Snippet from “Junk Punch”

The following is a relatively raw snippet from my upcoming book “Junk Punch.”


For this, there is no training in either school or from the a posteriori position that enables one to say with conviction that they’re ready to be crippled in this way. For me, the experience was quite like this. The naivete that consumed my life while my mom was alive was not only a luxury I could no longer afford, but within it was nothing ever found about not just the outside world but how to recover the security that had been lost. Very quickly, however, certain things become manifestly clear about your new life.

First is that you’re obviously minus a parent. As startling as that may be in and of itself, I’ve already established that it alone is mostly insignificant. The only thing that rears its ugly head here is the realization that tomorrow, when you wake up, that person won’t be there. This isn’t unlike seeing them off for an extended leave, although I must confess that this epiphany may have resulted from the drawn-out winnowing process instead of making itself clear from the start. Regardless of how level headed one thinks they are in crisis situations, an adaptive process is required in some degree introspectively. Even the sharpest of minds will fall dull against this particular foe.

Second is the factor of perspective, to which it would appear that in most cases, but certainly not all, age disparity plays a more than significant role. Unfortunately, informing those fresh to the bereavement process of things like “time heals all wounds” or “you need to seek out closure” are about as meaningful functionally as a fire is to a burn victim. I will spare my full expose on it for the immediate moment and in lieu only say that time quite boorishly does nothing. Even as a function it’s honestly incapable of fulfilling such a task. As for closure, it will only ever work if one is prepared to accept within themselves a sort of multiple personality environment where the you prior to the event is no longer the same you afterward. This is in reality a method of assimilation, to which no one should be subject to professional psychiatric evaluation for. It is a default defensive mechanism and it is a required one. However, true closure is unattainable. No matter how long you wait, how many personas you develop, or how much you reflect and/or write about it, you realize that emotionally you are scarred for life. There is a distinct psychological factor here and I’ll touch on it momentarily.

“As one door closes, yet another opens.” This is true although the price to pay for the key is sometimes a fair bit too high. The sequence of opening and closing doors always occurs within the same hallway. When looking back, one sees reflections of one’s self within the snapshots contained between a set of two closed doors. Thus while you retain the same corporeal form, subject to biology, the evolution of the psyche from one gap to another will always change. Closure, in this way, is quite attainable but it is not the nature of the type that defines that delivered by the platitude. One has to take great care when engaging in the business of toggling doors. It is possible to not close doors at appropriate times or open them either too soon or too late. The caveat here though is that these particular doors can only be toggled by yourself and perspective is the only thing that will help you with navigation.

Third, and finally, is the realization that to some degree, one is faced with the Aristotelian concept of a tabula rasa. This may not be of effect on those who have reached sufficient age or who’s parents have lived to an acceptable age where the termination of life is, in a way, expected. Going back to the door analogy for one last moment, this phenomenon can be seen when one is ill equipped to open a door and does so prematurely or, in the relevant case, has the door blown open and is sucked in with the back draft. When an artist obtains an easel, they do in fact have some notion to what they intend to paint onto it. When a writer obtains a set of empty pages, they too have some concept of the words they wish to place down. In each of these examples, the person has some prior planning as to what exactly they’re going to do with their own blank slates. This goes back again to the preparatory stages mentioned before. Here is where having a lack of planning starts to reveal itself. A tabula rasa carries with it tremendous possibilities. However, it’s just as easy to discard it as it is to sit, paralyzed, and stare at it wondering who will make the first move between the two of you. This, dear reader, is what I found I was left with. A destroyed past and a blank slate for the future with absolutely no plan on what the hell to do with it.

Here I feel I must digress for a moment for if you have followed me so far then there must be an obvious logical gap. The training provided in one’s formative years, while not preparing one for the degree of emotional distress in a parental death, can indeed provide one with the tools to build upon said tabula rasa. There are still two unresolved issues here. First that the training is subjective to the society. Unless one is capable of refactoring their skills to a form as generic as possible, it is of no use to them elsewhere. This proves to be a problem when, spurred by ill-managed insurmountable grief, one becomes aimlessly migratory, in search of that special something. The second ties back to the emotional aspect. What the training cannot do is to functionally compel you to, in essence, begin the rebuilding effort. With the examples provided, it cannot make the artist paint or the writer write. The push against paralysis, induced by fear, is harder to accomplish than most realize.

This then leads to our next topic. If I had been so clearly emotionally destroyed, left with no direction whatsoever, had both my innocence and security taken away from me, been robbed of not just my mother but the life I had before and the future that included her, how in the hell did I manage to force myself to start figuring out how to create my own security?

Let’s start with the obvious matter which is to say that none of this, the things that have been discussed so far, was evident to me at the time. My philosophy and total understanding of the matter were quite absent from my mind. That is to say that there was no conscious effort toward rebuilding security at all. Everything that was done was done so in a shooting from the hip style; although that itself is not entirely accurate, it will suffice for now.

The reason for bringing this to light is because it’s an incredibly fair point, in fact one that I can attest to personally, to assert that in a case like this, one needs a little help regaining perspective. As I mentioned before, perspective is the key to both mitigation and forward momentum. Looking to the day she had died in the hospital, there were a great many things that could have been pivotal in facilitating the direction of the perspective. I will spare you the details but give instead those things that are distinct in this regard.

