Gonzo Marketing:Winning Through Worst Practices The Bombast Transcripts: Rants and Screeds of RageBoy
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Kat Herding

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
garett laugavitz
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
joy /sorrow / memory / love

country moon turns cloud to sailing sleep you dream me
moon cloud sails
wind turning dream
another country
dream turn moon
turn wind turn cloud
to country sleep

2:58 PM | link |

Online Internet Pharmacy *

nowhere is / there warmth to be found /
among those / afraid of losing their ground
* Swimsuit Issue
click me! click me! click me! click me! click me!

12:38 AM | link |

Tuesday, August 26, 2003
I Don't Think So...

Hey, hey Paula...
I've waited so long for school to be through!!!

out for summer
out till fall
we might not go back at all


5:11 PM | link |

Monday, August 25, 2003
omelet dat side - jes doan doit agin

11:01 PM | link |

In Lieu of Work, Part DCLXVI

2:17 PM | link |

The New Bricolage: Repurposing Spam
It's been occurring to me that perhaps I should try to explain some of my more recent posts. Several of you have inquired whether I really have a girlfriend who towers above the Denver skyline. I wish. But no, this is not (as others of you more astutely guessed) physically possible. Nor is that an image of any actual woman of my personal acquaintance. She is strictly a creature of spam. As my email address, clocke@panix.com, is fully ten years old this month, you can only imagine the amount of unsolicited commercial email I receive each day. For years now, I, not unlike yourselves, have been outraged by this egregious violation of my electronic boundaries and personal digital space. For years now I've wondered, as you've no doubt asked yourself, what could be done to stop it.

Then, one day this Spring, as I was marvelling at the wonder and beauty of Nature -- how she neither forces or allows herself to be forced, how she accommodates herself to the mindless predations of Man -- it struck me that I was looking at the problem from a typically High Modernist perspective. Was there another, a more fully PostModern way to view the situation? Was there a Zen-like mindlessness I could achieve with respect to mindless spam? Considering these new questions was at first disturbing. My equanimity hung in the balance. My mind was fogged with misery and confusion. All was koyaanisqatsi.

And so it was that, in a blinding flash of insight, I realized I could deflect, divert and coopt the nefarious purposes behind the very phenomenon I had come so much to despise. I could learn to love spam, especially that naive Korean spam, and begin to embrace and study it, searching for images that could be bent to my own ends (as soon as I discover what these are).

12:03 PM | link |

Memo to Turner
Gary, you freak! You gotta quit dressing me up in these weird outfits. What's my new Yahoo Personals girlfriend gonna think? We'll she's not really my girlfriend just yet, but you know what an optimist I am. True, she's a bit taller than me (especially in heels), but she does love to read. And the way I look at it, that's the main thing. But what is she going to think if she keeps finding these twisted grafiks of me that you insist on shooting up all over the damn web? Look at me in that picture! I look like a psycho killer, alright. I look like a goddam Hell's Angel is what I look like! One of the ones from Altamont, probably, who stomped that guy that just kept talking, talking, TALKING, until I couldn't help myself, I swear. And I only gave him a little push is all. So yeah, that's what she's going to be thinking. Because no way can I like disguise myself or anything. Say, "RageBoy? No, never heard of him. Why do you ask?" Well, OK, actually, I did mail her the pointer to your blog so she could go see for herself. But I told her all about you first, the voices, the recurrent fantasies that you're really someone else, the fits of mania that require you to launch whole new websites due to overwhelming compulsions that come over you merely by looking into your own refrigerator, the campaigns, the obsessions, the self-deconstructing narratives, misdirections and irrational delusions, yes, I told her all of it. And yes, I am well aware, believe me, that some would argue it is simply wrong, morally and ethically repulsive, to air the mental health problems of others in a public medium such as this. I have heard these arguments, yes, and I have attended to them. I have looked at them and turned them over in my mind. I have given them due consideration. And after much thoughtful reverie of this kind, and of other kinds I am not at liberty to go into here, as they entail my own state of cognitive cohesion, I have concluded that, no, it is not wrong or odious or maladaptive or immature or even just plain stinking rotten of me to alert the world to the dangerous and tortured mental state of people like yourself, who think it fun, nay, a great guffaw, to impugn my hard-won dignity, my impeccable record of adamantine integrity in the face of withering public scorn, besmirchment and humiliation, just so you can have your little chuckle at my expense. Therefore, I am booking a flight this very evening to your rat-infested so-called country, where I will hunt you down and dispatch you as I would a yammering beagle. There was going to be more... I forget now. But just you wait, Gary Turner. Just you wait!

all part of the service
Didn't I see you down in San Antone
on a hot and dusty night?
We were eating eggs in Sammy's
when the black man there drew his knife.
Aw, you drowned that Jew in Rampton
as he washed his sleeveless shirt,
You know that Spanish-speaking gentleman,
the one we all called "Kurt."

Come now, gentlemen,
I know there's some mistake.
How forgetful I'm becoming,
now you fixed your business straight.

I remember you in Hemlock Road
in nineteen fifty-six.
You're a faggy little leather boy
with a smaller piece of stick.
You're a lashing, smashing hunk of man,
your sweat shines sweet and strong.
Your organ's working perfectly,
but there's a part that's not screwed on...

Come now, gentlemen,
your love is all I crave.
You'll still be in the circus
when I'm laughing...
laughing in my grave.

.....Jagger/Richards, Memo From Turner, 1968

1:31 AM | link |

Saturday, August 23, 2003
love during wartime

9:59 PM | link |

they're getting to them younger every year

go ahead!

9:34 PM | link |

walk-on part in a war

RageBoy's demise [photographed with a timer by Marek J at right]
golby, turner & marek are all implicated in this somehow

4:40 PM | link |

10:20 AM | link |

Thursday, August 21, 2003
QUIET: Research In Progress...

You turn up find the damndest stuff on the web. Found this one searching for, yup-you-guessed-it, more shit about self-esteem. I met Zappa once, around oh let's see... musta been 1967. He showed up at my place after a concert in upstate NY, which consisted of him flipping off the audience, yelling "Fuck you, Rochester!," turning his back on everybody and playing non-stop for two hours. No songs; the Mothers just cooked. Then he flipped off the audience again and split. He asked me: "So where do you think the Hippie Movement is headed?" Even though I was smoking a joint at the time, or perhaps because of this, I could hear the Initial Caps. Hell, I could see them. Frank wasn't always what you'd call Real Nice. But at least I got easier than the guy below. This brief clip is from Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion...
In the 1960s, Joe Pine, an acerbic conservative TV talk show host, had as his guest the longhaired rock musician Frank Zappa. Pine was prone to surliness, which a leg amputation-- he wore a wooden prosthetic--may have exacerbated. As soon as Zappa had been introduced and seated, the following exchange occurred:

PINE: I guess your long hair makes you a girl.
ZAPPA: I guess your wooden leg makes you a table.

Self-Esteem: Don't Leave Home Without It!

