Gonzo Marketing:Winning Through Worst Practices The Bombast Transcripts: Rants and Screeds of RageBoy
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Tuesday, September 30, 2003
Malpractice Assurance
more fun with repurposed spam #54

11:01 PM | link |

The Ultimate Anomalie of Aesculapius

Achilles heel thyself.


10:03 PM | link |

Saturday, September 27, 2003
hot girl seeks raging boy with deep issues
having read Kant's Critique of Pure Reason a plus

click me! click me!

3:29 AM | link |

Friday, September 26, 2003
Dissociative Identity Disorder
or: I Am Legion!

You may be surprised to receive this letter from me since you do not know me personally.
I am the first son of the most popular black farmer in Zimbabwe who was murdered in the land dispute in my country. I am Sodingo Malinga, the first son of Malinga Tawanda. I am Mrs. Victoria Nzedioha, the wife of late Dr. Onomua Andrew Nzedioha. I am Ogidigan Frank the son of Dr. Tango Frank. I am Dr. Alexander Fredrick, the Special Assistant to Mr. Charles Taylor, the head of state of Liberia. I am Gabriel Kali, the first son of Gadik Kali. I am Mr. Bruce Mutomy the In-Law to Mr. Tabo Mbeki the President of Republic of South Africa. I am Mr. Paul Ugo, the son of Dr. Matelo Ugo, a wealthy farmer/politician in Zimbabwe. I am Abdul Momoh, the son of Ndiata Momoh. I am Abdoul Douglas, the first son of Mr. Cliff Douglas. I am Collins Chippo, the first son of Mr. Mbewe Chippo. I am Mrs. Theresa Nkomo the wife of late Dr. Benjamin Nkomo. I am William Zuma, the first son of Madogo Magoora Zuma. I am Marimba Nkala, the first son of Ndlovu Nkala. I am Mrs. Mariam Abacha, the widow of the former Nigerian head of state, late General Sani Abacha. I am Dan Igu the personal Assistant to Mrs. Maryam Abacha. I am Mrs. Fatima Abacha, second wife of Nigeria's former head of state. I am Carlos Radebe the first son of Radebe Zuma. I am Joseph Boma Mawelala the first son of Mr. Fred Coota Mawelala. I am Sadu Madiga, the first son of Gadik Madiga.

And what I want to know is: how can learn to blog like RageBoy?

click me! click me!

3:37 AM | link |

Thursday, September 25, 2003
Spiritually Intense
Hold the Enlightenment My sister Liz bought me this book today, as she saw I was lusting after it in Boulder Books, a place I hardly ever go these days, as there's no telling whom I might run into there. Or there is telling, but for once I won't. btw, Liz won't read my blog because I haven't read her doctoral dissertation. As she doesn't read my blog, I feel relatively safe in saying, what kind of fucking deal is THAT? I mean, there are JOKES here. Sometimes. And PATHOS! Now and then. And SEX!!! With, a friend informed me only just this evening, disturbingly increasing frequency. I hate to use an adverb and a present participle in such close, if you'll forgive the expression, conjuntion. But... oh what the fuck do you care anyway?

The book is called Hold the Enlightenment (you can see the appeal just from that), and the first graf of the eponymous essay goes a little like this...

"I am not a yoga kinda guy. Yoga people are sensitive, aware, largely sober, slender, double-jointed, humorless vegans who are concerned with their own spiritual welfare and don't hesitate to tell you about it. They are spiritually intense and consequently enormously boring in the manner of folks who, in their own self-absorption, feel you ought to be alerted as to the quantity and texture of their last bowel movement."

However, I was saddened to read the next sentence.

"Or so I used to think."
after my sex-change operation I haven't finished the essay yet, so I don't know how things turn out. Even though the thing is less than seven pages. Because when I got back here this evening, I felt a powerful need to be severely depressed. Then, after the meds kicked in, I... well, I... Now that's odd. I can't remember what I've been doing for the last four hours. It's those goddam fucking aliens again I'll bet. Look, I live in Colorado, OK? You've heard about all the cattle mutilations out this way, right? I guess they decided they needed bigger balls to experiment on. I just hope their sterile technique is up to snuff. And that they don't slip with the scalpel or whatever it is they use on me up there. What I go through for you people. You have no idea. For instance, did I tell you about my sex change operation? I guess I'm still a little reticent about it. Well, here's the After photo. Maybe I'll tell you more later...