There was the palpable solemn chaos that was evident in all the persons present for my mom’s final diagnoses. It’s strange to think back now that even though we all shared the same orienting event/person, it wouldn’t be disingenuous to assert that there were still tangible degrees of separation between us. I can’t be quite sure if this was a result of the matter at hand, still very fresh, or if it were stemming from deep-rooted matters from years prior. Animosity, something to which no family is immune to, courses rather deeply in the veins of mine. With no time ever being the wrong time, now would have been as good as any to bring up, well, anything. I don’t recall anyone scratching the wounds open overtly, to which I’d like to credit common decency, but the idea that the chance was there wasn’t lost to me; death impacts us all in incredibly strange ways.

This feeling carried into the meeting room, where we had been handed the doctor’s assessment, something which I feel still is an area of opportunity for them. No one questioned the ability of his art, but the caveat during his here’s what we did speech, that being had we found her sooner she might have had a chance, left a bitter taste in my mouth. I can’t pretend to understand what went through my sibling’s minds. The moment of realization came when, standing in front of her bed, the overpowering stench of death singed my nostrils. This token of finality, the biological reminder of your natural shackles, leaves in its wake nothing pleasant; not to the scent but also not to the sight either.

Society is never too far behind, even in bereavement. For nearly immediately after the proclamation of death was announced, I was to be sequestered in a private room joined by the coroner, a requirement in drug-related deaths, and a representative from some organization whose name has been lost to me. She was there to take care of some matters regarding my mother’s compliance to be an organ donor. A task for which there were to be no spoils for her on account of the severe damage done to the organs from not just the drugs but also from the charcoal that had been pumped into her system in an effort to mitigate the cause. My consolation prize from her was a Memory Box. Inside was a heavy metal emblem that would have been seated inside her tombstone had she received one.

So there it was. The adjacent room contained the corpse of my mother and we were to sully on home with an organ donors tombstone headdress. Delivery of this verdict to my grandmother, who awaited at home for the return of her daughter and instead received a box made of recyclable material, was an education of a kind. All of this framed for me the very real aspect of life called fragility. It was in this, however, that I was able to find my perspective.

The following days were beyond trying as the world I’d been accustomed to rapidly deteriorated. It felt as if everything and everyone were on the brink and the outcomes, now in the future being evidently predictable, were so volatile then that each morning I made a cursory glance on the two remaining occupants just as a sanity check. But I always passed on that room.

I don’t recall in lucid detail how it transpired since it was a blur for most of it, but my youngest sister eventually did leave the house; it was to be a few years before I was to see her again. My grandmother and I held out on our own as best as we could, but her health condition coupled with my inability to find work at the time resulted in her departure as well. Before too long, it was just myself left there. Well, my pet parakeet and I to be exact. In a few short weeks, everything was entirely gone. All that remained was an empty shell of a house where not too long ago, there were four people commencing otherwise normal lives. To see the phantoms of this past seep from the pores of the walls was nauseating and I never was able to reconcile this to a degree of comfort.

One day before I left for Columbus, I mustered the courage to enter that room – the one I’d avoided. The one I’d hid from. The one I couldn’t even look at the doorknob comfortably for having invoked this ridiculously irrational fear of seeing it rotate with no hand guiding it. Standing in front of it, I inhaled deeply, more so than I’m sure Michael Phelps ever did, clasped and rotated the knob, and thrust myself inward. I know for sure I choked on the air. That door had been shut since the vultures of materialism had swooped down to descend upon the now master-less bounty that was just ripe for the picking. What was left was exactly the way it was the night she died – a Time Capsule. The dresser, bed, television, and night stand sat and waited, yearning to be used yet again. It was well beyond my grasp, or even the will of my person, to think of doing such a thing at the time. Collapsing instead on the floor against the wall, it was all I could do to take in the atmosphere around me. I didn’t emote, even as I felt all of the emotion rushing back into me. The memories of that night, the culmination of the weeks leading up to the departure I made at the very end, all rushed forth into my throat. That pinging feeling of having to swallow that ball back down was far more difficult that it needed to be.

In a way, this was a second form of finality. I imagined it being much like a photographer, who having been at once overcome by the landscape before them, captured the moment and from it created a postcard of profound beauty. This photograph, the last one I took of this time, has been locked within me ever since and to this day I can recall it vividly ad arbitrium. If one were looking to say that I’d found some kind of closure, this would perhaps be the most appropriate time to say that maybe I did. The settling of emotions pressed down within me to form the foundation for what I’d later understand as the start of the assimilation process. With one final glimpse and an incredibly deep breath, I rose from the floor and walked out the door, never to look back.

Haters: Sometimes They Really Don’t Want to Be You

“People hate you because they want to be you.” In so many words, this and phrases like it are uttered time and time again to the downtrodden, misrepresented, misunderstood, and supposedly unique persons. The phrases are thrown around in so many different syntactical permutations, each attempting to place varying sympathetic emphasis on the victim of the perceived indifference, and always intended to antagonize the perpetrator(s). The goal, invariably, is to fortify the self-esteem of the victim and to embolden them in remaining vigilant against nay-sayers from all perspectives so that they will continue to be the individuals that they are. Altruistically, all appears to be sound. The invoker of the phrase, if not the victim themselves, garners respect and adulation from the victim and perhaps from others, and is thus considered to be morally aligned with those who see this as such. The antagonist, left wilting away in their now obviously futile attempt of degradation, sulks back to the cave from whence they emerged and life carries on unabated.

