Gonzo Marketing:Winning Through Worst Practices The Bombast Transcripts: Rants and Screeds of RageBoy
Another cup? Why not!

Google Groups subscribe to Entropy Gradient Reversals
browse archives at groups.google.com


via PayPal...


Chris Locke's Facebook profile

don williams
jp rangaswami
dan gillmor
kevin marks
ann craig
frank paynter
mary wehmeier
donna wentworth
gary turner
halley suitt
jeneane sessum
blog sisters
denise howell
doc searls
david weinberger
brian millar
steve larsen
elizabeth lane lawley
michael "OC" clarke
george partington
e v h e a d
dave winer
eric norlin
tom matrullo
sweet fancy moses
julian bond
steve maclaughlin
the obvious?
gayle noelle
kate cohen
wood s lot
talking moose
oliver willis
dean landsman
creepy steve
bob adams
hernani dimantas
martin jensen
living code
walter thornton
phil wolff
steve rhodes
bob adams
gaspar torriero
paul vincent
sharon o'neill
sheila perkins
pluto krozabeeep
movable type
keith pelczarski
keith perkins
howard greenstein
greg carter
aron nopanen
bret fausett
m. melting object
sylvain carle
Saturday, May 25, 2002
Boning Up on the Vagina
I was at the Tattered Cover in Denver this evening, right across the street from the train station, a magnificent WPA relic. Back when Amerika had a culture, remember? I bought some funny cards to send to a faraway friend and a copy of Eve Ensler's The Vagina Monologues. Everybody's talking. Figured it was high time I boned up on this seminal work.

Minnie, Baby!

11:12 PM | link |

Come open the gate. Come ride your horse. Gonna say these words: rompiendo la monatonia del tiempo some sleazy goddess walking around in those jeans oh touch my crashing heaven baby I believe. Erzulie Ge-Rouge take me, terrible loa most beloved. Love and desire take me in your tears. Sond� mirori, I am your sun.

12:13 PM | link |

Thursday, May 23, 2002
True Stories
"Picking up something good." Something pretty much entirely grand, actually. -Radiohead.

8:09 AM | link |

Monday, May 20, 2002
Baby, Come Forward!
This gives a whole new meaning to I never had a chance. You didn't even let me explain! I mean, just because I was rolling around in bed that morning moaning oh Francesca, oh Erika, oh... what was your name again? was that any reason to lock me out of the bridal suite and not even throw my pants out into the hallway like I asked you so many times? Nicely, I thought. Please, Halley, can I at least have my pants? A towel? But no. You'd made up your mind and there was no way to convince you that it's always been you, baby, no matter how many times I went out catting on the Champs Elys�es during the engagement. There was never really anyone else. Well yeah, Monica and Genevieve, but that's all. OK, and Evette. But it was that song that kept running through my head. Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir. I couldn't help myself. Can't you understand that? Mom warned me years ago that you'd run off with some Episcopalian theologian. And see? I knew it. All our dreams about moving to Tasmania and setting up the chinchilla ranch, gone just like that. It wasn't about the croissants and you know it! You're just jealous. And it seems like we only just started. I mean, when did we first meet? Saturday, wasn't it? I told you we shouldn't fuck with the fabric of the universe like that. But you had a better idea, didn't you? You women are all the same! And before the coils had even cooled on the Chronosynclastic Infidibulum, you're down behind the stadium with some other blogger going "Have you ever seen Paris in the Spring?" Oh Halley, Halley, what went wrong? Don't come back and leave me stranded in this bleak, heartless present. Come forward. Give me just another 30 years. I can change.

7:54 PM | link |

Boundary Issues
So I'm sitting at home last night and find myself sorting socks and making deviled eggs for the school picnic. What the hell!!! What school picnic??? I think I must be losing my mind. In fact, I'm convinced of it, thank god. I keep flashing on our honeymoon in Paris. I'm so sorry about the croissants, I can't tell you. Can't stop thinking about what might have been with the lover I never had. Not exactly like some Norse madonna kneeling on a stone floor offering me exotic chocolate. Better. Less like Fellini. More like Felix the Cat. It's too late now for all the things we might have said. Too soon for all the things we will. Certainly we're past all notions of propriety and tact. We are passing beyond the realm of explanation, frameworks, systems, whether closed or open. There is no method to it any longer. Polishing up my soul a little over here. Practicing. I'll be your baby tonight, because baby you're the top. Who knows where it goes from here...

2:46 PM | link |

"RageBoy: Giving being fucking nuts a good name since 1985."
~D. Weinberger
28 October 2004

Chris Locke's photos More of Chris Locke's photos

Until a minute ago, I had no photos. I still have no photos to speak of. I don't even have a camera. But all these people were linking to "my photos." It was embarassing. It's still embarassing. But I'm used to that.

support free journalism
get this code

Technorati Search
this blog
all blogs

what I'm listening to...
billy idol - greatest hits

egr on topica
on yahoo groups
(way)back issues
egr home
terms of service

technorati cosmos

It is too late.



The Bombast Transcripts

Gonzo Marketing

The Cluetrain Manifesto

trust the man with the star

...the ventriloquial voice is both an attempt to imagine and pit the the speech of the body against the speech of culture, and an attempt to control that illegitimate speech, to draw it into discourse...

Sein und Zeitgeist

Samuel Pepys

All Products
Popular Music
Classical Music
Toys & Games
Baby! Baby!
Computer Games
Tools & Hardware
Outdoor "Living"
Kitchen Stuff
Camera & Photo
Wireless Phones
Emotional Outlet
Search by keywords:
In Association with Amazon.com

more / archives

live dangerously. subscribe to EGR

at a major industry conference,
chris locke once again captures the real story.

Powered by Blogger