elizabeth lane lawley
michael "OC" clarke
e v h e a d
sweet fancy moses
wood s lot
m. melting object
Thursday, October 31, 2002
in a sky full of people only some want to fly
in a church by the face he talks about the people going under only
child know a man decides after seventy years that what he goes there
for is to unlock the door while those around him criticize and sleep
and through a fractal on that breaking wall I see you my friend and
touch your face again miracles will happen as we trip but we're never
gonna survive unless we get a little crazy no we're never gonna
survive unless we are a little crazy crazy are the people walking
through my head one of them's got a gun to shoot the other one and yet
together they were friends at school get it, get it, get it, yeah! if
all were there when we first took the pill then maybe maybe maybe
maybe miracles will happen as we speak but we're never gonna survive
unless we get a little crazy no we're never gonna survive unless we
are a little crazy no no we'll never survive unless we get a little
bit... a man lives he decides to go along after seventy years oh
darlin in a sky full of people only some want to fly isn't that crazy
in a world full of people only some want to fly isn't that crazy crazy
in a heaven of people there's only some want to fly isn't that crazy
oh babe oh darlin' in a world full of people there's only some want to
fly isn't that crazy isn't that crazy isn't that crazy isn't that
crazy oh but we're never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy
no we're never gonna to survive unless we are a little crazy but
we're never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy no we're never
gonna to survive unless we are a little crazy no no never survive
unless we get a little bit... and then you see things the size of
which you've never known before they'll break it someday only child
know them things the size of which you've never known before someday
someday someday someday someday
day in the life I woke at noon again was up till dawn with that last
one down yo peaches doncha shake my tree branch flower sap in the
groove when I get it back your groove so cool my angel calls says hello chris
that voice & I'm undone again hey baby just left starbucks doing
up a quad headed home & you on the highway snow here you 2000
miles uplink & downlink through various satellites of love to talk
to you to hear your voice your smile coming through the static let me
call you back & back so hi how are you & I say almost home let
me call you so I park & go in make coffee check mail some good
stuff coming through for a change ring ring so hey how's the world
over there tonight pretty slow got lotsa time so I say what I think of
your breasts which is the world that they are perfect & I would
like to show you why & the rest of you too how we fit & talked
& felt so at ease still do but tonight maybe not gonna go there
maybe never again & I say all this time you've been fucking some
other guy & we laugh though it's perfectly true not a problem for
me as long as I love you I do your tender heart your passion courage
flashing wit those sounds you make that make me want to... no if you
do I'll hit the button cut you off but I'm lying in bed here & I'm
sleepy I want you to hold me come over here now & slip under these
covers I bought new lights the place was so dark might as well have
lux if not veritas so now it feels warm & friendly here in this
room which I hadn't slept in since London until last week six months
come on I say it's freezing outside & it is snow for three days
now & I forgot to buy firewood that would have been nice curl
right up here in my arms let me nuzzle against you fall asleep
dreaming you're really here but you say the traffic is moving again
& there are other better reasons I won't climb in with you &
you know it I do we've been over this before we both agree so OK then
how was your day & how was mine & you know I love you how your
heart opens like a flower your flower opens like your legs & our
tongues exploring in the bookstore as if on a winter's night you are
my other reader my deepest my best my runaway bestseller baby on the
run & I want you you know it you feel it you like it no secrets no
way & no way to bring you closer it's cool I just love you is why
& because & why not the moon sailing over somewhere as always
the ocean pounding the shore to pieces hurricanes rivers mountains sky
& you in it all as no other hey I say & you say hey & I
can hear the cars rushing past on your highway while we listen to the
silence we've shaped between us not as a wall but a place to rest in
trust in time we will always be here if we can will never say goodbye
never stop learning & knowing how deep this love goes how strong
& fine & you say what about our book & I say oh yes let's
so I read to you though I am falling asleep can't remember what I read
it must have sounded weird yeah you say you're tired you should go to
sleep I say no I want to talk to you I can sleep later unless you need
to go well look we talked this morning & last night we talked this
afternoon didn't we so isn't that enough no of course not you know I
would talk with you all day & night & you know the kinds of
things I'd start saying I provide some examples I'm going to hang up
if you do that you say but I'm pretty sure you won't though it's
dangerous to say that could be a dare & then I'd be looking at a
dead cell saying I don't believe she hung up on me & I was just
telling her how lovely her pussy felt on my tongue ring ring OK then
so let's talk about something else I'm driving out here it's a zoo
& you know all the reasons I can't let you do this do what I say
& she says you know no I say give me some context a long sigh a
laugh it is like this with us & I love her she knows it some
miracle opened up into my life in my darkest night suddenly you were
there breathless & fearless & it was as if we'd known each
other forever still is when the wind howls down & the snow loads
down the trees all the leaves gone now what happened to fall summer
spring what happened to this year to me & the answer is you &
your eyes that I had never seen but could feel from so far you should
go to sleep now you're delirious no yes no yes we beat around the bush
nice bush I say words to that effect you want to know what I'm going
to do when I get off I say no what you ask I'm going to get off oh you
you say but you know it's true so we say goodnight & I do &
fall into a seamless deep sleep dreaming you dreaming me in a sky
full of people & when I wake before midnight I stretch I feel
rested & magical in the night I punch up seal doing crazy &
play it at volume again & again & I begin to wonder how all this
would lay out in html...
