura Tortoise starts in the kitchen. Constant vigilance in regards to the needs and wants of weary travelers is what keeps the Green Tortoise a top performer in the Hostel universe, so they fucking feed the people. I’ve never seen food in such abundance, and still almost nothing is wasted! The dinners and food distributions at the hostel where I work are the star-shining embodiment of hospitality done right. Other hostels in the city try to bring people together, but they cannot do it in the same way. They don’t have the right location; they don’t have the right history. They haven’t garnered the right respect.

Every business encounters hiccups. Democracy is a living, breathing organism, effected as much by the good as the bad. The internet (it’s the future) is a hiccup for every business that predates it; until it’s not. Promotion at the Green Tortoise is issualistic, and I will leave it at that. The tides of change will not wash over the Green Tortoise for many-a-moon. This is why I think now is the time to begin channeling change into the heart of the Tortoise! The kitchen! Time is on the side of the Tortoise, but as entropy is its destiny as much as mine, we know not how long that luxury will last. As I watch the man who runs the kitchen slowly lose his mind, I can’t help but wonder if he would be losing it less if there was a different system for washing the many dishes. The problem with the Tortoise is, since we serve food, all the dishes come back at the same time. Normally, this only happens in a restaurant, and they have a machines to feed the dirty dishes into, so they can clean large quantities of dishes all at once. Working in a restaurant is mostly just preparation for the short, yet extraordinarily busy times. What’s plaguing the Tortoise is that they cannot have a dish washing machine. It is not safe for the customers, and if we had one, we could probably not let customers in the kitchen. So now we have one man working very, very hard, forced to empty and refill sinks which drain very slow, over and over again. The water gets dirty at lightning speed on dinner nights; often. The obvious answer is to have one trained professional deal with all the dirty dishes, because the signage does not help, and it only takes one individual to destroy the process and require the refreshing of the sinks. The Tortoise is being forced to have someone in the kitchen to direct the flow of dirty-dish-traffic, and they are in need of a new system. I do believe that this is the first inefficiency that needs to be addressed by the Tortoise, and the future will quickly follow suit in front of this change. In all honestly, there will be no way to maintain the same fashion of business without lobbying for new laws. I do however believe the new laws are close at hand, as many new hostel owners are popping up, and they all want more than the previous generation in regards to freedom.

I think the Green Tortoise should guide in the future for Hostels in America. We know the change is coming. We can be certain the change is coming. What I am telling me readers, very blatantly, is that the best possible future for hosteling in America rests in the hands of: This Man.


The People are Beautiful and they’re too much for Me.

I am a slow mover, but I am finally organized and feeling productive. I have focused my vision; ‘niched‘ down my interests as it were. I want to learn a second language: Hebrew. I want to learn a skill that interests me; I am going to learn to work with Arduino. My father bought me an UNO R3 starter kit, and I am excited to learn what I can do with it. All I know is I can use the Arduino to sense inputs; many kinds of inputs, and the possibilities are large. So my goal is to just spend a basic 15 minutes a day learning Hebrew, and 15 minutes a day learning about the Arduino. If my interests allow me to stretch my studies longer than that, than I will feel especially on the right path.

Apart from a focusing on my daily activities, I also am going to make a valiant effort to change my use of the written word. One of my favorite people on earth introduced me to a new author, who will probably grow to be one of my favorite authors. a man by the name of Charles Bukowski. Quite sadistic, and a man who’s glass was never half full OR half empty because he got impatient and drank the liquid. When I read his writing, I can’t help feel as but I have been lying to my readers, barring their existence. I don’t not share with you, intimately. some parts of my life. The fact that I am an alcoholic. The stories I have about crashing cars, and surviving death. The fact that I don’t actually fucking like anyone. Unless you’re a beautiful woman, or intend to make me rich, uninterest is probably what I have for you. Honestly it’s not awesome. I wish I played well with other kids, but I always end up yelling at them for acting like children.

I am going to make an effort to be less confusing, and portray myself more fully in the future. It’s 6:39 and I’m listening to Regina Spektor. Wallet.


I want to learn a second language, and write in it.