11:20 PM | link |

Ships in the Night

3:51 PM | link |

Wednesday, September 24, 2003
Di Chirico Fends Off the Spectral Bats of Andalusia
I rediscovered this piece tonight and it made me laugh. It's dated March 21, 2001, back when I was still happy. Not that I'm not happy now, mind you. Oh, am I happy. It's just that I was happy for different reasons then. It seems way longer ago than two and a half years since I wrote this. Could it be? That was the Spring Equinox and today, I think, is the Autumnal Equinox. Or maybe yesterday was. Who knows. So yeah, it's been exactly two and a half revolutions around that star out there that keeps us warm. When it does. And when it does, it's so good.

I'll think about all this while you read the piece. OK? Oh and btw, this is one of the bits in The Bombast Transcripts. though I didn't remember that until just now. Had to go back and edit this, which is what I've been doing non-stop for the last 48 hours it seems. Write, edit, write, edit. Jesus God. What normal person does this sort of thing for fun? Anyway, there are links nearby to that most excellent book, and it's not like it would kill you to click on one of them. Hoser.

   EGR is graciously underwritten by Entropy Web Consulting
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Valued Readers:

First off, for all of you who wondered if I was soliciting,
no. Gangbangers, dear hearts, are people who belong to gangs.
The state of cultural literacy is really plummeting out there.
Nonetheless, you wouldn't believe how many offers I got. For
all the good it would do me. Remind me to tell you sometime
about the unfortunate incident at the State Fair tractor pull.

Second off, for all of you who have been kindly (and
otherwise) inquiring about Gonzo Marketing: Winning Through
Worst Practices, yes, it's done. Sined, seeled and delivered.
David Goering called me this morning from Perseus Publishing
to say he liked it. Said it was a fucking work of art. Good
thing too. David Goering runs Perseus Publishing and could
have easily asked for the money back. Seeing as he didn't,
it'll be out in October. I'm putting together a chunk of it to
stick online. Naturally, you'll be the first to know.

Third off, a French "Wired-style" publication (their
description) asked me to send them something relating to the
revolutionary potential of the net. I mailed them a letter
bomb. The replacement editor then called and said, no, we
meant an article. So I wrote this thing here. No, they said,
that's too long. And could you make it a bit more concrete. So
I cut it in half and took out all the funny bits (yes, there
are funny bits, dammit!). They loved it, even though that
version now doesn't make any sense. Frogs, what can I say? Not
that this one does either, but hey, did that ever stop me from
sending you anything?

btw, the first reader to correctly guess why the two lead
quotes are grouped together wins a live wildebeest and a
year's supply of chainmail pantyhose. Ready? OK.

     Toward a Poststructural Poetics of Cyberspace:
    or, Deriding Derrida and the Horse He Rode In On

              "Allons enfants de la Patrie
             Le jour de gloire est arriv�!"
                    La Marseillaise

   "There's nothing you can do that can't be done..."
                  All You Need is Love
                   Lennon & McCartney

In May 1968 I was planting beets and corn and dropping
mescaline. Later, sitting on my back porch blowing a soap
bubble, I tried to imagine a world in which such a thing was
possible. Suddenly and with some considerable amazement, I
realized I was already in it. Needless to say, I was pretty
high. At the same time, barricades were going up all over
Paris, an insurrection that lives on in our collective memory
like first love. In Spring, a young man's fancy turns to tear
gas. A few years later, Mick Jagger, having missed all the
action, lamented that "in sleepy London Town, there's just no
place for a street fighting man," but demanded sanctuary
nonetheless: "Ooh, a storm is threatening... my very life
today..." Human culture is an endless palimpsest of commentary
on the commentary written over whatever comments came before.
Later, Foucault would echo the power of the pendulum, Julia
Kristeva would explain intertextuality, and in time Tim
Berners-Lee would implement the platform. Now -- gimme
shelter! -- it's all connected. And we've been tripping on the
connections ever since.

