Gonzo Marketing:Winning Through Worst Practices The Bombast Transcripts: Rants and Screeds of RageBoy
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Sunday, January 26, 2003

one begins to read between
the pages of a look.
the sound of sleepy music
and suddenly you're hooked.
I saw you... coming back to me.

Jefferson Airplane / Surrealistic Pillow

So there I was, searching for some x-random image on Google, when, whether by chance or synchronicity, if there's a difference, my eye was drawn to a book-jacket graphic that led to a book store that pointed to the website of a woman I knew a long time ago. She wasn't really a woman, technically speaking, back then. She was only 14 and I was about three years older -- in those days a difference that made a difference, to quote Gregory Bateson somewhat out of context. I didn't really know her, either. We'd met a few times. I was struck by her beauty, which was remarkable, and a certain attention that I found myself returning without grasping quite why or what to do about it. I was painfully shy around girls in those days. Hard to believe perhaps, today, babe magnet that I've since become (thanks to my shameless self-promotion and your willing suspension of disbelief). But I was. To say I was clueless would not be going too far. Not so clueless, however, to miss the fact that I was looking at major jailbait. But it wasn't (just) that. It was more in the way she was looking at me while I played my guitar and sang to her (I mean shy compared to now). There was something magnetic, compelling, arresting in that look. Something memorable.

I'd run into her books everywhere for years -- she was publishing at 22, long before any such notion crossed my mind -- and I'd think maybe I'll drop her a note. This meant looking up her publisher, though, finding an envelope, paper and stamps. Another few tokes and I'd forget about it. Another few rounds. Another few years. But here I was, suddenly on her site without any plan to have ended up there. I looked for an email address. Had to dig a bit, but found one, and wrote. That was two weeks ago. In another two weeks she's flying out here. If all goes well, as we both expect it to, perhaps she'll let me reveal her identity. Perhaps. There are many factors to consider in this, not least the number of unsuspecting minds our long-awaited alliance could severely blow. Many many, and not just your own, Valued Readers. Ah well, as they say, you gotta break a few eggs to make an omelette.

Watch this space. And wish your favorite spaceman luck.

7:19 AM | 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.

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The Bombast Transcripts

Gonzo Marketing

The Cluetrain Manifesto

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...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...

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