miracles will happen as we speak but we're never gonna survive unless
we get a little crazy no we're never gonna survive unless we are a
little crazy no no we'll never survive unless we get a little bit... a
man lives he decides to go along after seventy years oh darlin in a
sky full of people only some want to fly isn't that crazy in a world
full of people only some want to fly isn't that crazy crazy in a
heaven of people there's only some want to fly isn't that crazy oh
babe oh darlin' in a world full of people there's only some want to
fly isn't that crazy isn't that crazy isn't that crazy isn't that
crazy oh but we're never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy no
we're never gonna to survive unless we are a little crazy but we're
never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy no we're never gonna
to survive unless we are a little crazy no no never survive unless we
get a little bit... and then you see things the size of which you've
never known before they'll break it someday only child know them
things the size of which you've never known before someday someday
someday someday someday in a church by the face he talks about the
people going under only child know a man decides after seventy years
that what he goes there for is to unlock the door while those around
him criticize and sleep and through a fractal on that breaking wall I
see you my friend and touch your face again miracles will happen as we
trip but we're never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy no
we're never gonna survive unless we are a little crazy crazy are the
people walking through my head one of them's got a gun to shoot the
other one and yet together they were friends at school get it, get it,
get it, yeah! if all were there when we first took the pill then maybe
maybe maybe maybe
11:37 PM | link |
There Is No Pain, You Are Receding...
"If you want to experience the essential mystery of this
world, the invisible plane that supports what we see, then be
awake under the stars while the rest of the world sleeps."
Laurie Doctor - September 4, 2002
It appears that the grasping of this essential mystery does not
apply to airline pilots (perhaps because they fly visible
planes), nor to long-haul truckers. Note times below. Presumably,
stars were shining, the world asleep, and all stated conditions
otherwise met. Essential mysteries aside, it seems to me that just
being basically awake would make a pretty good start.
Dean & DeLuca Internet Customer Assistance Team
Order # 1665673
Order Date: 10/29/02
Email Address: firstname.lastname@example.org
Invoice # 10533100
Shipment Date/Time: 10/29/02 15:29:05
2873 6TH ST
BOULDER, CO 80304-3009
Tracking results provided by UPS: Oct 30, 2002 10:53 P.M. Eastern
|Oct 30, 2002
||RECEIVER DID NOT WANT, |
||UPS INTERNAL ACTIVITY CODE|
||OUT FOR DELIVERY|
||OUT FOR DELIVERY|
||COMMERCE CITY, CO
|Oct 29, 2002
||BILLING INFORMATION RECEIVED|
RECEIVER DID NOT WANT
refused delivery. not amused.
Forget all the people all the time, sometimes it seems you can't please fucking anyone.
You try to be kind to your ex-date for a change, send her some nice oatmeal for a snowy morning, say. Make a serious effort to not savage her quite so often on your blog. And what do you get for your pains? A fat overnight shipping bill you might as well have flushed down the toilet. I guess it's understandable, though, after all the bad names I've called her. She's probably a little confused. She's probably a very nice person underneath. If there is an underneath. I was never able to determine that. Anomalie is just so fundamentally mysterious, it's highly probable that no one will ever figure her out. And then she'll have to eat her lunch all by herself. Thing of it is? It wasn't even that much fun trying to figure her out. In fact -- may God kill me on the spot if this isn't true -- it was a giant drag. Trying to deal with someone with no sense of humor was a living hell. I sure do miss that. So no more pancakes and waffles and little log-house tins of organic maple syrup for you, Sugar. It's not that I hate you anymore. It's just that I finally realized you're so wrapped up in that make-believe world you hacked together out of tinker-toy self-importance and invisible planes only you can see, that there's no room for anyone but you in there. Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone home? Nope. Nothing. Flatlined. Pity, but it looks like we lost her. Call it.