One of the connections to Paris '68, now hyperlinked at
nothingness.org -- how existential, though one suspects Camus
would be scratching his head -- is The Society of the
Spectacle by kingpin situationist Guy Debord. This tract
brought a heavy hit of dada and surrealism into The Movement,
and argued, I think, that it didn't quite know where it was
moving to -- in fact (stop me if you've heard this one) that
there was No Way Out. Huis Clos, baby. I have to say "I think"
because I never read the book. Ergo sum a bit confused
perhaps. But I did see the book jacket once on a TV program
that showed it on a web page as reproduced in Le Monde. Debord
says "The time of production, commodity-time, is an infinite
accumulation of equivalent intervals." Ah yes, how true. But
kind of weird because a couple years earlier Jean-Luc Godard
shot a movie in Paris tricked up to look like another planet
(which, I understand, didn't take much doing) -- Alphaville,
une �trange aventure de Lemmy Caution -- in which a character
named Alpha 60 says "Time is the substance of which I am made.
Time is a river which carries me along. But I am time. It's a
tiger, tearing me apart..." Coincidence? Yeah, probably. I
never saw that movie anyway. I got the quote from The Internet
Movie Database.

At any rate, situationism ultimately led to a film about the
Sex Pistols in which Gary Oldman, tricked up to look like Sid
Vicious (which did take some doing) sings Frank Sinatra's
trademarked theme song, "I Did It My Way," just before OD'ing
on heroin. *So* postmodern. All this is explained in Greil
Marcus's tour de force work of pop music criticism, Lipstick
Traces, which I do mean to read one day soon. For all his
influence on the Yippies at the '68 Democratic convention (I'm
guessing Jerry Rubin had spies on the Continent), Debord seems
to have been a humorlessly doctrinaire sort of guy, sullenly
complaining about the seamless and inescapable spectacle of
late capitalism simply because he couldn't get it to do
anything interesting. But art requires patience. And history
is not predestined. It is, however, littered with petty
control freaks peddling fascism tricked up to look like
freedom -- a disturbingly simple disguise.

Look: sure, we all love a good riot. However, the real problem
-- if I may wave my American flag proudly for a moment -- was
way too much Marx and not half enough synthetic psychedelics.
Not to be chauvinistic about it, but we did have the best labs
over here, you know, while all you people had was that cheap
opiated Afghani hashish cured in camel piss. Duck Soup will
only get you so far.

Yesterday, after starting to write this (and wondering, as
much as you are now, where all these random thoughts were
headed), I bought a book by Peter Watson called The Modern
Mind. It's an encyclopedic overview of 20th century memes and
the rich intellectual milieu they have interacted with one
another to produce. A tangled web, you might say. I bought a
cappuccino and lit a cigarette -- the strongest drugs I allow
myself these days -- and immediately turned to the concluding
chapter. Dr. Watson, I presume, believes in science and
rigorous analytic philosophy. He likes universities a lot but
does not like the muddy sort of thinking he associates --
though he doesn't say it in so many words -- with the
imagination. "Scientific/analytic reason has been a great
success" he writes, while "political, partisan and rhetorical
reason... has been a catastrophe." Oh dear.

Everyone is trying to control something it seems. Steer it
left, force it right. The serious work of the mind is to prove
that those other poor bastards are dangerous idiots, who,
really, if there were a Just God, would be forever silenced --
in the interests of an Open Society, of course. Ah, Popper,
the amyl nitrate of rational logic! And there's a long
tradition of this sort of thing, evidently. Somebody once told
me Plato wanted to get rid of the poets. Did he mean kill
them, I wonder? If anyone out there has actually read The
Republic, please send me email.