There is something a tiny bit disingenuous about this assumed intent however. It is certainly true that there are persons who awake in the morning with the sole intent of making their peer’s lives as miserable as possible. Others will prey upon the perceptibly socially weak for only the deranged satisfaction that is to be derived from it (and of which only they themselves are capable of indulging in). For these people, where attempts at curbing their considerably disagreeable behavior either are derailed from the start and for all of their time or simply won’t emerge until far later in life (it is possible for one to learn the error of one’s ways), the psychological, and sometimes physical, barricade will need to be constant. Instruction and consistent enforcement of the intolerance for indifference should always be practiced regardless. Other times it is possible that a practitioner of bigotry is acting so out of the pretext of malicious propaganda; osmosis from family and social circles, assiduously preached misinformation by cornerstone figures in communities, and cultural slants that should really be going in the opposite direction just to name a few. These people can be dealt with in a different manner which attempts to bring them back from the brink and into moral favor. These are mistakes of their peers bubbling outward through them to which they cannot be blamed exclusively for (for their own actions, of course).

Now despite the misgivings about my approach to this topic, one thing should be made abundantly clear by now but I’ll do you the favor of spelling it out. In no way, at all, do I now or have ever in the past condoned or considered as a good idea any act of indifference or bigotry. In a considerably more plain way, bullying is not something I either associate myself with or think is tolerable. So then, what really is so disingenuous about the aforementioned phrases?

There is a subtle tone of irony lurking in the shadows of the phrases. While attempting to defend the individuality of the victim, it simultaneously alienates the individuality of the assailant and presupposes only a wanton masochistic chameleon-esque adaptation of the individual from the victim by the assailant. In an effort to reinforce and reaffirm the individual that is considered to be the victim, we assert by default a spiteful copy-and-paste attempt by the assailant as the only impetus for this and the reflection of this desire equates to nothing short of the oppression and vitriol which they practice so often. Imagine then how this sounds to you, when you consider a bully of this sort who wakes up in the morning: “I REALLY REALLY want to be just like John, in every way possible! In order to do that, and to emulate perfectly his individuality, I’ll be sure to cause him nothing but grief and use socially sensitive aspects to make fun of and torture him with!” That’s not to say that this sort of idiotic notion isn’t conceived at one point or another within a mind; it’s plausible that it would be. It’s also plausible, and far more obvious in fact, to imagine that in an attempt at emulation of an individual, one would be more likely to act or behave in accordance with the target of the emulation as is the case with ridiculous fanaticism embraced by us little people in the wake of celebrities. When considered in this way, it’s hardly a significant draw of the intellect to make this comparison. Having established that, the phrases almost turn on themselves. For they now decree that the bully, in a veil of such extreme obsessive fanaticism over their personal celebrity, that being the victim, wanting nothing more than to emulate perfectly the aspect of their individuality that is desired, they resort to extreme methods of abuse, punishment, and torture – none of which place them in a position to assimilate this so sought after trait.

The overarching ignorance here is that when invoked, phrases of these sort are literally and figuratively no less shallow than the acts of aggression to which they are intended to defend against. They do not address the questions of root cause; what were the environmental factors that together culminated into the mess that is the bully? In a similar note, what other environmental factors facilitate the notion that certain seemingly arbitrary traits about people are points of both isolation and desired attack? The obvious irony here is that in an effort to achieve and maintain individuality, one runs the risk of sometimes severe scrutiny for doing so – but why is this the case? Why does it just seem like bullies come out of the woodwork and people are consistently in a reactive state regarding them? At this juncture, the only purpose these phrases serve is to reaffirm the proliferation of personality and in an entirely unhealthy way.

No one doubts that in practice, bullies are quite real as is the damage that they inflict upon others; this alone warrants reaction to the immediate causality. This aspect shouldn’t ever be downplayed in the slightest. I myself have been subject to bullying of an extreme sort, resulting in physical violence, whilst my peers, pitiless, callous, and vicariously complicit through cowardice, stood idly by as if it were all just normal. “Oh he goes around punching everybody!” – a remark I can quite acutely recall from someone I can only assume had been a victim of this bully, and would have thought far less of this person if they weren’t. So yes, on a case-by-case basis we are and should be required to deal with it blow-for-blow. Simultaneously, and this parallelism should be marked quite carefully and distinctly, the root cause should always be considered and this falls well beyond the scope of immediate causality. A place where “They’re just jealous of you” carries with it about as much intellectual nourishment as piety does in any domain.

What then should we be looking for? How do we actually address the issue of bullying? These appear to be hard questions because frankly they are. However, when asked differently as How do you address the cultural blemishes that both foster and permit this behavior?, it becomes slightly easier to put into scope but nonetheless leaves massive hurdles that are in fact able to be vaulted. To get started in the right direction, one has to realize first that none of this behavior is genetic. No one person is genetically predetermined to exhibit violence of this sort. It is in fact the social environment in which the child grows and is continuously exposed to which begins to kindle this kind of behavior. Were they raised in an environment where reciprocity and positive mutual relations were pinnacle in their success? Or were they subject to competition for both basic and contrived human needs where the only order of the day was to simply be the best? These are none of them genetic in the slightest. You are not born with an innate understanding of Capitalist America, neither of Communist China, neither of tribal alignments. There is no innate desire to ascertain all power and accumulate all material possessions in a fashion that would make even the most fanatic of barbarians shutter in horror. You are human, all too human.  You are molded by your family, your friends, your society, your communities, your government – all attribute in some way to the result that is aged you. Do not for one second discount the supposedly trivial things for sometimes they are in fact the ones most likely to subvert the subconscious, thus placing you on an entirely different path.