4:28 AM | link |
Wednesday, October 30, 2002
"I was standing in the shower, washing my hair, thinking about it the other day, knowing that in about five years we'll say to him, "Chris, now I see what you were doing. We were right there up close watching it happen but we really didn't get it then, did we?!" We'll have to apologize to him. We'll have to yield to him. We'll have to admit he really was spot on and we were off in Lu-Lu Land."
Halley, you'll never know how spot-on "Lu-Lu Land" is, but not for any reason you may think. Nevermind.
While yielding is always welcome, yes, apologies? Nah. As the Stones once said, I'm just tryin' to do this jigsaw puzzle before it rains any more.
Yesterday over coffee I was thinking, love deepens the mystery of what we are. Who we are is a different story. Necessary, needful, but not as fundamental. What we turn out to be is shocking, unexpected. And what would life be without surprises? What would surprises be if we expected them? Sometimes the links we forge go 404 and we can't debug our own pages. What else are friends for? I appreciate your surmise that I know what I'm doing here any more than you do, that I have some inside track, secret subagenda, Dick Tracy webwatch, some arcane map of the future. I wish I did. I don't. I like what you wrote nonetheless. Thank you.
I can share one early formative influence that may shed some light. Or darkness. In the fallingdown world, the way down is often the way up; the way out the way in. Worst practices. Early hermeticism reincarnated in Spanish spam. One thing's for sure: we're all gonna "get it" in the end (not a sexual reference). In the meantime, the mystery deepens all by itself. I just work here.
3:38 PM | link |
Just found this clip on Nanna's blog (it's way down at the bottom, from June 2001). That's Nanna to the right, just in case you thought she sounded like somebody's Grandma. She works for SONY, and evidently uses their webware too. Here's the unhacked grafik, and more. (How the hell'd Winer get in there? Your eyes look a little messed up there, buddy. Gives a whole new meaning to "accepting cookies.") Yeah, so anyway, she sez:
"I guess this urge to express myself on line came about around Reboot-time last year. Mygdal � my former boss and current best friend � kept asking me why Ragegirl didn�t have her own site. (got the nickname Ragegirl after bonding with beautiful Christopher Locke aka Rageboy)."
Eh? And you thought I was making this shit up, didn't you? OK, so she turned down my, er... proposal, but all the chicks do that. At first. Some kinda modesty thing, I think.
4:20 AM | link |
Angel With a Clipboard
sorry, but finding an image to illustrate
"a bride with a blow-up doll of the Dalai Lama"
was just too much of a challenge this late at night.
12:30 AM | link |
Tuesday, October 29, 2002
Same As It Ever Was
11:09 PM | link |
|"Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage."
Act 1, Scene 5
10:12 PM | link |
Monday, October 28, 2002
Today's Horoscope Reading for Scorpio
1:02 PM | link |
Saturday, October 26, 2002
Laissez Le Bon Temps Rouler
7:06 PM | link |
Coyote Meets His Match
Once Coyote met a beautiful woman walking along the road. "Where are
you going?" he asked. "I am going to my father's house to bring him
this cornmeal." Coyote looked at the woman and thought about it. "Give
some to me," he said, "I am hungry." But she would not. "Tell you
what," said Coyote. "If you give me half your cornmeal, I will give
you the moon and the night. They will be yours forever." The woman did
not quite believe him, but finally, she was too curious to resist.
"OK," she said, "but you must give me the moon and the night first."
Coyote said that was fair enough, but that they would have to wait for
the darkness to come. "I'll walk with you until then," he said. So
they set off. When the sun went down, Coyote said, "We'd better go lie
in that field, so you can see your gifts properly. You must be looking
straight up to receive the moon and the night." However, as soon as
she lay down, Coyote got on top and started making love to her. The
woman said, "No, no, you must not do this!" But she did not push him
away. She began to enjoy what he was doing. Soon she was enjoying it
very much. When they came together, she cried out, "Oh Coyote!" She
held him close and wept into his fur. "You may keep the moon and the
night," she said. "That was enough for me. You are a good lover,
Coyote." Coyote laughed. "You can keep your cornmeal too," he said. "I
don't eat that stuff, and anyway, I wasn't really hungry." The woman
looked at Coyote and thought about it. She laughed too. "This time I
want to be on top," she said.
3:29 AM | link |
Don, I hope you get back from Mexico soon. The new meds don't seem to be helping much. I'm afraid to call you on my cell phone, as I'm pretty sure the NSA is listening in. I've been getting cross-talk with some sort of instructions, it sounds like, telling me to do things I don't really want to do. Plus, I've been picking up these LANDSAT transmissions on the fillings in my teeth. Is this normal? Not sure I can hold out till Monday. Should I go to the 8,000 mg Thorazine sooner than we'd discussed? Please advise.
Also, I think unauthorized people are reading my blog. Now I'm getting really worried. I thought this was a secure system.