Power demands to be taken seriously. But the Internet is
rolling on the floor laughing, deep wracking intertextual
guffaws. The web is awash in oh-please-stop-I-can't-breathe
hypertext hilarity. Of course, we are not qualified to join in
the more serious forms of cultural discourse and debate. We
are not specialists. We are not experts. Unskilled,
unschooled, our anthems come not from the hallowed halls of
higher learning, but from the vox populi arena-rock of Pink
Floyd: "We don't need no education. We don't need no thought
control." Oh double-dear. Mere anarchy is loosed upon the
world. Mere Napster. Mere Gnutella. Mere-to-mere networking.
Meanwhile Sony Records wrings its metonymic corporate hands,
bemoaning the fact that we cannot hear the falconer -- of
copyright, ownership, control. As e.e. cummings once wrote:
"Humanity I love you because you are perpetually putting the
secret of life in your pants and forgetting it's there and
sitting down on it." Meanwhile, we're going like: "Falconer?
What falconer??? Dude, what are you even *talking* about?"

Thanks to the Internet, global culture is out of control. As
are deep jungle rain forests. As are the stars, the night, the
music of the spheres. Go look at a soap bubble, as I finally
did (straight) many years later. Look closely and for a long
time. Just before it bursts, you will see millions of
swirling, impossible colors. Imagine a world in which this
world is possible. Imagine the Stones still blasting away from
the past but with greater urgency than ever, "Love, sister,
it's just a kiss away, kiss away, kiss away..." The barricades
are gone, but the truth remains: we won. And all that time, I
thought I was just hallucinating.

We won? We who? Shit, I guess I *was* hallucinating. And oh
yeah that reminds me, I've lately been reading this terrific
and enormously fat volume:

   Madness and Modernism: 
   Insanity in the Light of Modern Art, Literature, and Thought
It's part of the research I'm doing for an article that will
run in Harvard Business Review just before Gonzo comes out.
I'm thinking to call it "Screaming at the Demons in the
Elevator Shaft: Spiritual Proctology, Marketing Prophylaxis
and Public Relations." Maybe that's too long though. I dunno.
Send ideas.


The Management

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12:46 AM | link |

Tuesday, September 23, 2003

Rated NC-17 for disturbing and gratuitous
depiction of gore, violent anti-social
behavior, graphic heroin use and resulting
depravity, pervasive sexuality/nudity,
and some language.

Before we get started today, RageBoy has requested
that I post this public service announcement.
Don't worry, it'll just take a minute.

See that wasn't so bad, was it? And it serves as fair warning about what's to come. Or as an advert, as our British cousins like to call em. Things are a little slow in the beginning, as you'll see, but then we spice it up with unforgivable media bias and some truly foul language. We should know better. But at least there's no outright nudity in this one. I don't think...

Ah, but would you look at that! No sooner thought than done. This must be what Jimmy Carter was talking about.

Baby! Baby!

What do you think, Frank? Fuck Euclid! He may have looked on beauty bare, but not this bare I'll wager. I'd say we got us a solid R here. But with some quick-and-dirty cropping, you should forgive the expression, I think we just squeaked under the NC-17 bar. By a hair. The point, of course, is not prurience. Would we stoop to that? No, it's to keep the academic rif raff out. So it's undress under duress. That is to say: in a good cause. Or should that be casuistry? No matter. You may safely dispense with your unabridged lexicons. And now, since you've all been such good children, ON WITH THE SHOW!
Conspiracy Theory
or: Is there a Doctor in the house?
OK then, let's start this with a couple of quotes. The first is from the "Spectrums of Possibility" website of one Dr. [sic] Art Rosengarten -- as in I Never Promised You a RosenGarten -- who describes himself as, and I quote, a Licensed Psychologist, Family Therapist, Author & Speaker, Tarot Expert, Meditation Practitioner, Published Poet, Diplomate of the APA, Graduate Instructor, and The First Tabugian -- as explained by Herr Doktor RoseGarden: "Tabugian (ta-boo-gee-an) Tarot-based Buddhist Jungian."