Next we have to ask ourselves if the society that we participate in today is conducive to our well-being. Do we really think that the bullying and violence are not actually a byproduct of the stratification, hyper competition, and near-cancerous proliferation of personality propaganda combined? Statistical studies continuously show that certain areas of the U.S. are far more violent than others, indicating an uneven distribution of our so-called genetic predetermination. However, the same imbalance can be seen when these studies are applied in the scope of the world. Different cultures yield different persons. They’re shaped in much the same way as we are with regard to modality: family, friends, and communities. The difference is nearly strictly in that of perspective and what is considered as the prime predicate for the sane and pragmatic survival of the group. Do they feel that the only way to survive is to beat down all others in a game of perpetual conflict, simply to see who can piss further? Do they feel that egalitarian methods of sharing and open collaboration are the best ways to go? Isn’t it possible that maybe, just maybe, the arena in which we nurture our children in isn’t really the most advantageous for producing not only non-violent and open-minded persons but also happy ones?

The victim and the bully, much like everyone else in our society, is and has been formed in a way that makes them who they are. A confusion of supposed predeterminations with what are instead quite malleable environmental factors leads us to consistently look in the wrong direction for solutions. For to look at the true causality would be to put to scrutiny the very same social system that we live in and most are unfortunately unwilling to take that step for one reason or another; most of which are ineffective as legitimate excuses. Ensuring that not only our children but us adults as well know that open communication, collaboration, and plausible rationality is critical. Competition, contrived scarcity, over-inflation of X Politics, blind servility – these are none of them useful when helping to educate and propagate equality and pure altruism.

So no, haters sometimes really don’t want to be you. And you shouldn’t aspire to reciprocate that even in defense.

Configuring Apache Cordova with JetBrains WebStorm

Stepping back into the mobile arena after a bit of an absence, I decided to take a bit of advice from a gentleman who sat in on my 2014 Ohio Linux Fest lecture “Android Development on Linux” (generously, and anonymously, curated on the Internet Archive) and look not just at Android but at cross platform. For the longest time, this has always been a topic of considerable consternation. One has to think, upon reflection of the history of technology, that we’ve experienced in some ways a regression to the days when cross platform littered the landscape and was, in certain respects, paralyzing. Fortunately for myself and others, we weren’t the only ones who recognized this. Some have taken action to help ensure that we do have a shim solution for these cases, and this is where Cordova enters the fray. Being derived from PhoneGap and adopted by Apache, Cordova attempts to bring to mobile developers the ability to write a program using web languages such as HTML, CSS, and JavaScript and deploy it to multiple platforms including but not limited to Android, iOS, and Windows Phone.

As I mentioned before, the focus this time around is on cross platform development. I had a little taste of PhoneGap a few years ago and it never really stuck but there seems to be a little community acquiescence toward Cordova. Not to say that I’m following the grain too much here because there is a genuine personal interest in the framework on my part, but I want to be able to help people as well.

Now, the development environment that I use is detailed here. As you should be aware, you may want to keep this in mind proceeding forward.

  • OS: Linux
    • Distribution: Ubuntu 15.10
    • Only the default upstream repositories are used in dpkg
  • Arch: 64
  • IDE: JetBrains WebStorm (I have a license for this; the unlicensed version only works for thirty days).

As the title indicates, this tutorial is specific to configuring WebStorm to be used with Cordova. As such, there will be a lot of WebStorm-specific information here that, if you were using an alternative IDE, may not be applicable. You’ll want to follow your IDE’s integration instructions or deduce it on your own at that rate.

Prerequisite – NodeJS/NPM

I’m going to be frank here – there is very little that I know about NodeJS other than what it is, that it’s been the subject of quite a lot of hype in the web development community since its conception, and that it is a requirement on behalf of Cordova. While there is still quite a bit of homework that needs to be done on my part, I have been able to successfully install and configure it so that it works for the purposes of Cordova. This will be the topic that is covered here.

Node can either be installed by downloading it in a pre-compiled package from the Node website or through your distribution’s default repositories. If you elect to download from the Node website, you’ll need to be responsible for manual maintenance of the package and for extracting it to a location that you have access to via your permissions or ACLs (if your file system supports them). The method I used was installing was the former since updates are automatic and installation is performed in the appropriate directories. This can be done with the following command

sudo apt-get install nodejs

Once this command completes, you’ll have Node installed on your computer. To test this, you’ll want to start a Node interpreter by issuing the command nodejs at your terminal. If you’re brought to a new prompt lacking the traditional user and host name information, Node is all set to go. You’ll need to press Ctrl+C twice to end the program and return to your traditional prompt.

NPM, a pseudo package manager for JavaScript libraries, is required since this is the preferred method for installing Cordova. It will also help with obtaining Cordova plugins and other JavaScript libraries that you might want to use later on for development. It can be installed in the same was as Node was with the distribution’s package manager.

sudo apt-get install npm

To test the installation, you can simply issue npm at the terminal. If you get back a page of text indicating the usage syntax, NPM has been installed successfully.