1:10 AM | link |
12:58 AM | link |
12:02 AM | link |
Thursday, October 24, 2002
Viva Las Vegas:
A Rant in Four Parts, Plus an Appreciation
|from The Bombast Transcripts - Trip Report...
So that was what happened in Maui. A little intimate, perhaps. From my
"personal life," as we are wont to say in these strangely twisted
times. But I've been thinking: what other kind of life is there?
And to the engineers I said, no corporation has ever fallen in love.
But they had no idea what I was talking about. I said, what is
happening on the net is people falling in love with the world again.
I refined this a little in DC, talking to the Federal webmasters and
agency chieftains. I said this is a radical conspiracy that you may
have heard of, called democracy. But that didn't sound right to me.
Not even half dangerous enough. So in Las Vegas, because of the venue
and in honor of Elvis I said, I sang (I actually did) Suspicious Minds
from the podium to Sun Microsystems and their largest clients and I
said no corporation has ever fallen in love and that is why
corporations, which have never really incorporated in the true sense,
are so suspicious of the net. Words to that effect. And I gave them
shit about being "the dot in dot.com" and who really gave a rat's ass
about that anyway? They laughed. They sorta got it. And I thought to
write a poem called Viva Las Vegas, in honor of Elvis again, of
course, about how all the stupid things in the world add up to a world
that isn't stupid at all if we could only see it from high enough up.
I was in an airplane at the time. But I never wrote that one because I
So I crashed and I wrote:
if you hear me in the silence
then am I real.
if you see me in the darkness
then am I music
to your music.
if your heart is empty
yet fills with joy
then are your colors
Something is shaking, uncovering itself. Is it just me? Or have you
sensed this too? I felt into it deeper. I went to Denmark.
|Shortly after Denmark, I got together with my now ex-date, Anomalie Aescalapius. Early on in our, uh... Relationship, she gave me this book titled Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom, by one John O'Donohue (a fucking Irish Catholic, no less; thanks, Mom), recommending that I read, especially, the passage at the right...
|INTIMACY AS SACRED (p. 17)
"In our culture, there is an excessive concentration on the
notion of relationship. People talk incessantly about relationships. It is a constant theme on television, film, and in the
media. Technology and media are not uniting the world. They
pretend to provide a world that is internetted, but in reality,
all they deliver is a simulated world of shadows. Accordingly,
they make our human world more anonymous and lonely. In a
world where the computer replaces human encounter and psychology replaces religion, it is no wonder that there is an
obsession with relationship. Unfortunately, however, 'relationship' has become an empty center around which our lonely hunger forages for warmth and belonging. Much of the
public language of intimacy is hollow, and its incessant repetition only betrays the complete absence of intimacy. Real intimacy is a sacred experience. It never exposes its secret trust
and belonging to the voyeuristic eye of a neon culture. Real
intimacy is of the soul, and the soul is reserved."
here come ol' flatop...
he come gr-o-o-o-o-vin up slowly...
|Now, as a much needed but rarely delivered public service, I would like to point out that the toxic nostalgia and saccharine sentimentality expressed above constitutes the most pernicious form of New Age BULLSHIT. Anomalie always protested vehemently that she wasn't New Age. Nuh-uh, not her, no way! I guess she must have missed the cover blurb by Deepak Chopra, head-case poster boy for every stripe of obfuscatory crypto-mystical shinola ever to come down the Parapsychological Pike. Namaste to you too, motherfucker.
But back to Anam Cara, the so-called "spiritual friend" with whom you can cozy up in some comfy non-neon, non-internetted psychic cocoon that allows you to spawn the niftiest delusions about how fucking wonderful you are, emanating as these multiple-choice self-estimations do -- I am a) The Goddess Ishtar, b) in tune with the Source of All Wisdom, c) better than you; are you kidding?, or d) all of the above -- from your very own private Inner Light, with no one the wiser that you're blowing a forest fire's worth of smoke straight up the Kozmik Poopshoot. This is what it is to live and love in Boulder, Colorado. I am so fucking sick of this idiocy I could fucking scream.
The tenaciously popular notion that the Internet is somehow located on the other side of the tracks from the purported Real World is the by-product of limp intellects inhabiting substandard physical vehicles they have repossessed via Tantric Tapdancing, Esoteric Echolalia, and the ingestion of one too many Echinacea cheeseballs. These people are, in short, full of shit.