6:18 PM | link |

"No Mental Component"

Searching around for shit (and good stuff too) on the subject of self-esteem, I ran across this lengthy advertisement for something (fuck knows what) called Vivation®. Here's a taste of some real USDA Prime Bullshit, pardners...
"Here is how Vivation permanently resolves low self-esteem very efficiently: Vivation works 100% at the feeling level. Vivation has no mental component. This makes it vastly more effective. Vivation is a skill that you learn from a Vivation Professional. Part of the skill that you learn is the skill of intentionally maximizing your enjoyment of the present moment. When you do this, even very skillfully, you will find that there is a limit to how much you can enjoy the moment. From this experience of reaching the limit to how much you can enjoy the moment, the feeling that is most preventing you from enjoying the moment stands out and demands your attention. Even that feeling is not infinitely bad, which means that it is also good to some extent. When you open to finding at least a small amount of pleasure in that feeling, that shifts the context. Instead of focusing on how bad the feeling is, you focus on how good it is. That particular feeling integrates permanently. When that is a feeling about yourself, your self-esteem goes up by a quantum jump. All of this feels great. With proper instruction and some experience, this process becomes very efficient, so that you can raise your self-esteem very much in an hour of practice. (There is much more to Vivation than just this simple explanation.)

Vivation is the most effective, most efficient way in the world to clear negativity out of the subconscious mind and raise one's own self-esteem dramatically. This increase in self-esteem has a very positive effect on every aspect of life."

Now, didn't that feel GREAT! Or, at least, you have to admit, not infinitely bad. Send $1,000 for further details.

5:43 PM | link |

Wednesday, August 20, 2003
On Things Never Quite Being What They Seem

That's Lindsay Vaughan in the picture at the left. She was Dharma Girl until recently. Until, to be more precise, I wrote Insignificant Others here last week. Afterwards, she said in private mail and on several blog sites that she felt I was trying to humiliate her. I wasn't. Though, yeah, I wasn't very nice. Not being one to offer anything so gracious as an actual apology, and not like it's any real excuse, but I plead being pissed (more like wrathful, enraged) about certain essentially anti-relational ideas that are floating around about relationship. Writing as Dharma Girl, Lindsay appeared in the cross-hairs of my starlite night-vision scope because she was, to my mind, presenting a near-canonical example of some of those ideas. She stepped blissfully unaware into a hail of machine gun fire intended for more deserving foes. These ideas are being propagated through many (i.e., many) books and websites today, and blogs are the least of it. As an example of what I'm on about these days, and for the seemingly endless days since encountering the phenomenon in a manner you might call up close and personal, here are a couple clips from a book that saved my ass in the first of those dark broken days, when I was hanging with Gary Turner in London...
"When the focus of life is on determining one's own needs and finding another who can fulfill those needs and wishes, any relationship is in danger of being flawed by narcissistic expectations. It is increasingly difficult for people to enter into loving relationships and to maintain them once they begin. Obligation to others as a primary value has become a concept either denied or distorted into a pseudo-love, a wish to embrace all mankind but no one in particular.

Many have come to expect fragile relationships that break easily, although they do not usually understand the nature of that self-fulfilling prophecy. Coupled with this belief is an increasing demand for effective independent functioning without emotional reliance on others.The result is an inability to invest freely in deep feelings for others."

"Autonomy is a relative state requiring another person... Without others, there is no autonomy, only isolation."

"The importance of one's independence and self-esteem is a basic tenet of our society, but it makes little sense to work toward separation and differentiation exclusively when the whole purpose of an intimate relationship is mutuality and interdependence."
But not everyone thinks mutuality is such a good thing. Increasingly, no one seems to think so. Here's a definition of one half of Dharma Girl's original post title: "Relationship vs. Attachment." This from The Penguin Dictionary of Psychology, 3rd edition (2001):
attachment 1: Generally, a binding affection, an emotional tie between people. The usual connotation is that this kind of emotional relationship is infused with dependency: the persons rely on each other for emotional satisfaction.
Note that it's "the usual connotation," not a sometimes thing or an "under extreme conditions" kinda deal. No, it's business as usual. Note moreover what dependency equates to. Heaven forfend that anyone should rely on another for emotional satisfaction. Or be able to depend on someone. Or -- really getting into the pathological end of the scale now -- need someone. Finally, note the embedded warning against outright psychotics like Grace Slick. "Don't you need somebody to love?" Yup, that pretty much sums up everything wrong with the world today.

By this point, we all know what's being described here. It's not "attachment" or "love." Of course not. It's codependence, an affliction suffered, says Melanie Beattie, the reigning Queen of CoDA, by as many as 94% of the U.S. population. But if everybody's got it, what do these amorphous diagnostics differentiate? Hey I know, let's build a table!

Happy M. Beattie

Morose RageBoy
Codependents have difficulty identifying what they are feeling. Hungry, horny, halfcocked, homicidal? Fuck I dunno. Depends on the phase of the moon, and even then...
They minimize, alter or deny how they truly feel. I truly feel like murdering you in your sleep. You better hope I keep minimizing it!
They perceive themselves as completely unselfish and dedicated to the weblogging of others. See blogroll, upper page left.
They do not ask others to meet their needs or desires. And if I do, I'm "needy" and codependent. GO LOOP.
They do not perceive themselves as lovable or worthwhile persons. Like you think I'm lovable and worthwhile, right? Oh sure. Then how come you won't go to bed with me?
They are extremely loyal, remaining in harmful situations too long. So if my lover is having some kind of trouble that inconveniences me, I should dump that person ASAP. Well shit, that explains a lot.
They lavish gifts and favors on those they care about. And if I don't, I'm an insensitive prick. Can you spell D-O-U-B-L-E  B-I-N-D?
They accept sex when they want love. I accept sex even when I don't want love. When what I really want is a bagel with a schmear. And you don't, I guess. Explain to me again who needs help here?
They use sex to gain approval and acceptance. And...? If I do gain approval and acceptance that way ("oooh baby... Oooh Baby... OOOOOH! OOOOOH! RAGEBOY BABY!!!"), you're telling me this is a problem. Uh-huh.
Etc., ad infinitum... I'm dancing as fast as I can...

There are something like 200 of these surefire signs of codependency. Hell, how can you miss? Great stuff if your goal is to sell your books to every man, woman and reading-age child in the known universe. But OK, let's move on. Now that you've had a little experience with the diagnostic criteria, consider this further definition, from the same Dictionary of Psychology.

attachment 4: In anatomy, the connections by which tissues are joined to other bodily parts (usually muscle to bone).
As an exercise, let's rewrite that, using what we've learned so far. Here's a first stab...
attachment 4: In anatomy, the binding ties by which tissues are joined to other bodily parts (usually muscle to bone). The usual connotation is that this kind of internal (i.e., hidden and covert) anatomical relationship is infused with dependency: people rely on their bones and muscles for functional support and navigation.
Excellent. Remember, just because walking feels good doesn't mean it's good for you! Amputation may be painful, yes, but it's a lot less heartbreaking in the long run than being enslaved to such dysfunctional codependent addictions.

So hey, this is what I've been writing about here for some time now. And what I plan to write much more about Real Soon Now. But wait. This was supposed to be about Lindsay, wasn't it? Yes, it was. Damn. Now she's looking away because we've been ignoring her. But Lindsay, look, all this has been an attempt to explain why I came down on your ass so hard. There's more, so much more, this is tip-of-the-iceberg stuff here. Point is, though, it's all aimed at pathologizing love. New Age ideas have slipped their surly bonds and infected pop psychology, aided by a trope or two from the Mystic East. like that bit of Pema Chodren you quoted re "attachment" -- now transposed into a renunciatory Buddhist key -- causing us to crave the company of others. Oh, mea culpa! Would I crave the company of others? Yeah I would. And Pema can sue me.