Installing Cordova

When you’re using WebStorm, it’s apparently possible to install Cordova entirely through the IDE once you have configured it to locate both Node and NPM. These steps, however, are a little convoluted to follow, especially with all of the potential pitfalls you’re going to encounter, so we’re going to avoid this entirely and install Cordova with NPM on the terminal.

NPM has two install modes: local and global. A local installation will create a node_modules directory in the working directory where the command was issued at and install the module there. The global installation places all of the modules in a consolidated directory and makes that available to the system through environment variables; Cordova is best installed in global mode (recommended by the official install documentation). The installation can be performed with a single NPM command

sudo npm install -g cordova

The installation, when in the global scope, will need to be run as root hence the use of sudo.

Caveats… Already

To test Cordova, you’d do it in the same way that you would with both Node and NPM. However when you type cordova into the terminal and press enter, you will most likely, but certainly not always, get in response an error that may look like this:

/usr/bin/env: node: not found

The issue here is that Cordova is looking for the Node binary with a specific identifier, node. However when Node is installed through the package manager, the identifier of the binary is nodejs. Despite there being several tutorials on the Internet offering advice such as aliasing nodejs as node in your .bashrc file, the solution that needs implemented here is to create a symlink in /usr/bin named node that links back to nodejs. So what your directory tree looks like then is similar to this


If the highlighting gets in the way, what you should be paying attention to here is that the bottom highlighted line shows the actual Node binary, nodejs, and the top line shows the node symlink which points straight to the nodejs binary. They’re both in the same directory but Cordova is looking specifically for the node file. I’m unsure if this can be configured in Cordova in some way so if someone knows, please share how to do this. Either way, once this symlink exists in /usr/bin, you should be able to then issue cordova from the terminal and get syntax help printed out to the terminal. If this happens, Cordova can see Node and is ready to go.

Prerequisite – Platform SDKs

As great as Cordova may be, it needs the platform SDKs in order to build for each one specifically. Obviously, while capable of bridging the gap between platforms, you still need the platforms themselves to actually accomplish anything. The good thing is that the Cordova wiki hosts a plethora of information relative to acquiring the corresponding SDKs. Being on a Linux system, you can install without a serious amount of labor the Android, BlackBerry and Ubuntu SDKs. For the sake of this tutorial, we’re only going to be focusing on the Android SDK. If there is further interest in setting up any of the other SDKs, I’ll create them later.

Downloading and installing the Android SDK should be a relatively straightforward process at this stage. I’m going to assume that you either know how to do this or can follow the instructions outlined on the Cordova wiki. Post installation, you’ll want to ensure that you have added an environment variable called ANDROID_HOME and included it in your PATH environment variable that points to the root directory of the SDK; again assuming that you know how to set persistent environment variables on your Linux computer..

As a secondary caveat, if you’re starting WebStorm from a desktop link or a link in the Unity Launcher, there is a bit of a catch in that the invocation context will be such that the program won’t notice the user-modified PATH variable that contains the ANDROID_HOME variable. What this means is that the IDE won’t be able to see the location of the Android SDK (I’m assuming that this would be the case for other SDKs as well). The way to fix this is to modify the EXEC field in the file to preface the issuing command with bash -ic.


Keep in mind that traditional desktop icons are found in ~/.local/share/applications while Unity Launcher icons are located in /usr/share/applications.

So long as all of these conditions are met, you should be able then to start WebStorm and create a Cordova project. Let’s step through that process next.

WebStorm – Creating a Cordova Project


As you can tell, I’ve been at this for quite some time.

The first thing you’ll want to do is click on Configure at the bottom-right and then select Settings which will be the first item in the subsequent menu.


First you’ll want to examine to ensure that WebStorm knows the location of Node. It’s highly unlikely that it has automatically determined its location so you may have to set it. Keeping in mind the location of the Node binary that was installed through your system’s package manager, you’ll want to get this fully qualified path name, along with the binary, into the Node interpreter field. Code Assistance may not be enabled for you by default. Frankly I’m unsure what this feature is but I have it enabled because… reasons.


Next you’ll want to instruct WebStorm as to where to find the Cordova binary. Again, there’s a very high chance that it’s not automatically detected by your installation so you’ll have to manually specify. As we did with specifying the Node installation directory, you’ll need to do that here in the first field labeled PhoneGap/Cordova executable. Note that WebStorm still retains the PhoneGap label for all things Cordova even though Cordova has absorbed PhoneGap. Once the installation directory has been specified and WebStorm sees the Cordova binary, the PhoneGap/Cordova version field should automatically populate. The third field, PhoneGap/Cordova working directory shouldn’t be filled out at this point; ignore my entry here. This field is specific to your current project. This also explains the error that you’re seeing at the bottom of the window in the screen shot.

Once those are set, you can click OK and go back to the WebStorm Greeting Window. Here, you can click on Create New Project.


Once the New Project dialog appears, you’ll select PhoneGap/Cordova App on the left side and then fill out the Location field. The PhoneGap/Cordova field is simply the location of the Cordova binary; we set this previously in the global settings. Click Create and WebStorm should take care of the work to generate the files necessary for your project.


