Content-type: text/html Ray Manning

Monday, December 17, 2001 8:11 AM

No Time to Stop, No Time to Think (Cont.)


The next few days are a blur. I get stood up by Person H on Monday, see Doctor Brenner on Tuesday, meet with the ResourceScout team on Wednesday, and have the invitation to the Avionics System Center Christmas party on Thursday night withdrawn at the last minute. (Another instance of my behavior disappointing someone such that the invitation to attend was withdrawn.)

Friday I fly off to San Francisco. A weekend full of meetings and strange behavior. Meetings with my friends Dan and Daniel do not happen. I spend Friday night with Person Y.

There is the meeting with the Korean people with money. The first thing that they say is, "You look smaller than the picture that was in your brochure".

And I have an outburst, "Would people quit saying that! I am not losing...". And I catch myself. And continue on with, "But that picture was taken a month ago". This is met with blank stares, so I continue on with, "You have not been through the things that I have been through in the last month". And I see more blank stares, so I try to extricate myself with, "In the field of artificial life you can be larger than life and it has nothing to do with your size".

And the investors go wild! They love it. They understand this!

After the meeting, when I realize that the Koreans have simply tried to pick our brains for ideas and don't really have any money for us, I explode. I get VERY upset. I lay down the law with my partners: No more meetings with investors until there is cash up front. I'm tired of wasting my time with people who are just trying to see what we are doing.

I get upset with EVERYTHING - work, relationships, investors, and life - and find myself with my thumb extended on an onramp to the 101 heading North of San Francisco. I'm sitting on the grass with my thumb extended but nobody will pick me up. I get some thinking done. There is a vision: A lady dressed all in white comes out of the bushes and trees and sits down next to me. And says something to the effect that running away is not going to solve the problem because you'll still be there. And then she disappears.

Thanks, lady - I'm the problem! I head back towards the city and head for a club or two to get some thinking done. But there is no thinking to get done because I become engaged in conversations and walks with (new) friends back to my hotel room. I eventually spend Saturday night with Person J.

On Sunday morning I decide that I have to leave early. I am too hung over and out of control to remain in this city. So I call the airline, pay the penalty, and go to checkout of the hotel. The manager says "The night front deskman says that you had many visitors last night. I should charge you for the extra people."

And I respond with, "But there was only one extra person in the room at a time. You can charge me for one extra person if you want. Did you hear any complaints from anyone?" I know the answer to this question - We might have been loud at times, but there are hardly any other guests in the hotel. There is nobody to complain.

He does not charge me extra. He only invites me to come back again soon because he needs the business.

When I get back home, there are two court summons in the mail. One in the mailbox is for jury duty. I can handle this one. One summons is taped to my front door from the Superior Court of San Diego. It is for child support from a "Raymond Nonato Manning, III". And they are threatening to garnish wages. Yes, this is going to be a good week.

When I get back to Long Beach I go for a bicycle ride. And when I take a shower afterwards I find both teeth marks and bruises on my arms (and various other places). I do not really remember the entirety of the situation that would have caused these.

I get an email poem from another friend who shall not even be assigned a letter and who has never appeared in this diary. (We don't need to go into what life this person is from.) It reads: I just saw you in San Francisco. I wrote this poem about you.
I just saw you walk by and I know that you know-o-o
I tried to call you but I can't find the telephone
I sent a message through the Internet
But it came back saying it was rejected
I can't wait for you
Or things you make me do
I search from town to town but I can't find my breakthrough-u
I got so desperate that I sent a rocket to the moo-oo-oon
In SF city someone said they saw you singing the blues
But it was a man from NoWhereLand that looked like you
You saw me, you turned and ran
As if none of us give a damn
Later they recanted and said they saw you on Van Ness
Near the needle exchange you just looked like a real mess
You were beat and drawn - just a pale ghost
All night long, you were there, of nothing to boast
You saw yourself, you turned and ran
As if you couldn't give a damn

The email poem continues on to various stages and shades of decadence, both real and perceived, so I don't think that we should finish it here.

Late on Sunday night the KM calls and there is another 90 minute telephone call. Finally, hung over from the weekend, I go to sleep. Between the hours of 10 pm on Sunday night and 7 am on Monday morning the telephone rings at least ten different times. Four times it is the KM - he leaves messages. I would not be surprised if it was the KM all of the other times also.