All this pathologizing hovers around what Christians call the "councils of perfection" -- but without any of the empathy or compassion. It's perfectionism depathologized and elevated into a positive value, carte blanche to "work on oneself." Which sounds good, maybe. At first. Sounds like a courageous thing to do. Except for this one critical though tacit injunction: that the shadow be excluded. Look within, but blind yourself to anything negative. Look within for the light and the angels and the triumph of the at-long-last-liberated independent and autonomous Self.

And moreover, demonize anyone who refuses to bend a knee to the resulting tinsel gods and goddesses. Reject passion and pathos for the pathetic -- in oneself and others. Flatten the world, make it simpler, less rich, less complex. Make it, above all, manageable. So that all can be manipulated to amplify and reflect our own "enlightenment" and "perfection."

The only problem is that it's pernicious bullshit, which seems to offer comfort and surcease from pain, but only tightens the screws. Don't look at the damage in your life, or what caused it, don't blame, don't be a victim, take responsibility. See that things are the way they are for you because that must have been how you wanted them to be. So change your attitude. Be positive. Affirm yourself. Put on a good front.

Isn't this essentially what your Dad told you to do? Not because it would make you feel better. But because it would make him look good.

This is why I love what you wrote in "WHERE ARE YOU, AND WHERE AM I?" at your "new" post-Dharma-Girl site. Because it's your life you're talking about, in your own strong voice. Not trying to prove how wonderful it all is, but touching the places where it hurts. Because the places it hurts are the places we connect. Especially in those inexplicable moments when our pain is transformed into the joy of recognition. We recognize each other in our humanness. We recognize each other as human by the sound of the voice we are able, if we resist the counter pressure, if we try and keep trying, to pull up from where it has lain buried for so long in our deepest -- and often darkest -- heart.

This is what we're doing here in this chaotic anarchic blogspace. And it's something human beings have never been able to do before. Not ever. We are defining ourselves by who we feel we are from the inside, not by who we've been told we must be by parents, school, the media, the state. The merest joke here is an act of resistance. And it's not all jokes, by any stretch.

Nonetheless, our collective sense of humor never fails to astound me. It gives me not only a laugh, but hope. That we are so much more than the simple-minded procedural algorithms of science, psychology, religion... make us out to be. We can break the mold in any given moment. And when we do, something wild goes free in an infinitely larger world. Hard to put one's finger on, precisely. Maybe this graphic you just posted will help...

As I commented at your site, Lindsay: "I did not KNOW you had a pink doggie with silky fur! (of course, I also didn't know I looked like a cross between Swamp Thing and some extra from Planet of the Apes.)"

And there is really no way to describe what happened on the following sites in relation to the whole Dharma-Girl-Meets-RageBoy thing. No way, that is, but to go and read them. (Hint: much of the real action is in the comments.)

Brilliant blogging all around. And it probably went around WAY more than this mere handful of links would suggest.

I have to end this post somewhere, so it might as well be here. I've been at it for three days now, believe it or not (believe it), Not that the ridiculous amount of extra time required speaks to the polished-to-perfection quality of the end product, but rather to the disorganized state of my life. There were many wonderful bits and pieces slung around in all of this: stern admonitions, false pityings, expressions of disgust, of delight, exhortations to be fair, to be honest, to be kind, to be authentic. But nothing was so wonderful as the following casting out of demons, which exorcism was performed by The Happy Tutor over at Wealth Bondage...

Since I am myself incapable of empathy, since I delight as a sadist, in the pain of others, and since I can only live with myself when I inflict that pain on a peer or superior who amply deserves it, let me take this delightful opportunity to call Rageboy, Mr. Macho, out into the street:.
Rageboy! You there prancing about with your Harvard Business Bestseller! Thou art a posturing coward and self-infatuated knave! Thy learning and wit are false! Truth sticks in thy mouth! Thy very tongue writhes like a snake. Thou art a Marketer to thy soul and thy debased product is Self! You write at length, tediously, of your inner torment. Would that it were worse, that thou might give up thy pain as down payment on Purgatory (being optimistic about it). You are miserable for good reason. Thou hast perverted thy great God-given gifts. Though hast sold thy patrimony for a handful of potage. Thy very soul is hell nor are you out of it. Those flames you inflict on others redound unto your own precious, ever so vulnerable Self, and will lick your inner life, and turn it to ashes. Turn back to the road of righteousness, while there is yet time. God will rejoice in one Rageboy saved more than in a thousand legitimate intellectuals who never went bad.
As a lapsed Catholic, RB, you know the drill: Make a full and open confession. Do penance. Make restitution. Show contrition. Reform. Then go and sin no more. I provide you this beating, Rageboy, (whack!) not because I enjoy it, though I do, nor because it is my duty as a satirist (whack!), though it is, nor even to protect the norms of civilized society (whack!), though I hold those dear, but for your own good (whack, whack, whack!). The flesh and spirit must be mortified lest they grow proud. (Hold still!) You deserve a chance to repent, reform, and rejoin (whack!) the human race. There, don't snivel. Take your beating like a man. You may now kiss the rod, as I pronounce the blessing. May God have mercy on your Eternal Soul. Go in peace and sin no more!

My friends, this is how A-List Bullies fare in Bloggerville. Be good to one another, lest thou take a savage beating too. Let what happened here today to the famous Bully, Rageboy, never happen to you. Let it be a lesson, a legend, that fathers and mothers pass on to their children for generations to come. Let it be said that out of Rageboy's suffering came good, not only for himself, but for all humankind. It is now safe to return to your Blogs. I don't think you will have any trouble from Rageboy anymore. Thank you all for serving as my witnesses that today justice was done, though maybe it is time we elected a Judge.

And so in the end, no harm was done, and a good time was had by all!

12:46 PM | link |

Tuesday, August 19, 2003
Jungian Archetypes
Neo-Platonist Grandiosity
or Psychic Halloween Costumes for the Idle Rich?




5:18 AM | link |


but then again, sometimes you are

12:50 AM | link |

Sunday, August 17, 2003
Those Sad, Bad, Never-Glad Boys
Hey, kids, what time is it? It's Kali Lily time!

Fair warning, Elaine. One more time, and the cat gets it!

9:34 PM | link |

EGR Forms Strategic Alliance

8:39 PM | link |

Saturday, August 16, 2003
Marek Rings Up...

...from Dallas and plays me MP3s over the phone for about an hour, including selected cuts from the CD above. He has had a little vodka, I can tell. Polish vodka, naturally. He is whooping. A very excitable boy. After I blog this, I click through to the Amazon page and find a review titled Locke lives in the gutter of Shame -- really, go see for yourself. But this is amazing, I'm thinking. How do they all know? This is too weird. It's like the post horns all over again! And I thought I was getting better...

11:13 PM | link |

Death by Success
Eastern U.S. power outage, plus Yahoo Personals progress...
As many of you know, EGR HQ is located deep in the heart of the Yucatan peninsula -- 1000 feet below the as yet undiscovered -- and undiscoverable -- remains of an ancient Mayan pyramid. So don't bother mounting any expeditions.

Most of the time, however, when operations are... ah, let's just say, less sensitive, we work out of Boulder, Colorado. To further insulate ourselves from the not-so-idle curiosity of various world "intelligence" communities, our popserver and web hosting is located in NY City, on Panix. What can we say? We thought the name was congruent with our plans (very much still in effect) for world domination. In the last several days you may have noticed that this blog was unreachable. And, if you sent mail, that it was bouncing.