I myself have formed extremely intimate bonds with some truly terrific folks on the Web. Pam, Kathi, Bambi and Alexandra here (eyes left) are a lot smarter than you might think: caring and insightful soul mates. O'Donohue whimpers on about lonely hunger foraging for warmth and belonging. So? What's this guy's problem? A lot of these jerk-off Jeremiahs just need to get laid more often. I know I do. And when this self-righteous prick bemoans "a simulated world of shadows," what's he really telling us, huh? That he's afraid of his own Shadow, that's what. Yeah baby, Jung alert! The archetype nobody wants to talk about. It's so, you know, ewwww, negative. Well, look deep into my eyes, you timid lying cocksuckers! Take a walk on the wild side before I take a stroll down yours. I'm the monster under your bed. I'm your worst nightmare, and I'm comin ta getcha, asshole. Boo!
A curse on these unctuous, smarmy charlatans with their ludicrous claims to self-knowledge and their lofty moral posturing. Fuck em.
Anyone who whines about the Internet undermining intimacy has clearly never blogged. Or learned to work a cell phone, for that matter. These people have no sense of humor and need to be killed.
The world would be a better place if there weren't all these fucking asswipes running around trying to improve it. Of course, this is merely one man's opinion. You are entitled to your own. Depending on whatever harebrained notions these opinions support, however, don't be surprised if I sneak up on you some dark night and rip your lungs out. Fair enough?
What I really wanted to say in all this, but had first to explain my passion for saying it, is that I have in fact made wonderfully intimate heart connections on the web. With people who, in some cases, I have yet to meet. Naturally, many if not all of these are bloggers. If they weren't before, I browbeat them into it. In return, they've saved my life. A fact, not a cliched turn of phrase. Many of these bloggers are women. It's not just because of their sex that I value their friendship so highly. Though yeah, that's a lot of it.
||Jeneane has made me laugh at times when that seemed unthinkable. She has more heart than a herd of
bull elephants -- let loose in a China shop. She is much more dangerous "in person" than she sounds on her blog. But she's working on it. Still waiting to read the whole story about Uncle Daddy and Aunt Grandma. I thought I'd piss myself. Our phone bills this past summer were astronomical. |
||Halley is a serious intellectual trapped in the body of a Vestal virgin. Either that or a black junkie blues singer from New Orleans. btw, Big Bill and Clarence say hi and to tell you the ring-binder bidness be doin pretty good. Oh yeah, and she can write. Thanks for switching bodies, minds, emotional states, and for the wake-up calls when I couldn't tell day from night.
||Few (if any) would (or could) imagine Shelley as a closet Dominatrix. I got to see that side of her, and it was pretty cool. You may suspect this is some sort of slur on the Burning Bird she is within, but it's high praise for a woman unafraid to flaunt gender convention and be a right bastard once in a while. She even made me write down shopping lists, and demanded that I clean my office. Neither of which I followed through on, of course. Shelley, I owe you a long overdue call.
||Denise has touched me in more ways than I can express. A radio-controlled wooly mammoth seems small recompense for all her care and kindness. It's ironic that she credits me as her inspiration to start blogging. Unlike myself, she actually works at it. Writes stuff almost every day to circle the legal wagons and protect The American Way. Which, as we all know, is rampant plagiarism and copyright infringement. But Denise, I think you should relax, ease up. At least drive a little slower.
||I have known Esther since 1985. Not in the Biblical sense, of course. That came much later. As our torrid love affair was outed in Denver earlier this month at the Digital ID 2002 conference, I guess I can now divulge the lurid details of our surreptitious romance. Watch this space. (Esther, maybe this would make a hot keynote for PC Forum. Think about it.)
||Nanna is the lovely and mysterious woman with whom I damn near fell in love in Copenhagen. You can read about it in the Trip Report that kicks off this now absurdly long blog entry. (Click the link up there, or even better, buy the book.) We just recently got back in touch after a rather lengthy mistake on my part. I just now went to her blog and found this: "Seems I just received a kiss from Denver. HA! - Rage Boy is back! - Love that guy..." So Nanna, now that we've both had a few years to think about it, will you marry me?
||Bought the painting, built the site. Bought the ticket, took the ride. As in the song, someone like her made it hard to live without... somebody else. Anomalie taught me several invaluable lessons: 1) that I cannot be trusted, 2) that I am sleazy, and 3) that I lack any shred of integrity. I guess this item proves all three. No wait, there was one more: in future, to be more careful what I wish for.
| I would include my 12-year-old daughter Selene here, but
I don't allow her to read my blog now that her daddy has become an Internet
pornographer. It hasn't been just the women, though. Many blogger dudes
have also come to my aid and succor, if only to inquire: "Hey, you're
not still thinking about suicide, are you?" Guys don't have quite the
touch the girls do. Goes without saying. For instance, I couldn't get
a single one of these men to hold and caress me. Bunch of pussies! But
I love them no less for their staunch male values, which basically amount
to treating emotional pain as roughly equivalent to being out of beer,
and an inclination to punch the air a lot while shouting "YES!!!"