Now so long as the steps above were followed to the letter, you shouldn’t have any errors, other than something simply blowing up, that get thrown from WebStorm. Now you can start working on your program.



Testing your Cordova program can be done by creating multiple Run Configurations. Each of these would be distinguished by the value in the Name field. The value in the Command field will determine if Cordova will attempt to delegate to the emulator for the target platform, and the value in the Platform field will determine which platform is being targeted with this Run Configuration. I prefer to test on actual hardware, unless I’m constrained by the lack of, so for Android deployments I’ll deploy strictly to the device.

This should be enough to get you started. You can always read more on the Cordova Wiki to get a primer on the Cordova specifics. Otherwise you can start hacking away using HTML, CSS, and JavaScript

Personal Appraisal

Personal Appraisal

Quod siquis vera vitam ratione gubernet,
divitiae grandes homini sunt vivere parvo
aequo animo; neque enim est umquam penuria parvi.

But if you’d steer your life by a philosophy that’s true,
The way to be the wealthiest of men is to eschew
High living, and be contented in the mind – for there has never
Been a poverty of modest means.

Titus Lucretius Carus – de Rerum Natura

By what means do we, in our current capitalist paradigm, consider money to be such a meager and humble commodity that it in and of itself not only represents faultlessly but equates exactly to our value as sentient human beings? Has acquisition and attainment alone ever conflated to unadulterated happiness and pure altruism? When you remove the faculty of money, a tool of equation, from the all too abused mode of individuality sometimes termed as self-maximization, what is left within the self that is of any conscionable nature that would be remotely considered conducive to morally acceptable behavior to our brothers and sisters? Nothing, for the widespread assertion that the money sequence of value either conflates or represents the life sequence of value is entirely arbitrary and false. There could be no other grandiose misrepresentation of our true nature than to attempt to quantify and dignify it as gross domestic product.

To this end all business operates tirelessly and endlessly. Cyclical consumption and the polymorphic modes that both individuals (consumers) and even businesses themselves (consumers/producers) operate in keep in check carefully the assurance that the repetition is not broken. Individuals as employees will sell their time to an employer to produce the goods that the employer then sells to other individuals or businesses, consumers, thus it flows onward. So the flow goes with a perceived elegance that just can’t be described as anything other than natural. So natural, in fact, that it would be utter folly to think that it could be wrong. How, when one is part of a society where abundance is aplenty, regardless if it’s to be maintained synthetically, and wealth, even though partitioned unfairly, maintains the decadence that we expect to grant us our little hovels with our creature comforts so that we’ll just be content with our meager rewards, would anyone then even think about how this could maybe, just maybe, be all wrong?

So sick is our society that we have managed to profiteer the human themselves and the methods by which we’re herded, sometimes all too tacitly. Privately held incarceration facilities trade investments on the Stock Market where its value will fluctuate based on the inmate population. Insurance agencies attempt to register infants, through appeals to their parents, into life insurance policies that not only place a dollar value on that life that matures as the child does, much in the same way as a Money Market, CD, or Savings Account, so that in the event of an untimely death, someone reaps some reward from it. The same agencies also offer up the same insurances for elderly persons who, on their last hurrah, might as well give something a little extra to not just the families but to the agency and its CEO and board members. Young workers in all industries are consistently hounded about investing in retirement funds, be it a 401(k) or an IRA, where they’re encouraged to invest more and more of their money, placing immediate undue hardship on them and their families, all for the idea that someday they’ll be worth something. One ad from Fidelity Investments for such a policy is titled “Because someday, I’ll be the perfect vintage.”

In agreement we simply nod our heads and don’t worry about it as we sulk on back to the cave. Your children are fed, your lights are still on, your clothes are clean, your lawn is cut, your car is full of gasoline, your bills are paid (on time) – why trouble yourself with anything else?

Slowly but surely, we are killing our planet to meet these seemingly endless consumer-driven, yet contrived, requirements. As the poles begin their steady yet inevitable melt away to liquid form, and our atmosphere is congested with carbon emissions from wildly inefficient means of travel, and our brothers and sisters who are not worth anything are left to rot away tucked in the back alleys and abandoned scrap yards so we don’t have to see them; they won’t be a problem that way, and our basic requirements for life are becoming more scarce and by reason of overpopulation synthetic, what excuse do you have now to say that you can’t trouble yourself with anything else? What can you say to your brothers and sisters who die daily because they can’t get food or water because they can’t afford it? How do you explain that this is normal to your children, and that the only way to be happy and successful in life is to simply make money? What made you not think, for one second, that competition is not the only way to live? How then do you not register that you, implicitly or explicitly, equate your measure of success and altruism in dollars and also that of your children and tell them to continue to do the same thing?

The marks that we leave behind now will be the ones that our children have to deal with. They will be responsible for carrying our torches into the future, for doing so within the context that we set for them, and we are most of us wildly irresponsible in thinking that continuing this mode of valuing life is anything solid enough to sustain life at all, or even a future for that matter. Change has to start now, and start with you.

Personal Update

“We are unknown to ourselves, we knowers: and with good reason. We have never looked for ourselves, – so how are we ever supposed to find ourselves?” – Friedrich Nietzsche from On the Genealogy of Morals.