I see. And how long have you been bothered by such notions? Would you care to expand on this delusion, Learned Sir?

Why, sure, no problem...

Herr Doktor Rosengarten "As a psychologist and Tarot scholar I've long been saddled with the intriguing possibility of blending these strange bedfellows, Psychology and Tarot, despite (or perhaps, sheepishly, because of) those incredulous brows of mystification evidenced in many of my esteemed colleagues. The Freudians and Post Freudians, for instance, naturally find this mission dynamically odd and tainted much as the Behaviorists and Cognitive Behaviorists see the prospect as farcical and ill-conceived. Not surprisingly, however, the Jungians and Post-Jungians, as others of a humanistic/transpersonal bent, seem generally at home with the idea. Psychology and Tarot, why not?"

from Tarot, Freud, and The Wise Doctor from Zurich

By the way, the "APA" referenced in Dr. RosinUpYourBow's brief resume is neither, as one might assume, The American Psychological Association, nor The American Psychiatric Association, but rather the The American Psychotherapy Association. Oh yeah, and he wrote this book:

Tarot and Psychology : Spectrums of Possibility

But wait, that's not all! On his Informed Consent page, Dr. Art (as he calls himself) warns that his Tarot Method is...
"Contraindicated for individuals suffering from severe mental disorders including schizophrenia, active mania or clinical depression, paranoia, acute trauma, obsessive-compulsive and panic disorders."
That would be me. A bona fide depressed paranoid traumatic. There aren't that many of us left. And it is because of these various compound afflictions that I find the following sort of thing nearly unbearable.

Wow, huh?

That is to say: unbearably funny. I know, I know. How am I ever going to get girls to like me again if I keep being so fucking negative? Well, let's see, I could... no. Well then, I could... no. OK then, I guess it's hopeless. So what the hell. More weirdo pictures!

Now, the second quote (remember? I said there'd be two) I found in Jung and the New Age by a guy who's also written a bunch of other books about Jung and sacred shit and, you know, like The Mind: David Tacey. OK, so he wrote a couple books. Picky, picky. Yeah well anyway, he had these powerful words to say about how Jung has been expropriated by the New Age, and... well, let's let him tell it, shall we?

"My agenda is not to debunk Jung, but to redeem him from simplistic representations and distorted prejudices. In academia, a typical game is to identify Jung with the New Age representations of him and to condemn both together. Scholars often engage in a deliberate falsification of Jung, only too willing to concur with what the New Age has made of him, as this serves to reinforce academic prejudices and resistances. High and low culture have conspired to turn Jung into a figure of ridicule and contempt, and it is time this conspiracy was brought to light."
Resistances. You gotta love the rhetoric. I'll let "high and low culture" ride. Except to say that, sheesh, for a guy who talks about The Postmodern on the same page, you'd think he'd know better. However, we turn now to a conspiracy of a clashing complexion, if you will -- the very one, in fact, with which Tacey's conspirators have, by him, confabulated to conspire.
Marilyn Ferguson
The Aquarian Conspiracy
Sad indeed. And not even a decent dust jacket to show for it. What a fucking stone bummer.
btw, while we're on the subject, C.G. Jung is referenced no fewer than a dozen times in this book, on matters such as Taoist alchemy, divination, racial memory, altered states of consciousness, poltergeists, psychics, physics (or a sort), and so on. And in no case I encountered, so far as I could tell, was our good Magister Ludi woefully misrepresented. No SchadenFreude for the wicked, sorry. Looks like Marilyn knew her boy. And consider: The Aquarian Conspiracy was published more than two decades before Tacey's Jung and the New Age. Kinda makes you wonder where the Big Conspiracy lies, huh? Whatever, wherever: lies is the operative word. And no matter how you cut the pie, there's plenty to go around. Doesn't look like a real good time to be casting first stones. (Naturally, we exempt our present selves from the caveat.)
"A great, shuddering irrevocable shift is overtaking us. It is not a new political, religious, or economic system. It is a new mind -- a turnabout in consciousness in critical numbers of individuals, a network powerful enough to bring about radical change in our culture.