This temporary outage was the result of a certain experimental alternative power project we had underwritten some months ago in the upstate New York region, involving Very Large Scale Array Tesla coils, plus some offworld tech that looked highly promising from a cursory study of the schematics we managed to recover from Area 51 last year. Bringing the project online Thursday was quite a thrill, as it was a success surpassing everything we'd hoped to accomplish. The champagne and heroin were flowing liberally!

However, it seems that we'd rather underestimated the electromagnetic pulse (EMP) effect, which took out conventional power to some 81 million square miles of the northeastern United States and parts of Canada. Whoops. Actually, RB had warned the field team that this might happen, and as a precautionary measure had therefore shipped one of EGR's interociters to Panix earlier in the week. Using this as an infinitely uninterruptable power supply, they could at least keep the EGR site live even if the rest of the country got blacked out. The device was assembled in record time using nanotech utility fog coordinates transmitted, unbeknownst to Rupert Murdoch's notoriously dim IT staff, via B-Star-B uplink. As later investigation uncovered, however, the terabit decryption key for unlocking the initialization codes necessary to boot the sub-space shunt were still being sent via RB's 56k modem when the Eastern grid went down. As far-famed technology guru and incomparable ex-lover Esther Dyson likes to say: "Always make new mistakes." Well, this sure was a new one for us! Apologies to any of you who may have been inconvenienced.

Meanwhile, RB's first attempt at dating in over 200 years is meeting with mixed results. On the plus side, many women are apparently ecstatic at the prospect of meeting (and whatevering) him. On the minus side, some unethical individual seems to have posted RB's unlisted telephone number on the Internet. As a result, EGR has been forced to retain a sizable cadre of telephone operators to deal with a 19,000% increase in incoming message traffic. This has been necessary, despite the enormous expense, to keep our lines clear for the coordination of international terro... uh, that is, humanitarian aid projects.

Notwithstanding these efforts, some particularly persistent applicants have managed to locate the whereabouts of this new emergency call center in Budapest, and several (as pictured above in a still taken from our video surveillance system) have attempted to bribe these poor women -- who, by the way, speak only Rhaeto-Romance -- to divulge RB's location in the Yucatan, from where, for what we hope will be obvious reasons, we are blogging this tonight.

On a rather more positive note -- at least it seemed so at first -- RB did take a particular shine to one of the Yahoo Personals respondents. To such a degree, in fact, that he ill-advisedly flew her to HQ in the Lear. All, of course, without a by your leave, and without posting a flight plan. How utterly like him. When the swat team we scrambled to find him -- kidnapping was initially suspected -- did in fact find locate him some 72 hours later, he told them not to worry, as he had, and we quote, "a good feeling about this one."

Evidently, however, the young woman in question has had second (not to mention third, fourth and fifth) thoughts about the advantages of becoming RB's exclusive Love Slave, as he insists upon calling her. Now it appears her memory will have to be erased -- he didn't even bother to blindfold her on the inbound flight path -- but it turns out that none of the neuralyzers are working at the moement, and the Japanese tech support team is on vacation this month in Tierra del Fuego. So she may be with us for an extended stay. Oh well. Just another week at the ranch.

9:37 PM | link |

Rogerian Therapy
Carl Rogers, one of the founders of Humanistic Psychology, pioneered what came to be called "client-centered" therapy. The point was to forge a supportive therapeutic alliance between psychotherapist and the individual seeking help. Rogers went out of his way to be non-directive and non-judgmental, often merely echoing or mirroring what the client was struggling to express. Here is a typical session, taken directly from Dr. Rogers' case files, to which EGR has recently gained exclusive access.

The date of this initial intake interview is 1981. Client is 30 years old. A rock and roll drummer with plans to launch a solo career, he has just put out his first album as the band's lead singer. Philip has a long history of schizophrenia accompanied by auditory and visual hallucinations, and paranoid delusions of persecution. He is not considered dangerous, in spite of becoming very loud and insistent when he believes he is not being listened to or properly understood.

Dr. Rogers: Hello, Philip. What are you feeling this evening?
Philip: I can feel it coming in the air tonight...
Dr. Rogers: You say you can feel it coming.
Philip: Oh Lord.
Dr. Rogers: And you are calling on God to help you.
Philip: I've been waiting for this moment, all my life...
Dr. Rogers: Yes, I can see that.
Philip: Oh Lord.
Dr. Rogers: This has been coming for quite some time, and you're understandably upset.
Philip: Can you feel it coming in the air tonight?
Dr. Rogers: Well, I can certainly empathize with the issues you are facing at the moment, yes.
Philip: Oh Lord, Oh Lord!
Dr. Rogers: Let's stay with what it is you see coming, and why this makes you so anxious.
Philip: Well, if you told me you were drowning...
Dr. Rogers: Yes?
Philip: I would not lend a hand.
Dr. Rogers: Now, I wonder why you would feel that way.
Philip: I've seen your face before my friend...
Dr. Rogers: Yes, it's quite possible we passed on the street at some time in the past.
Philip: But I don't know if you know who I am.
Dr. Rogers: Many of my clients express just such misgivings at the outset.
Philip: Well, I was there and I saw what you did.
Dr. Rogers: You believe you saw me doing something.
Philip: I saw it with my own two eyes.
Dr. Rogers: I see. And what was it that you believe you witnessed? [smiles understandingly]
Philip: So you can wipe off the grin, I know where you've been
Dr. Rogers: I'm right here with you now, Phil.
Philip: It's all been a pack of lies
Dr. Rogers: You feel that people have been untruthful with you. Can you recall when you first began to feel this way?
Philip: Well I remember...
Dr. Rogers: Yes, go on...
Philip: I remember, don't worry...
Dr. Rogers: No, I'm not worried. I think we're making excellent progress here.
Philip: How could I ever forget?
Dr. Rogers: Yes, that's certainly the way it is with these things.
Philip: It's the first time...
Dr. Rogers: You say this is the first time, yes. There's a first time for everything, isn't there.
Philip: ...the last time we ever met.
Dr. Rogers: Oh, I understand. You're referring to when you think you saw me doing something that time we must have encountered each other on the street.
Philip: But I know the reason why you keep your silence up.
Dr. Rogers: You believe that I'm being less communicative with you than you'd like, and you think you understand the reason for this.
Philip: No you don't fool me!
Dr. Rogers: You think I'm attempting to lie to you like all those others. But you are resisting, not letting yourself become confused.
Philip: The hurt doesn't show, but the pain still grows.
Dr. Rogers: Yes, you are experiencing a lot of anxiety, and you're saying most people don't see that.
Philip: It's no stranger to you or me
Dr. Rogers: How true. You can say that again.
Philip: And I can feel it coming in the air tonight...
Dr. Rogers: [looking at watch] Well, Phil, it looks as if that's all we have time for this evening.
Philip: Oh Lord! Oh Lord! [client becomes agitated, distraught, begins screaming and banging on interview table.]
Dr. Rogers: [running out into hall] Nurse! 500 milligrams of chlorpromazine, iv. Stat!

3:33 PM | link |

Friday, August 15, 2003
Instant Trauma Reading List

9:36 PM | link |

Thursday, August 14, 2003
Insignificant Others
RageBoy, meet Dharma Girl. Dharma Girl, meet RageBoy.