It’s absolutely incredible what happens when you divorce your life from the internet. Or, perhaps, it should be phrased the other way around: It’s absolutely incredible what happens when you divorce the internet from your life. Regardless of your ability to admit to it or not, the permeation of this amazing tool can, and has, replaced a lot of the aspects of our lives for either good or bad. Being someone who has chosen technology as not only a career choice, but as a lifestyle, the line between where I begin and end blurs heavily and with a very scary amount of ease.

However, this isn’t some post that ends up being the darling to all those who damn both technology and the internet. Nor does it serve as a treatise on coming-clean from an addictive state regarding either of those. Instead it is simply a testament to an awakening. Not in a spiritual sense, as some like to incorrectly conflate in all invocations, but of a more conscious nature.

The human mind is an astounding piece of evolutionary and biological achievement. The ability that we possess for retaining memory, processing input simultaneously from nearly all areas of our bodies, and reacting to events in real-time rationally is not something to lightly scoff at. Equally, if not more impressive, is our faculty for what we call critical thinking. In this we find that we’re capable of creating some of the most elaborate tools and technologies to help us to sustain both living and communities. Also it can produce some of the finest liberal arts that we know of and have yet to discover. But it is this one piece of our minds, our wonderful and incredible minds, that is constantly being thwarted on a daily basis and the situation is not improving.

Think about it – when you check Facebook, what is it that you’re seeing? You’re certainly paying attention to your stream of updates from “Facebook Friends” but what else is there? Advertisements, trending celebrity news, posts from “Facebook Friends” who are actually businesses or organisations that are treated as single entities, carefully crafted headlines that link back to pages with an article that’s less than five-hundred words or diluted with pagination in order to increase ad revenue and waste more of your time, propagation of questionable “facts” and “truths” from unreliable sources, and, depending upon your usage, a sufficiently cultivated canonical history of your life that, in hindsight, removes the ability of such a user to have a complaint against having their privacy violated in any way whatsoever.

For these people, previously mentioned, Facebook has become a way to run their lives. Thus Facebook is their lives and , as follows, their lives are shaped by it.

But there is more that you can take away from other aspects of what was mentioned. The mass inundation of trite celebrity news and entertainment updates accumulates into a sweltering cesspool of overwhelmingly useless information, serving only to further facilitate this obsessive compulsive mentality in which those prey to it vicariously act out their lives or interests in. This usually results in the complete absenteeism of the individual and does not further press or force uniqueness. “Kim Kardashian poses nude for Paper magasine!” “A new Marvel movie is set to be released soon!” “Photos emerge of Avril Lavigne on her new Instagram account!” – who cares?

We are consistently lowering our expectations of ourselves for reasons which seem, at first, to be purely altruistic, and of that qualification we accept no dissenting perspective. Instead we lash out with public scrutiny, both verbal and in some cases physical and resulting in long-term damages, even if said scrutiny would potentially lead to a more practical, pragmatic or, ironically enough, altruistically sound solution. We’re entirely okay with this though and have accepted it as the supposed utopian goal of our society, thus our models of consumption and retention, regarding information, and scope of vision have been dimmed to the confines of the individual, making the very concept of “individuality” both our greatest asset and our worst enemy. News agencies and media outlets whittle down their articles to the smallest number of words possible, making them void of substance of any kind, to cater to the calculated lessening attention span of the “average” sheep. Because news is now compartmentalised in this way, smaller chunks can be delivered faster and in larger volumes. You don’t actually learn anything, because to learn is to digest, and it is impossible to digest properly what you are choking on. Digestion is an act that requires sufficient time, of which none of us are given. But don’t worry – this is okay. You don’t have to learn and you don’t have to think, that’s all taken care of for you. So you can continue to read, if you can, about the latest crumbling of a celebrity relationship.

Preying on individuality, we slaves to the dollar are subjected to filtered information of the highest magnitude to meet profit margins. Paradoxically, we promote the utmost importance of individuality and altruism yet actively subvert these things for a fiat currency that really, ultimately and truly, doesn’t mean anything. This is what our lives have resulted in: self-imposed slavery. This is what we teach our children, this is what we think is the norm, and this will because of those things, propagate forever until the human race has eradicated itself for the same reasons. Even those who are in control of money are slaves to it. Not necessarily what it manifests as physically but what it represents conceptually, which is far more dangerous than any money: a function of exercising power manipulation over large quantities of people. But how have we coped with this? Not by recognising this fallacy for the horror that it actually is and doing something about it, but by building upon it the foundations for assigning value to a life by quantity and supposed quality of material goods, which can only be attained with money, and from that somehow supposing that it alone is sufficient for judgment of our brothers and sisters, providing an adequate excuse to ignore objective morality (which, by the way, is not God nor any other religion which we have very sadly devoted ourselves to). We are, by nature, gluttons for slavery. We ask not to have absolute responsibility and accountability in our lives. We ask only, instead, that we delegate that to others, be they real or, hilariously, not, so that we can sit at home and feel as if we have done something right for ourselves regardless of other people in the world, or the Earth itself. We then feel entitled to read more celebrity news stories.

We don’t read, we don’t eat, we don’t sleep, and we don’t think. The very sad and horrible truth about life is that today’s society, that we have ourselves shaped, is at its core little more than a mildly civilised form of feudal medieval times. We’re kids with very large guns, uneducated and unprepared to handle them and brandish these weapons with a gusto that makes the most egotistical arrogant pig shudder in horror. We’re fine with Salem Witch Hunts, taking the most ludicrous steps against our brothers and sisters for the crime of critical thinking, and ensuring that we make it known for all, in this generation and the next, that you are to fall in line and never ask why.