Having said that, Don doesn't punch the air a lot. He's my therapist,
so he probably feels more like punching a hole in his office wall
after hearing me go on, day after day, with more amateur
psycho-speculation than Carter's has pills and, worst of all, infinitely
detailed accounts of all the chicks I've been hitting on at Starbucks.
There's just something about The Starbucks Girl. For the longest time,
I couldn't figure it out. Then I figured it out: they're all gay. Or 22.
Not that I'd let either of those things stop me. So Don, hope you're having
a ball in Mexico, dude. I bet you're not thinking about me up here in El Norte
popping Atavans like they were fucking Pez. I hate you, Don. You
||A Cluetrain co-author and general partner in crime, David has remained a good friend despite the unmerciful shit I've given him for many years now. Referring to him as Dr. Weimeraner, for instance. Calling his book, Small Pieces of Ass Loosely Joined. And so on. David is a true friend, and the only person I know (with the possible exception of AKMA) who can say "hermeneutic exegesis" with a straight face. Since Small Pisces was published, he is rapidly becoming known as the Hans-Georg Gadamer of the web.
||Another Cluetrain co-author, Doc has found his m�tier in blogging. He inspired me to get serious about it (maybe "serious" is the wrong word, but you know what I mean). Shamed me into it, is more like it. He is the master of one-liners, brilliant headlines, and pithily penetrating glosses on the foibles and fuckups of The Industry. We hadn't seen each other in about two years when we recently hooked up again at the Digital ID thing in Denver. It was like getting together with a long lost brother. Both strongly committed to TCP/IP and Open Systems, we keep in touch as best we can by v-mail. |
||Eric, Eric, what can I say? Ex-spook, ex-freak (???), ex-officio Chairman of The Titanic Deckchair Rearrangement Corporation (NASDAQ:TDCRC), and tireless (actually very TIRED by Friday, October 11th) organizer of the recent and highly successful Digital ID World conference, Eric is a true Renaissance man puked up in the 21st century by powers beyond his control, or indeed, his comprehension. He soothes his frayed psyche with beer, Eminem and Kid Rock. In a word: nuts. But a good man to know if you ever need to invade Libya.
||I first met Gary in London, which meeting he has immortalized (well...) in his retelling of The Chukka Bar Incident. Gary is an insanely funny guy, as well as a genuine man of heart. His encouragement meant a lot to me in the bleaker parts of this year (basically, January through what-time-is-it-now?). Kept me going to know I had friends out there who really gave a crap if I lived or died. Try that sometime in the wonderful world of
secret souls that that mick O'Donohue is on about (his actual name is John). Don't get me started. Where was I? Oh yes, Gary yer a fuckin brick. btw, is the kid soup yet?
A.K.M. Adam, known to his friends and family (not an MCI plan) as AKMA (pronounced ack-ma) is an Anglican minister, theologian, author and teacher. Also, a monster blogger. I count him as my spiritual advisor, though he is in no way responsible for my many infractions against the laws of God and man. Recognizing neither as having any more validity than the random gurglings of my toilet tank, I am nonetheless inspired by AKMA's clear-eyed compassion and boundless faith. Grace and Peace, bro, and pass the ammunition!
||Tom is an eloquent and erudite agent provocateur and an endlessly engaging conversationalist. He'll probably ask how the fuck I'd know, as we haven't spoken in ages; mea culpa.
But I know he's there. He wrote the first review of The Cluetrain Manifesto for Comcast's website in Sarasota, Florida. I still haven't listened to The Fugs CD he burned for me over a year ago, but at least I found it again, so there's still hope it'll happen. Who else could talk with equal ease about Pindar and Tuli Kupferberg? Probably only Tom himself could answer that one, as there's a good chance no one else reading this has a fucking clue what I'm even talking about. Starting with me.
||Dave and I have had our differences, it's true. Of course, it's also true that Dave and everyone else online have had their differences, so I don't feel especially special in this regard. Having said that, the guy has a big heart (no joke intended) under that 800 pounds of gorilla. He's thrown me a rope more than once, for which I am ever grateful. Hitting Daypop with nothing to show but digital surrealism is always such a rush. Thanks, buddy. I'm smoking this cigarette for you so you won't have to. Yeah, that's right; it's a boddhisattva thing.
||Frank is delusional, but fun. Today he thought he saw female genitalia in my previous post. I told him he had a dirty mind. Even though we both already knew that. I include him here because he's at the ass end of my blogroll, which I know has cheesed him off no end. Placing him here at the end of this might just put him (paradoxically) over the top. And then I wouldn't ever have to write that interview I keep promising him. It's almost done, Frank, really. Would I lie to you?