Well, this is a fine how do you do. Especially as Buddhadharma warns against rage as one of the Three Poisons: Passion, Aggression & Ignorance. I do pretty good with passion and ignorance too. Of course, the Vajrayana had a crucially different take on the essential nature of poison -- i.e., that it, along with the rest of the phenomenal universe (as if there were another kozmik zip code), well... er... you see... doesn't have one. In contrast, the Arhats of the (much) earlier Hinayana persuasion are purported to have had heart attacks on hearing -- as Gregory Bateson might have said -- news of this difference. (Geese are flying information. But that's a koan for another day, perhaps.)

A modicum of context might be good, huh? OK, so Dharma Girl yesterday posted a little rant titled Love vs. Attachment. Before you go read it, however, can I ask a question? I mean, can we talk? I'm wondering if Dharma Girl is one of those titles like the one Kerouac picked for his book, Dharma Bums, back when the Diamond Sutra was still hip and pot was a whole lot cheaper. It always cracks me up when New Age drivel (with which DG's cogitation is dripping, btw) invokes Eastern Spirituality, as if "it" were some homogeneous body of thought. For instance, Buddhism and Hinduism have about as much in common as Eminem and Tipper Gore. True, both sets are related, but not in the sense that knee-jerk New Age ecumenism would have you think. Now, I'm not saying that these good people are trying to trick you or anything. No. I'm saying they're stupid. For instance Part II, Buddhism is an atheistic "religion." If this surprises you, it's probably because you're a White Person, who like most of us, still believes deep down that the rest of the world has never ceased to be our very own colonial oyster. If we can't have your land anymore, your raw materials, your labor, your women, well hell, we can still expropriate your culture. And give you McDonalds and DisneyWorlds where your temples and pagodas used to be. Glass half full. Cheer up. Namaste, motherfuckers!

Yeah, anyway. While most New Agers know full well that "ego" is considered an obstacle to "Enlightenment" in some Buddhist traditions -- yes, Virginia, there are more than one -- these same people are shocked, simply shocked I tell you, to hear that "God" is considered no less an obstacle. And for the same reasons. Hindus, on the other hand, are dyed in the wool theists. Got God? Hell, they got a million of em. Now please understand, I'm not making fun of other peoples' sacred traditions here. Would I do that? I'm just saying that folding Buddhists and religious Hindus into some OneWorld® "Eastern Spirituality" stew is like talking about the shared agenda of Southern Baptists and drug-crazed hippie Satan worshipers. "Oh yes, you mean American Spirituality. With the holy rollers and the goat's head soup..."

But let's skip over the fine points of Buddhist doctrine, shall we? And get straight to the ass kicking. I ain't makin any fancy claims here, but fair warning: pacemakers may be affected. Assuming that you've read DG's essay (or did you just come for the flamage?), here's the comment I posted on her blog. I've added a handful of hyperlinks for strictly commercial purposes.

I knew Pema a long time ago. And there's one little difference between her and most everyone else on the planet that you neglect to mention -- or perhaps failed to notice. To wit: Pema is a nun. You wanna be a nun, too, I say go for it! Cloistered, even better. Then you'd blog me no more of your nunnish advice. So happy to hear that YOU have found the perfect relationship, while the rest of us simper our lives away in needy cowardice. This post is an extended exercise in self-serving "spiritual" oneupsmanship, and on many counts, simply ignorant of the psychodynamics of both relationship and attachment. Granted, you're not alone in thinking this way. Unfortunately. But that doesn't make what you're thinking any more legitimate than the opinion of folks -- like, say, myself -- who believe that people who base their bond with each other on imagined "past lives" should not be allowed to a) type, or b) possess sharp instruments. Time allowing, I'll have more to say about this on my blog later this evening. Look for it under the head "Insignificant Others." Hope you've got a nice snug pair of asbestos knickers, Dharma Girl!

love & light


As I write this, I've got Bonnie Raitt spinning on the EGR HQ jukebox. And she's saying true love is hard to find. True love is hard to find. True love is hard to find. Like that. Must think it bears repeating. And me, hey I'm with Bonnie. And now, she's doing this number with Sippie Wallace: Woman Be Wise (Don't Advertise Your Man). "She's lovin' your man / and in your own damn bed! / Better call for the doctor / gotta investigate your head!" (Last time I called the Doctor... but no, let's leave that one with the geese.)

Are these lyrics pertinent to the present discussion? Not really. Well, not necessarily specifically. It's just that I'm sitting here thinking that these two women -- one black, one white -- would gang up to what we call rip you a new asshole for the patent bullshit you wrote about Love vs. Attachment. For instance, when Raitt sings "There's an aching in my head / from a bed I can't get used to" and "Honey, half of me is gone away / from a love I learned to cling to" on My First Night Alone Without You, imagine how comforted she'd be by your compassionate words, Dharma Girl: "If you cannot heal yourself on your own, and you are depending on someone else to come along and fix things for you, you are essentially giving up and handing over the responsibilities to somebody else." Two things occur immediately: 1) yours doesn't rhyme, and 2) you can't dance to it. Well, three things actually. The third of which is that any self-respecting woman in pain from an important relationship ending would punch you in the mouth if you said that to her face. And I'd be happy to hold her coat while she worked out on you.

Despite the tone of my remarks thus far, I'm in strong agreement with you on this whole strange business of finding The One. You write: "The problem is not that you haven't found 'the one.'" Yes! But then our paths rapidly diverge. I agree this is not "the problem" because... well, precisely What One would that be? The One decreed in the Great Divine Plan, which btw, perversely makes it impossible to find that person. Unless you are Dharma Girl, naturally, and have achieved some sort of detached but fulfilling arrangement that can be walked away from without regret to facilitate the pursuit of the more important life goal of (let us all bow our heads for a moment here) working on yourself.

"I could wake up tomorrow and be changed from the person I was the day before in such a way that we can no longer be together."

Oh yeah, you go girl!

btw, I wonder if "the man [you] adore" noticed that you started that sentence as a subjunctive "could" construction, but ended it with a declarative: "...we can no longer be together." (Dude, what's your woman trying to tell you here?)

Of course, you "doubt that this would happen." Most people would say that this had something to do with knowing the person they're with, having established some critical measure of trust. But, you know, just for the sake of argument, let's say that your past-life partner in stoic what're-ya-gonna-do acceptance of the unpredictability of what we here in Boulder call "uncontrolled growth" (and I call the entropy gradient)... let's say he tells you one afternoon next week that his values have... uh, evolved and now he's shacked up with this totally rockin bleach-blond babe name of Barbarella and, well, it sure has been great and all, but b'bye...

And yeah, I really do understand. He would never do that. Barbarella's just not his type. And anyway, he's sublimated all his libido into that novel. Right? Right. But are you sure? Actually, your point is that you're not sure at all. That there is no surety to be had about these things. If they do happen, well, that's the way God planned it. Or something. And really, it's just one more yummy opportunity to work on you. Toward some unspecified end. Because you will be happier that way? Because you'll then be free to pursue that special hobby you recommend to us spiritually lazy, psychologically insecure peons? Or because it will constitute that tried-and-true old standby (not to mention standing joke), The Learning Experience?

Let me suggest another possible outcome of our hypothetical scenario. My guess is that if Billy one day up and dumped you -- not that I'm saying his name is Billy, necessarily; you know better than I do on that score; I should hope -- you'd be crying out the other side of your mouth. Yeah, and I'm guessing you'd be sounding a whole lot more like Bonnie Raitt or Bessie Smith ("if I call three times a day, baby / come and drive my blues away...") than some plastic faux-TyBeeShin White Tara wannabe.