This network -- the Aquarian Conspiracy -- has already enlisted the minds, hearts and resources of some of our most advanced thinkers, including Nobel laureate scientists, philosophers, statesmen, celebrities, and steadily growing numbers from every corner of American society.

Who are the conspirators? What are their beliefs? Where are they leading us? In this immensely powerful and wide-ranging charter of human possibility, Marilyn Ferguson describes how an underground network...

...is working to create a different kind of society based on a vastly enlarged concept of human potential. She shows us how the technologies for expanding and transforming personal consciousness, once the secret of an elite, are now generating massive change in every cultural institution -- medicine, politics, business, education, religion, and the family. Drawing on the startling findings of leading-edge science, she demonstrates the crucial role of stress and crisis in this personal and cultural transformation.

Will our present turmoil lead to a worldwide breakdown of society...

...or to a breakthrough to the next step in human evolution? The answer may depend in large measure on the influence of the Aquarian Conspiracy.

The author speaks to those who are experiencing a growing capacity for change themselves and know that it is possible for others. This book gives heart to the tens of millions who sense the ripeness of our society...

...for renewal and to those who despair but are willing to look at the evidence for hope. The Aquarian Conspiracy illuminates many of our secret dreams for ourselves -- and makes them all seem possible."

Marilyn Ferguson
The Aquarian Conspiracy:
Personal and Social Transformation in the 1980s

(J. P. Tarcher, 1980), quote from inside jacket flaps.

4:30 PM | link |

Immerse Yourself
I had just pulled up to the PDQ, the 24-hour convenience store where I buy milk because it's cheaper there, go figure, and here's this middle-aged-but-I-don't-really-look-it-do-I Boulder woman walking into the store as the final bars of Evanescence wane on my in-car juke box. Baby now you everbody's fool. "Without the mask / where will you hide / can't find yourself / lost in your lie..." You been readin this rag for any time now, you know where the link would go.

But this one, the one walking into the store, I can see has O-m-m-m-m-m printed across her tits, which I guess is to give sensitive New Age guys an excuse to look at them, as otherwise they'd be too bashful, which around here is what passes for respect. Not that her tits aren't notable in themselves, like I give a shit.

However, not being bashful myself, but more the curious type, I ask, "So does it say O-m-m-m-m-m-m on your t-shirt because you think it's cool..." -- and here she's face upturned and smiling that I fell for it -- "or because you think it's bullshit?" O-m-m-m-m-m

"Oh no," she says with a tentative laugh, "because I'm into it!"

"Yeah?" I say. "Me, I think it's bullshit."

"Well," she says, I can feel the one-liner coming, "it doesn't hurt anyone."

Why hello dere Tar Baby! Beau'ful mornin', ain' it? I can't resist. "Yeah it does" I say. "That's where you're wrong."

Exeunt smile and laugh. Enter that clamped-down anal-retentive look reserved in these parts for The Infidel. Well! He must not be from Boulder, she's thinking.

No, baby, I am, I am. That's how I know precisely what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm an angry, aggressive, judgmental sort of person. Aren't you? You stupid cunt.

I suppose it didn't help that I'd come direct from Barnes & Noble, where, on the way out, I'd seen An ABC of Enlightenment: A Spiritual Dictionary for the Here and Now by one Osho. Now me, I'd never heard of this pig fucker, but I was impressed that it said on the inside back flap that Tom Robbins considered him more dangerous than Jesus Christ.

Author's Note: Damn, I just looked this up on Google, and it seems that Tom and I have entirely different notions of how dangerous Jesus Christ is. Let's see... 666 divived by 6, times three, times 2 is... what?

So I stopped and flipped through the book, even though I was dying for an iced double espresso and a cigarette. If you wanna run cool, Dire Straits tells us, you gotta run on heavy heavy fuel. And I came to the entry for pain or suffering or some such, in which Osho informed me that this was unnecessary. Imagine my relief.