I could go on. Already have, as you see. Which is why it's now pushing 6am even though I began this yesterday morning. Apologies in advance (lame, I know) to all those I should have included here. Their ranks are legion. There are so many other things I should be doing, but I've been thinking about this one for a long time now, both the rant and the serious thanks I owe to the best friends I've ever known. Not just those listed here, but you, the Valued Readers. You know who you are. And to one very special Reader in particular, to whom I have opened my heart as to no other. The road is long, the night is dark, pitch black. It is the hour of the wolf. Perfect time to ring her up. Wish us well. Wish us luck and love and no end of mysterious surprises. We send it all back to you. God bless us every one.
6:06 AM | link |
Wednesday, October 23, 2002
angels ascending into the empyrean
O! the more angel she,
And you the blacker devil.
Shakespeare / Othello
4:44 AM | link |
Monday, October 21, 2002
folding like origami birds into a paper sky
3:58 PM | link |
Sunday, October 20, 2002
Shape of My Heart
9:10 PM | link |
2:05 AM | link |
Saturday, October 19, 2002
If on a Winter's Night a Traveler
"Perhaps at first you
feel a bit lost, as when a person appears who, from the name, you
identified with a certain face, and you try to make the features you
are seeing tally with those you had in mind, and it won't work. But
then you go on and realize that the book is readable nevertheless,
independently of what you expected of the author. It's the book in
itself that arouses your curiosity; in fact, on sober reflection, you
prefer it this way, confronting something and not quite knowing yet
what it is."
8:37 PM | link |
Thursday, October 17, 2002
6:13 AM | link |
You know that feeling when you're sitting all alone at
night waiting for the telephone to ring, but it never does and nothing
will ever be the same again because the one person you wish more than
anyone else in the world would call you, won't? Won't answer your
calls, either. Doesn't care to. Doesn't care, really, if you live or
die, if you're there or gone, which you can easily get to thinking,
you might as well be. What difference would it make? And this goes on
for months, years, decades. Eventually you stop waiting. But there's a
silent telephone somewhere deep down in your heart, and at times you
wonder: was that for me? But it turns out someone is talking to
somebody else. That's when you know it's still there.
Then something amazing happens. Something you never
expected, never dared to dream, though perhaps you did in some long
forgotten sleep. With all hope gone, knowing it's finally over and
done, you give up. Not without a fight, but the fight has been only
with yourself. There's no one left but you, sitting in an
empty house in an empty town with an empty heart.
The phone rings. It's not who you thought you'd hoped for so long.
Not the one who drained the color from your eyes, your sky. But
someone you barely knew six weeks ago. Some impossible angel you never
expected, never dared to dream.
"Hi," she says. A world opens out on an in-caught breath.
And you say, "Hi yourself, Beautiful. But baby, what happened to your jeans?"
12:54 AM | link |
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
I've been meaning to recommend this company for some time now. Their
service is excellent, and their products have never failed to delight.
I've been a satisfied customer for years. Contrary to an astoundingly
persistent Amerikan puritanism -- even more astounding in blogland,
where it seems counterintuitively overrepresented -- nice girls do.
And so do nice boys (even RageBoys). That's what's so nice about it.
So do give each other the gift that keeps on giving. Coming soon to a
mailbox near you. Beats Amazon wish lists all to fuck.
Disclaimer: Despite Halley's recent comments re The Money, this is strictly a public service announcement. Of course, if Good Vibes were to offer me a lifetime supply of the cock rings pictured above left, I suppose I could find a use for them. Forget all that penis-enlargement spam. These puppies really work! You won't get any more of a kickback than I do for promoting them, but your lover might get a serious kickforward. Might say whoa, dude, how'd you DO that? Just trying to be socially relevant here. Really.
3:55 AM | link |
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest
Cribbed from the
2002 Results page...
- Like an expensive sports car, fine-tuned and well-built, Portia was
sleek, shapely, and gorgeous, her red jumpsuit molding her body, which
was as warm as the seatcovers in July, her hair as dark as new tires,
her eyes flashing like bright hubcaps, and her lips as dewy as the
beads of fresh rain on the hood; she was a woman driven -- fueled by a
single accelerant -- and she needed a man, a man who wouldn't shift from
his views, a man to steer her along the right road, a man like Alf
Sheila was easy as opening a jar of pickles, not one closed by a man
who has virility doubts and closes a jar so women and young boys get
hernias opening it or at least the boys get them; although I heard
about a woman who had a hiatal hernia so I guess women get them too
but doctors don't ask them to cough unless their malpractice covers
sexual deviance but a jar closed by some ninety-year-old whose grip on
the jar as well as reality has slipped.