This kind of reaction to loss is what we non-Eastern-Spirituality types call "being human." You ought to take it for a spin sometime instead of laying all this self-righteous self-promotion-diguised-as-sage-advice on people unfortunate enough not to have discovered, as you so obviously have, the ultimate algorithms of the heart.

I'd like to think that my boundless compassion -- notice I didn't use the "N" word even once -- has helped you see the light, in however small a way. May all beings be happy, etc. yada yada. Me big-heap bodhisattva, baby, you betcha! But I dunno, Dharma Girl. Maybe you should listen more closely to your own excellent counsel. Maybe you should look inside yourself first, instead of relying on someone else to do the job for you.

And maybe. just maybe, you should get down off your high horse and take a walk on the wild side now and then. Ventilate that "self-esteem" a little. Remember what Pema Chodron said? "Attachment... exaggerates others' good qualities and makes us crave to be with them." And I hope you'll remember what I said to top off this ever so satisfying flame. You ready? OK then, read my lips: That's why Pema's not a blogger.

And I am.

Look, I know I've been a bit rough on you here, DG. Sorry. Really. It's just that I woke up this morning and was changed from the person I was the day before in such a way that we can no longer be together.

Knowing you'll understand...

RB (riding off into the sunset to live the common* human fantasy of love everlasting -- or lasting, at any rate, as long as he can, being mortal, hope to help to make it last)

* COMMON: adjective
1 a: of or relating to a community at large: PUBLIC - "work for the common good"
1 b: known to the community - "common fears"
1 x: what RageBoy means - "shared human aspiration"

5 a: falling below ordinary standards: SECOND-RATE
5 b: lacking refinement: COARSE
5 x: what Dharma Girl means - "vulgar human delusion"

Take yer pick. From Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, Eleventh Edition (with slight modifications).

6:22 AM | link |

Wednesday, August 13, 2003
these titles are getting pretty explicit. damn!

3:54 PM | link |

from the sublime to the ridiculous
we get mail...
Yo, Chris,

Something you may be interested in ... looks like your new apartment is full of negative energy, this lady claims she can "Suck it all out .. “ No, I am not making this shit up...

2:56 PM | link |

1:03 AM | link |

Tuesday, August 12, 2003
man, how did I miss this one?
(But where did she get the idea I was "unpretentious"?)
5 out of 5 stars "You have GOT to READ this guy!!", January 27, 2002
Reviewer: Sharon from Greenville, NC USA
That was my introduction just over a year ago to Entropy Gradient Reversals and the evil genius mind(s) behind it, Christopher Locke/RageBoy. From that first mind-blowing, breathless reading of his newsletter, I was alternately charmed, alarmed and disarmed by the decidedly unpretentious Chris Locke. His new book, the Bombast Transcripts, a collection of essays previously published to the Entropy Gradient Reversals mailing list, contains that first newsletter that caught my imagination, and so many more.

As I've read through this book, I have found myself again reacting to it in the visceral way that I had to become accustomed to as one of his faithful Valued Readers at EGR. While some may call him pompous and crass, I find him to be merely open and honest. Then again, I've always had a soft spot for intelligent, over-indulgent, semi-vulgar Don Quixotes. His chosen windmills are big business that don't have a clue (IBM et all, no small potatoes here) and, while a book about business practices would normally make my eyes glaze over while putting me in a semi-catatonic state, I find this book to be human and engaging at every turn. Each essay stands on it's own as either a rant or a screed, yet each could also be expanded into its own little book. Irreverent, engaging, transforming, contemplative, hilarious....and each page is more of the same.

While I read Locke's words, I get the feeling that I am a part of something much bigger and more important than anyone can guess, especially those that think the internet is nothing more than a collection of chatrooms and porn sites. No, I get the feeling I'm getting a glimpse of a creation, a rapturous inferno of truth and emotion, two key elements that, when exposed to each other under the heat of RageBoy's passion, cause a brilliant flash of evolution that could change the world as we know it. What a wonderful world that would be.

Idealistic? Maybe. Bombastic? Hardly. Evil Genius?? Indeed.

11:27 PM | link |

i think my cat just barfed
Selene revises her blog and blames it all on "my lovely father." That would be me. I think you should all know that the only reason I ever update my blog is when my lovely daughter is pestering me! btw, here are some CDs by her favorite band. A.F.I. is pretty damn good, too. Girl has good taste in screaming freaks!

10:50 PM | link |

Sunday, August 10, 2003
Yahoo Personals: The Don't Example
Well, I took the plunge. I mean, sure all these women love me. They can't help themselves. I understand. But they're all in exotic places like Zimbabwe or New Jersey or Denmark. And I finally had to ask myself -- taking a verbatim tip from ex-date Anomalie Aesculapius -- "What's in it for me?" It was then that I realized my mistake. All this time, my hostile, domineering superego introject has been generating internal dialogue along the lines of: "Take yourself in hand, son!" and "Different strokes for different folks!" and "Get a grip on yourself!" I now see that I was taking this advice a little to literally. If I got a grip on myself one more time, I was going to go crazy (that is, inasmuch as there would be any real travel involved). What I needed was someone else to take me in hand and get a grip on me! What I needed, DUH!, was a real-live non-virtual non-cyberspatial hot-to-trot woman. So, on the recommendation of two women who've reported good results -- i.e., both are now getting laid on a regular basis -- I decided to hook up with Yahoo Personals. Not sure if you can see my profile there without signing up, so I've dropped the main bits in below, first describing myself, then specifying what I'm looking for in a potential lover.

third-rate romance, low-rent rendezvous

ME: I've never really done this kind of thing before. Have you? <g> But actually, I haven't. I'm a published writer, a prolific blogger, bit of a maniac, really, very funny (ask anyone) and wicked smart. but despite appearances, quite loving. unless you mess up, that is. then you will have to be disciplined, yes. I enjoy smoking and sub-zero air conditioning, checking my mailbox, and reading about severe personality disorders. I abhor exercise, nature and anything organic. you like hiking? well take one now. on the other hand, I am quite fond of sex. you know: passionate scorpio borderline seeks darkly vibrant satanica pandemonium for quiet dinners and late-nite boating accidents sorta thing. incredibly, I've been clean and sober (as they say) for nearly 20 years. before that, take a wild guess. if you have read this far and not laughed, you need professional help. do I SOUND like a professional? also, I don't get along real good with tauruses (references on request). and look, it's not my fault I live in Boulder. well, actually, as I am coming to Take Responsibility for My Own Behavior, yes, it is my fault. what's not my fault is Boulder. if you live here too and feel like an alien at a halloween party, we should compare notes. if you are fortunate enough to live elsewhere than the fabled oz, we can compare notes anyway. or dot dot dot.

SHE: you enjoy sunsets, small furry animals, and serious automotive mishaps. you are deeply spiritual, and especially into aromatherapy and shamanic etymology. you love the dalai lama as if he were your own dad. you love eminem as if he weren't. you have never read The Verbally Abusive Relationship, nor do you plan to (very important). your idea of a good time is watching Repo Man or From Dusk Till Dawn while doing Tai Chi, the NY Times Sunday crossword, and Charlie Chan impressions. in other words, you are versatile. you have a good sense of humor, but not better than mine. you find controlling, needy men attractive, but you are working on your issues. you are poised, self-confident and look really hot in a one-piece bikini. you have multiple PhDs in nuclear physics, semiotics, and animal husbandry. you are cool under pressure. you like yo-yo ma and zz top, not necessarily in that order. you wonder about the meaning of life. you wonder if this is really all there is. you are ready to rock.