He said it's me that's causing my suffering. I had once thought this the most convincing argument for suicide, but I read on. My pain, it seems, stems from being deluded about the Nature of Reality. He didn't say that in the part I read, but he implied that he would know. He probably does though, one way or the other, seeing as he's been dead for 13 years now. But even if there is life after death. and even if he did therefore know for a minute, I bet he forgot pretty quick. Therefore, I'm not sure how much use this information will be to me, especially as I'm still wondering if there's life after birth.

Notwithstanding these intrusive ruminations, Osho went on to say that I am in pain because I've had expectations, which, if I let go of, I would feel a whole lot less hurty.

And it stopped me in my tracks. And I thought, my God, that's right! And it all suddenly made sense. And I got down right there on my knees and prayed that these deluded expectations be taken from me. I expected she wouldn't fuck me over. So of course she did. All part of the Kozmik Plan.

O-m-m-m-m-m-m backatcha babe.

"Brush lettering is immediate, unpredictable and fresh."
(well... unpredictable anyway)

just what we all need
more lies about a world that
never was and never will be

6:18 AM | link |

Monday, September 22, 2003
World Geography for 10
Try this. Google: "social issues" sports +"world geography for 10".

But watch out for that first hit. Sticky wicket! How some German fuckers got ahold of our goddam metatags and are using them this way is beyond us. Any ideas out there?

11:11 PM | link |

Sunday, September 21, 2003
black alchemy

With your arms around the future and your back up against the past... reflection serves a better purpose. Thanks, you, for the help finding this one, a source I've been looking for for a while now. Online Research - It's the American Way!

"It was remarkable enough that ordinary folks now had enough money to take it and run off and alter the circumstances of their lives and create new roles for themselves... but simultaneously still others decided to go... all the way. They plunged straight toward what has become the alchemical dream of the Me Decade. The old alchemical dream was changing base metals into gold. The new alchemical dream is: changing one's personality -- remaking, remodeling, elevating, and polishing one's very self... and observing, studying, and doting on it (Me!)....

[it] is at this point that the new movements tend to take on a religious or spiritual atmosphere.... there is another order that actually reigns supreme in the world. Like the light of God itself, this other order is invisible to most mortals but he who has dug himself out from under the junk heap of civilization can discover it. And with that the Me movements were about to turn righteous."

Tom Wolfe, "The Me Decade and the Third Great Awakening,"
from Mauve Gloves & Madmen, Clutter & Vine, 1977

P    O    P        Q    U    I    Z
Spiritual Growth: Being Your Higher Self
Mauve Gloves & Madmen, Clutter & Vine
Personal Power Through Awareness: A Guidebook for Sensitive People

4:42 AM | link |

Alien Self Devouring
more fun with repurposed spam

3:55 AM | link |

Thursday, September 18, 2003
New Marketing Breakthrough!
So there I was in the acid lab last week, whipping up a little something special. I had set myself the challenge of creating a psychedelic that instilled an unquenchable desire to come to my blog, especially to the page where I proclaim my prowess wit de womens. I decided to test the first batch at a local conference that had drawn an inordinate number of IBM executives, among which I counted a lesser number of pretty hot babes. Yeah, the business attire is a turnoff, but I have found this is easily removed -- in fact the whole purpose of my chemical experimentation was to facilitate said removal. However, I discovered, to my considerable chagrin, that the elixir I had concocted at such high cost in time and patient attention to detail (so I thought), worked only on men. But on them, it worked fabulously. Thus are advances in the science of marketing produced. I have patented my invention and am currently in the process of looking for licensees. An entire year of access to my newest intellectual property, including full procedures for its formulation, can now be had starting at less than one million dollars. Write for detailed pricing.

click me! click me!

2:17 PM | link |

Nicon Snapshot
more fun with repurposed spam

12:16 PM | link |

Sunday, September 14, 2003
Bruner, You Pig!
(please to attach this line to all future communications)

7:59 PM | link |

The Return of Stavros

welcome back wonderchicken!