This all makes me sick, and my repulsion of the virulence of this decadence gives me reason for great pause. It was for this which I stepped away from all of the things in my life, for just a brief moment, to attempt to make sense of and reconcile, neither of which I feel I have accomplished. I want to remove from me the entombment of myself by both myself and others. To be unafraid to think and speak as such. To structure my life in a way that shows what is possible when you are built not by the mistakes of those before you, but by the intents that you have to make changes now, and act on them.


A canopy of words and paper leaves
They all of them fall at once into her breast
Being dyslexic led her to read them backward
And interpret their meaning forward
Deeply into her pillows did she sink
To give thought to a mode of delivery
Something that would make sense to that one person
The one who would lay shoulder to face
And weep the tear that would change her life
But when thought was placed in this task
She found there were far too many words
Far too many letters, far too many
Climb the trees to seek the root
Maybe it will make sense there
Atop the world she was able to look down
Sight to the horizon, unabated
No truth remained hidden, no lie covered
And even though the harvest had come
There were yet words left to be sown
Extending her palm to embrace a passing cloud
A piece she did take from deep inside
Upon it she pressed gently her lips
First a kiss, and then a lick
Looking at it straight, she began to sing
First a subtle humming, then a vocal piece
It wasn’t a song like you’re maybe to hear
Full of structure and notes that come and go
A song that might penetrate your soul
Or one to invoke the memory in you
To an ear, one of ours, it was incomprehensible
A best, a slur of utterance and sound
To an ear, one of the trees, it sang of life
To an ear, one of the wind, it sang of motion
To an ear, one of the water, it sang of rhythm
To an ear, one of the earth, it sang of bounty
To an ear, one of you, it sang of unity
But it was evident that you didn’t understand
And of reason was she quite ignorant
Sing as she might, her voice never carried
Into the places it mattered most
When at song’s end, a single tear did she loose
To descend into your hands and cup it close
But it fell instead to the earth
Next to your feet
On a street at night, surrounded by black
Illuminated by a single street lamp
You stared toward the sky and embraced the snow
Deep inside welled a yearning, a craving, a longing
Outstretched was your tongue to taste the flakes
Instead they landed on your nose
When at last one struck your tongue
Awash, became you, with innate memory
The first felt all too familiar, the second did too
The third started to drift and so did the fourth
The fifth, as it should, sailed you adrift a river
A gently ride, the softest breeze, the bluest water
The greenest trees, the purest grass
It looked to be the craft by brush of a master
For the longest time did the boat coast and sway
Until at last the street returned to you
Two of you saw the same things
Felt the same emotions, ate the same snow
Sailed the same boat, saw the same scenery
As a car passed by, the headlights bring you home
Pushing you in a direction that seems to fit
They and you say it all makes sense
That the righteousness is too obvious
That your children have yet to experience
At least until you give it to them
To hold
To smell
To taste
To hear
To love
To hate
To osmose
To dignify
To educate
And then you hear something in the distance
Your vision is clear and your heart is in tune
And you’re reminded of the snowflake
The single one, out of an infinite lot
That showed you the river and the trees
The colour of the horizon that felt so inviting
That now looks so dismal and distorted
Do you share that with your children?
Or do you share the former?
These people do not tap their feet
They do not read and do not sew
But you decide, instead, to hum a lullaby


Round now the table were those whom we trust
Decide the fate of the knave; we insist they must
Lost all he did when the storm came and went
Rebuilding on eggshells was his energy misspent
Odd it should be that he now stand trial
When it was he alone who avoided their guile
Streets run full with the sad, cold and hungry
A sign on their chests reads “I will work for money”
Law backs turned on the crimes of the state
Liberate you we will by propagation of hate
Scream for yourself, but never for the many
Prosper on alone; easier controlled to the last penny
Feed up the rich and feed little to the poor
Make mark of and kill alike those who ask for more
A shepherd to the sheep are they now to we
And a blindfold used that we may not see
The knave has the courage to look at the fog
And to question the mist; much more than a cog
Question it all, leave none with no answer
Purge from the world the crux of man-made cancer
But the sheep do not like it, he who sets free
The grass here is greener – eat more and you’ll see
Pile atop the knave the seed sown of rhetoric
Keep him just alike; plain, stupid and dysphoric
When at last had his crimes become too great
Heretic! cried the sheep – Burn him! Be that his fate!
They spit and moaned and hissed and snared
He said List to me, please! You’re all just scared!
At podium he stood as sentence passed down
On his face they had painted the dress of a clown
Of high treason, they all say, you are now convicted
To speak as you do is no longer permitted
What say you, knave, who are soon to perish
Speak now or speak not – your death we will furnish
Not a word was let go from the edge of his lips
And off he was led; to his back they loosed the whips
A passerby, female, he saw, knelt over and wept
Why do this? he asked, the charity I cannot accept
Of wisdom and courage have I partaken of too
Please, of my own, may I not weep for you?
Aye, said the knave who scolded his kin
You can cry for me, but you should cry for the sin
Cry for the act and cry for the hold
O’er all of your life that you were at once sold