Gonzo Marketing:Winning Through Worst Practices The Bombast Transcripts: Rants and Screeds of RageBoy
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Saturday, October 12, 2002
Fragment 1054

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 not subjunctive."

She laughed.

3:29 PM | link |

Well yeah, but Esther and I have an arrangement...

so hard  to be  far away so hard  to be  far away so hard  to be  far away so hard  to be  far away so hard  to be  far away so hard  to be  far away so hard  to be  far away so hard  to be  far away so hard  to be  far away so hard  to be  far away so hard  to be  far away so hard  to be  far away so hard  to be  far away so hard  to be  far away

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 |

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

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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.

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