This week I applied for several jobs, and I expecting to get accepted to the positions. I am hoping to find myself staying busy, almost constantly. Work, work, work. That’s what’s on my mind. I have some other personal goals I have been developing. Everyone at my work is using Duolingo to learn a language, and I want to do the same. I am hoping to begin spending several minutes a day, at first, learning a second language. The dilemma hit me, ‘What do I learn?!,’ and in all honesty I realized I have to learn a language I have an interest in. Everyone tells me to learn Spanish, and I agree that I would get significant use out of being a Spanish speaker. People recommend learning Mandarin in the modern day, and I agree, as those people will be traveling and it would be a wonder to talk to them in their native tongue. I however am called to something different, a language I have heard spoken many times now, a language I think is absolutely beautiful both written, and spoken; Hebrew. I have no prior ties to the Hebrew language, and have never attempted to learn a second language, but it is the only language I find myself wanting to put in the work to learn. We shall see how my journey progress’ in that aspect.

I am looking at getting a different computer as well. Downsizing, as it were. My laptop is quite large, and quite heavy. I don’t need anything as such. I want to either get a new, smaller laptop, or a tablet/ Bluetooth keyboard combination. I have been doing significant research on the subject. At present, a laptop seems the better device. I am however troubled, because I am drawn strongly towards some of the new Bluetooth mechanical keyboards that are out, but I just can’t wrap my head around using a different keyboard with an already equipped laptop. I want to travel the world, and I want to be well prepared when I leave. Quality items, geared specifically for me to enhance my strengths. I figure a comfortable keyboard will be my most valuable asset, and might even promote me to write more (in a catch 22 sense). So maybe I invest in a really high quality keyboard, and probably a case for it, and then I get a tablet that’s on the cheaper end. I upgrade the tablet whenever need be, but the keyboard could last for years to come. I am currently partial to the NightFox keyboard, but the entire Kono line looks good.

Thanks for listening to me ramble about window shopping.


The First Murderer I Ever Knew

It was late and it was cold, somewhere on the south side of Milwaukee, 2014. I was set to meet with a a gentleman who asked me to call him Black; and so I did just that. He was late, but he was consistently late. I sat in my car for 15 minutes and twiddled my thumbs to a beat. When he finally did arrive he acted an asshole towards me, but he didn’t make any effort to rip me off. Whatever, the guy probably lives a stressful life, I’ll let him be an asshole to me. We both left the scene immediately. I didn’t make it too far, pulled off to somewhere (else) that looked sketchy on the Southside, and parked. I untied an extraordinarily tiny knot knit from the corner of a plastic bag. I crushed up some powder and then decided to see what it smelt like. About right. Back on the road again, music blasted, I headed for home and made it in one piece. A fairly typical day for one portion of my life.

Several hours later Black texted me from a different phone number than I was accustomed too. It has been a long time since I have spoken to this man, and I won’t admit to remember the nuances of his communication, but the gist of his message was “Chris call me, someone stole my phone, and I want you to set up a meeting with them cuz they’re serving my customers.” My initial reaction to that was “Absolutely fucking never would I consider doing that for you Asshole.” And that’s how it ended up being. He tried calling me several times, and it’s not impossible I answered, but I certainly don’t remember it. He sent me many more messages, all quite jumbled; grammatically they just made me cringe. He wanted me to ring his stolen phone and arrange for a meeting on 86th and Silverspring. Eventually I fell asleep.

I awoke to more messages still. It turned into Black just updating me on the situation, and I wasn’t even the least bit interested in the happenings of him. drudgingly I walked upstairs and said hello to my grandmother. I was probably high, and she is dead now. She was watching the news, which is what she watched everyday, so I fell into the groove of listening quite easily. I saw information of a homicide on 86th and Silver Spring and felt immediate dread for the knowledge I was about to gain. A child, a literal baby, was the victim of a shooting. A young man had apparently fired into the wrong house, shooting the neighbors house instead of their intended target. The last time I ever saw Black was on the TV that morning. I meant to keep up with his trial, but more so I was hoping to just catch it on TV. I never did catch it. I do know he went away though, and he is probably still in prison. I told my grandmother I knew the man, and unfortunately he was just an angry asshole, I wasn’t surprised he totally lost it.

“While I’ll say he lost it! Who does he think he is?! Just going around shooting people!” My grandma understood me better than anyone, and therefore she never never pussyfooted around the meat and potatoes of a situation.
“I don’t know. But he won’t be doing it any more. He’s gonna go away for, relatively, ever. At this point I practically feel bad for him. I know a lot of assholes, but I would bet that man did not become a murderer on his own.”