- As Professor Wincklespoon took a sip from his coffee, craving the
caffeine that scalding hot water had seduced from the beans, his eyes
fell on an old equation he had written down years ago, metaphorically
speaking, for the falling of his eyes should not be taken literally,
and suddenly it struck him, as if his mind had been cleared by the
same stormy wind that had brought a dark cloud overhead, two million
volts of electricity from that same cloud and gone were the man and
his equation, the solution to the theory of everything.
- It was then that Caroline remembered her kitchen back in Montana, with
a stove that she might or might not have turned off, and so with a
heavy sigh, she put down the penguin.
- "Mummy's gone to Paris to buy hats, and Daddy's pranged the Bentley,"
Fiona responded with a m�lange of wry acceptance and distant promise,
her ring-less fingers playing slippily on the moist champagne flute in
a way that suggested to the normally jaded Sir Jeremy far more than
merely imbibing Bucks Fizz.
- Having opened my 40th birthday present from my husband -- a kitchen
window fan -- and now on my way to the bakery to pick up my cake, I
started thinking: What if I get hit in this intersection, and, struck
with amnesia, I hobble to the edge of the highway, hungry and
confused, and am picked up by a lonely trucker headed for McDonald's
and since I have no memory, I've forgotten I hate McDonald's, so I hop
in, and he -- just thankful for the company -- figures I'm a middle-aged
housewife looking for love in all the wrong places and he's got
several of them?
2:44 PM | link |
2:00 PM | link |
What with all my expectations long abandoned
My solitary nature notwithstanding
You're the one who pulled me
Out of that crash landing
10:22 AM | link |
As AKMA and I (briefly) discussed at
Digital ID World...
It's high time for White Collar Crime.
Take a priest to lunch this week.
You'll be glad you did.
12:18 AM | link |
Monday, October 14, 2002
on the other hand...
Thanks to Stanford University for their unwitting support
of doing what I like. A mind is a wonderful thing to waste.
4:18 PM | link |
Saturday, October 12, 2002
Liquid sky. What were the voices saying that day? Such a strange day,
too. The wind rising like that, so suddenly. Heaven over rain,
brooding choirs speaking in tongues.
Now I remember. Go out. Go out, they said. Never come back.
Slippage. The needle skitters across the disk. Sorry folks, a little
technical difficulty. Move along now. Nothing serious. Number three,
report. Direct drive disk drive star drive. Check. The sound of
engines coming up behind the universe. Background radiation. Check.
Golden hashish sunshine. Check. Looking good here, Houston.
Six billion people wired to the eyes. Cultural disruption so profound
it has no precedent. High technologies enlisted into the service of
high art. Radio telescopes turned into transmitters, painting the
horses of Altamira on the moon.
Satellite of love... satellite of love...
The sound of one hand poised above the keyboard. Wroth and sephiroth
more semaphore. He watched as she put the cigarette to her lips, drew
in, traced the sysiphean calculus of her neck as she rolled her head
back, closed her eyes, exhaled. When it begins to move, he wondered,
who maps its rhythm? Atalanta Fugiens, I have been here with you
always before. Never done, riverrun. Who pays attention to the clicks
and pauses between the letters as the words run out? If only it were
possible to listen and play too. She leaned forward and kissed him
full on the mouth. "Indoeuropean saxophone," he said. "If only it were
3:29 PM | link |
Well yeah, but Esther and I have an arrangement...
2:20 PM | link |
Monday, October 07, 2002
The Virgin Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even
Are we on or off? It's binary. It's certain. Curtains
any way you cut it. Or is it? Isn't this exactly what I wanted when
you said be careful what you wish for? Ambiguity is such a bitch.
Waiting, holding on for what seems like forever. But I wouldn't have
it otherwise. Or you at all, my exotic most ambiguous & intricate perplexity.
If we were certain. Between zero and one falls
the shadow of music in distant hallways,
sketches of it seeping out when a door would open.
Mathematics of trees, Fibonacci whorls of shell and, further out, the
beach it lay upon, fractal in fractal. Anima mundi saecula saeculorum.
Eyes in the mirror, hands at the glass. Carpal and metacarpal,
digital. Opposable yet hard to articulate. Memories by someone else.
Lovers in ruins, in extremis. Love in the dark, on the rocks, straight
up. But this time, Angel, only one.
11:49 PM | link |
Tuesday, October 01, 2002
10:49 AM | link |
get your badge here.
"RageBoy: Giving being fucking nuts a good name since 1985."
28 October 2004
||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.
what I'm listening to...
egr on topica
on yahoo groups
terms of service
It is too late.