ANALYSIS: So far, I'm not getting what you'd call inundated with offers. But it's only been up for a day. And the way I figure it, even if I don't meet a woman with all these fine qualities -- that is to say, the woman of my dreams -- at least it's good therapy. Because where else do you get to brag about yourself non-stop with interesting looking (and, some, actually interesting) babes? Why has it taken me so long to realize that this is the true future of blogging, where it recedes once again out of the vulgar public sphere and returns once again to where it always belonged: sweet one-on-one pillow-talk lies, snuggled down deep and comfy between creamy satin sheets.

2:00 AM | link |

Friday, August 08, 2003
Sicilian Personality Disorder (SPD)

more fun with repurposed spam.

8:34 AM | link |

Wednesday, August 06, 2003
Halley Comments on The Below
Nobody does it better. (Sorry, couldn't resist!) And what's this about an acquired taste? H, you are really too-too bad! Thanks much. But I must say that I am not now, nor have I ever been, a card-carrying Artist. No way. I'm just a simple man.

btw, wanna buy a bridge?

6:00 AM | link |

Girl Can Rock
A month or so ago, maybe it was last year... No. It was June. Selene called me up one night all sort of tentative. "What's up?" I said. "Well you're probably gonna say no, but, well..." Long pause. Was she moving to Tijuana to take up a life of sin and hard drugs? Worse, was she planning to go to grad school? Selene is 13, so it probably wasn't either. Not right away. So what was it? "What is it?" I said. "You can tell me."

"Well, there's this band I really like playing Wednesday night in Denver, and um, er, well, uh..."

"And you want to go instead of getting together for dinner," I finished for her. I usually pick her up on Wednesdays at six and we go to some restaurant. Cruise around afterwards maybe, blasting her music loud as it will go. I'd miss her, but how gratuitously fascistic did I want to appear? So I said, "Sure, that's cool."

"No," she said. "You don't get it." Not the first time I've heard this. "Lauren doesn't want to go, so uh... you're probably going to say no, but... would you take me?"

Oh. I had to think about this. Lauren, her mom, had taken her to lots of rock concerts lately. I guess she was burned out, needed a break. Or maybe wanted to remind me she was doing all the heavy lifting in the parenting department. So it was my turn to go hang out in some huge hall with nine million kids and some freakazoid rockers with bad hair and eyeliner. Eyeliner is big out there these days. Can we blame Boy George? "Who's boy george?" Selene would say. So I never asked.

"Um, er, well, uh..." I said.

"I knew you'd say no," she said. "Never mind."

"Hold on," I said. "Who's playing?"

"There are four bands, actually," she said. "But the one I want to hear is called Evanescence."


"No, stupid," she said. Not the first time I've heard this. "Evanescence. They're pretty good."

"Ok," I said. "When?"

"REALLY!?!?" she said. "You will?"

Hey, what are dads for. "Sure," I said. So we went. And when we got to the Filmore (dusty shades of Bill Graham; "Who's Bill Graham?"), Selene says, "OK, you can hang out back here. I'm going to get up close as I can. Bye." It wasn't a suggestion.

Fuck, huh? But what was I expecting? I knew she'd ditch me as soon as we got there. Who wants her dad hanging around looking weird and old and, likely as not, eyeing the chicks. Of which, let me tell you, there were some fine. The first band was OK. Not great but not bad. Could be meat, could be cake, as Jeneane likes to say (was a new one on me). The second band, on the other hand, a local group from Boulder, was bad. Was embarrassingly dreadful, in fact. In fact, the fact that they didn't seem to know this themselves, or much care, was the embarrassing part. Bunch of little prancing faggots with no sense of rhythm or style or, really, anything. Not that I have anything against faggots, mind you. As long as they don't prance. And make me listen to them for a nearly goddam fucking hour. Jesus. I went out and smoked. Looked at the girls. I was born too early. Ahead of my time.

And finally, finally, here comes Evanescence. Instantly, they pump up the space to nine times its size, pack it with chopped guitar, hyperbass, overamped drums and wow... this diminutive girl who, not since maybe Gracie Slick, just blows me away. After the first three sets, I am not expecting this. They open with Going Under. See below. There's a full-length video on their site.

Just when I thought I'd reached the bottom...

A couple weekends ago, I dragged Selene into Border's. She hates when I do that. "Just five minutes," I say. "NO," she says. "It's never 'five minutes.'" I'm looking for Toward a Psychology of Being by Abraham Maslow (so I can make fun of his scrawny-assed "hierarchy of needs"; need this, motherfucker!) But I found out yesterday it's out of print except in the $50 hardback edition. So it was brief.

"Can I get a CD?" Selene asks me.

"May I get a CD?" (What an asshole, she's thinking. I know it. Girl's got good instincts.) "Sure," I say. "Long as the money holds out."

I see the Evanescence CD as we're leaving. "Should I get this?" I say. Selene shrugs, like what are you asking me for? Right. What am I asking her for. I grab it. We check out. I've been listening to Fallen at volume ever since. And volume I got. Believe. This morning I read the lyrics to Everybody's Fool...

never was and never will be

...and started putting this post together. It's been a long day.

Lyrically, Evanescence explores dark, introspective themes of love, desperation, and despair. But the group insists its fundamental message is a positive one. "The point of this whole record and band is to let people know that they're not alone in dealing with bad feelings or pain or anything that they go through," says Amy Lee, who pens most of the words. "That's life and that's human. They're not alone, and we're going through it, too."

Amy Lee is 20. Seven years older than Selene. Thirty-five years younger than me. End of the day, doesn't much matter. Human. Going through it. You ready? Alright then.

going under...

I'm going under
(going under)
drowning in you
(drowning in you)
I'm falling forever
(falling forever)
I've got to
break through

going under

a pervasive pattern of grandiosity (in fantasy or behavior), need for admiration, and lack of empathy

a pervasive pattern of instability of interpersonal relationships, self-image, and affects, and marked by impulsivity
All I can do is write. All I can feel tonight for you. For all of you. Coming up on the Hour of the Wolf, but I've been through that. You too. And more. I welcome the wolf tonight, look into his eyes, smell his breath on my face, bare my neck. Brother, take me, take this heart, these eyes, drink me into your wild illumination. I am your sacrament. You my release, my liberation.
All that. And I call you. On the telephone. Twice. The messages too short to say everything. Two short pieces of everything, then. Different ways of saying I love you. How high. How much. In my night here alone, my wolf alive. Me talking, taking notes. You sleeping. I dream you. has a grandiose sense of self-importance, e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements

frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment
perfect by nature
icons of self indulgence
just what we all need
more lies about a world that...
never was and never will be
have you no shame don't you see me
you know you've got everybody fooled
preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love

a pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation
So close. So far away. Impossible possible. As it is. Knowing this moment with you is precious, beyond words, unspeakable. But speaking anyway, writing, what I do. Doing what I can. Seraphic demon, deeper, keeper, caller number nine. A gentle presence, in sadness and laughter, knowing all we are, letting it be there between us, separating and connecting. I am looking at you with my wolf eyes tonight, consumed by love.
look here she comes now
bow down and stare in wonder
oh how we love you
no flaws when you're pretending
but now i know she...
never was and never will be
you don't know how you've betrayed me
and somehow you've got everybody fooled
And in this death awaken. These hundred million year mountains in darkness soon to dawn. Morning light lifting, rose-bellied clouds rise on thermals into wildest blue heaven forever. I am here tonight to tell you, to remind myself: love is real. believes she is "special" and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people

identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self
requires excessive admiration

impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging, e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating
Another day. Almost a week ago now. Another of the days I'm learning to live through. Coming even, in unguarded moments, to savor, be surprised by. So standing there in Starbucks, must have been Wednesday, I guess, and you walk in. My radar is up, working fine.
without the mask where will you hide
can't find yourself lost in your lie
i know the truth now
i know who you are
and i don't love you anymore
At first just registering your presence. I am fascinated by women. Each so different. What is it about this one? She is a one like that. Like what? I wonder. Some meaning below thought. She is looking in the pastry case. "Those are good," I say. has a sense of entitlement, i.e., unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with her expectations
recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior
interpersonally exploitative, i.e., takes advantage of others to achieve her own ends

affective instability due to marked reactivity of mood, e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days
"Oh yes?" she says. "Yeah," I say, "delicious." She says "I don't know. They all look good." They do. She does too. There's some lilt in her voice, an accent? I ask. Is she German? No, better, a Dane? Turns out she's British. "But it's been a long time," she says, "seven years. So most of it's gone now." Her accent she means. And I'm thinking... What am I thinking? "Have you got to rush off?" I ask. "I do," she says. Then, "...in a bit."
"Come outside with me," I say. And foolishly, perhaps, as this is Boulder after all, "I'm going to smoke a cigarette." We pick up our coffees. "OK," she says. lacks empathy: is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others

chronic feelings of emptiness
often envious of others or believes that others are envious of her

inappropriate intense anger or difficulty controlling anger, e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights
All the chairs are taken. We sit on the ground. "I'm Chris," I say, extending my hand. "Helen," she says. Her hand is small in mine. We shake. Very cool and straightforward. I like her. She tells me things about herself. Things you would not normally tell a stranger. I am down inside her life immediately. Know what's she's looking at on her horizon.
I know this from my own life. Too well. Her eyes are kind, intelligent. My words sneak up, surprise her. She laughs. A double-take: How'd you do that? You got me. shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes
transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms
it never was and never will be
you're not real and you can't save me
somehow now you're everybody's fool
Narcissistic personality disorder was introduced... in DSM-III (American Psychiatric Association, 1980).... DSM-III had interpersonal relationship features as one criterion, with the requirement that patients have two out of the four listed options. In DSM-III-R, these four options were made into three separate criteria: criterion 2 (describing exploitativeness), criterion 6 (describing feelings of entitlement), and criterion 8 (describing absence of empathy). The fourth option in DSM-III (i.e., relationships characterized by idealization and devaluation) was dropped in DSM-III-R because it overlapped with a similar criterion for borderline personality disorder. "I like you," I say. So much can be lost in a flicker, a moment passing, past. "A lot." No secrets, no subterfuge. Cards face up. We're laughing. Enjoying each other's company. "Are you in a position to accept," I say, "if I were to invite you out to dinner some night?" She looks at me. "Are you in a position to ask?" I think a second. Then wonder why. Habit. "Yeah," I say, "I am," flashing on the amazing simple truth of it. But not so simple for her, it seems. She tells me more. What's going on in her life. And I feel honored by her speaking to me this way. As if we've known each other a lot longer than these now perhaps ten minutes. I tell her about myself as well. The whirlwind history. Boulder to Japan. Carpentry to artificial intelligence. "How did you pull that off?" she asks. "That's some transition." I tell her I'm smart. "Real smart," I say. Not a brag. A fact. "Plus," I say, "I've been lucky. If you want to call it that."
I tell her about my unlikely triumphs (there've been a few), my losses. The one I'm feeling now. Working through. It's been a while, I tell her. It was bad, pretty bad there for a patch. And yeah, I'm still in it, I say. I don't remark on the improbable mountains, the imaginary sky, the joy of being there with her drinking coffee. Looks like she already knows that last part. I hope so. I say "Give me your phone number." A pause. A bit longer this time. "Give me yours," she says. She fishes pen and paper from her purse. I write. "I'm putting down my email address too," I say. And she says, "Oh good." I like how she says it. DSM-III-R criterion 1 (pertaining to reactions to criticism) was found to be a sufficiently poor performer that omission or radical revision in DSM-IV was indicated. Item x diagnosis analyses indicate that the criterion had similar (or higher) predictive power for paranoid personality disorder and borderline personality disorder.... Advisor input... suggested that adding defeat and rejection to criticism as precipitants for the narcissistic reactions might improve the functions of this criterion. Moreover, "rage" as a type of reaction to criticism... does not differentiate narcissistic from other "dramatic cluster" personality disorders....
These observations suggested that the criterion might be improved as follows: "reacts to criticism, defeat or rejection with sustained feelings of disdain, shame or humiliation (even if not expressed)." ... DSM-III-R criterion 8 ("lack of empathy") reflects a frequently cited feature of narcissistic persons in the clinical literature. [However,]... it was equally associated with anti-social and passive-aggressive personality disorders. This suggested that the overlap might be diminished by revising the criterion to specify that the narcissist's empathic failures are due to an unwillingness, not an inability, to identify with the feelings and needs of others.... Such a revision has been made in DSM-IV. "So you'll call me? Send mail?" I'm suddenly thinking there's so much to talk about. But I say (why do I always give fair warning?), "It might be dangerous for you to see me again." Depending on how you look at it. But I didn't have to explain. I told her I could be non-dangerous too, if she preferred, but that it wouldn't be my first choice. I don't remember how it came up, exactly, but it did. As it will. That I live more online than off sometimes. Done that, yeah. Been known to happen. "It's embarrassing," I say. "I'm 55 years old and thousands of people on the net know me as RageBoy." Not sure how she'll react to this very quite possibly bad news. And indeed, she looks at me funny for the first time. "Do you have a blog?" she says. "You know, I think I've been there." Seems one of you guys turned her on to me. Amazing. Thank you. "Yeah? Well, I hope you come back," I say. "Have I told you about the impossibly too-real mountains here? Did I mention that?"
"Surprisingly, Nicaraguans like iguana meat
and think of it as a great delicacy."

RED DSM-IV Diagnostic Criteria for Narcissistic Personality Disorder
BLUE DSM-IV Diagnostic Criteria for Borderline Personality Disorder
GREEN Everybody's Fool. written by b. moody / a. lee / d. hodges. zombies ate my publishing. Evanescence
AMY LEE'S LIPS The DSM-IV Personality Disorders, by W. John Livesley, The Guilford Press, 1995.
MAROON Selene Locke, homework assignment, 2-6-02.
private collection
in her field of paper flowers...
the goddess of imaginary light

2:22 AM | link |

Sunday, August 03, 2003
Turning Lead Into Bullshit

It's late, oh so late. So many lies, so little time. (And Helen, dammit, you didn't send me mail!) (But nevermind.) We will have more to say about this one. This book, that is. Oh yes. You can count on it. The post-horns are popping outta the woodwork here, folks. The Beautiful Mind garage band is just tuning up. And we are closing in fast on a Grand Unified Theory of Transpersonal Psycho-Metaphysics, you betcha. So whatever you do, don't miss the next exciting installment of... RB Rips the New Age a New One.

Thank you for tuning in.

4:02 AM | link |

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"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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