7:58 PM | link |

SPECIAL SKILLS: can explain UFOs without aliens

This transmutation (heh) of the term psychopomp is a placeholder for a whole string of ideas that were careening through my head last night. If I can remember what they were, I'll post more later. Something about Jung creating a ready-made ontology to replace the dead Christian God (Nietzscheanly speaking). Did it work? Yes. Only too well. [The following interview excerpt is taken from the C.G. Jung Page.]
J.W.: Dan, your new book begins with the figure of Merlin, your ancestral psychopomp. You speak of "Merlin's disappearance and subsequent forest cries," then his reappearance in the "imaginal," which, in turn,"draws us" to what you call "neoshamanism." Why this reconsideration of shamanism--in which, until recently, only anthropologists were interested--as an actual spiritual practice?

D.N.: Merlin doesn't signal the adoption by Westerners of some form of shamanism as a spiritual practice--at least not obviously. I make the connection myself between a resurgence of interest in Merlin and the POTENTIAL for a more deliberately, mindfully Western version of shamanism than we have had thus far. I employ Merlin as an archetypal role model (given the shamanic characteristics he displays in some variants of his legend) or patron of the sort of Western neoshamanism I'd like to see and try to describe.

What we have had thus far--the reconsideration you speak of--was initiated by the confluence of Carlos Castaneda's writings in the late sixties and early seventies with the hallucinogenic experimentation of the "counter culture." His works seemed to provide a mythic container, a structure of shamanic lore and practice, to give meaning to the drug tripping of those days. Michael Harner, Joan Halifax, and other neoshamanist writers and workshop leaders then came along in the eighties to provide means of emulating shamanic rituals and experiences during a later period when an "earth-based spirituality" like indigenous shamanism was an ecologically appealing option.

On a deeper level, as I show in the book, the neoshamanism movement as these figures conjured it, with references to the authority of Mircea Eliade's big book on shamanism as a phenomenon of the history of religions, translated into English in 1964, was an unconscious cross-cultural fantasy drawing on the power and process of imagining. Castaneda's writings were fiction marketed as fact, Harner's "core shamanism" was a Western imaginative construction, Joan Halifax contributes her own syncretic blendings that exist in no single traditional culture, and even Eliade's scholarly text is skewed by his preoccupation with centering and ascensional flights to the relative exclusion of underworld journeys. So the neoshamanism we have had is all about fantasizing around certain insistent and evocative themes of late-twentieth-century Western culture; the longings are sincere but the spiritual practices that are followed to fulfill them are simulated, with the danger of neo-colonialist misappropriation of indigenous cultural property and delusions of "direct access" to such indigenous wisdom.

That's the bad news about this Western "reconsideration." The good news is that a mindful approach to the fantasy and imagining process itself is possible which can make for a more honest and viable neoshamanism in the future.

I've just given you the headlines of my assessment of how this movement got started and my critique of its limitations. The second half of my book proceeds to lay out the resources for the "imaginal shamanism" I believe the West can validly develop. [etc...]

go here for: all you can eat!
(or: yes you are a dum-dum, honey!)
NOTES: I find it more than a little interesting that the first definition of "pompous" in The American Heritage Dictionary, Fourth Edition, reads: "Characterized by excessive self-esteem or exaggerated dignity; pretentious." [emphasis {duh} added]

Not to mention this, taken off the Amazon page for the book quoted above.

Customers interested in this title may also be interested in:
Practical Shamanism
Free guide for living the Warrior's Way. Toltec teachings simplified.
"THE PATH is a book about recovery, astral projection, sorcery, and 'The Matrix.' It is the most unusual self-help book that you will ever read."
[I do not doubt that. -ed.]
Highland Center
Shamanism workshops and retreats Dedicated to transformation
"I am a native New Mexican, born in Roswell, New Mexico."
[Roswell. Uh huh. -ed.]
Rare Sacred Herb and More
Shaman seeds, herbs extract, cactus really hard to get cool botanicals
"MAILING ONLY (do not attempt to visit) 19530 Franjo Rd, Miami Fl 33157"
[And what little head treats would we find you brewing up in your cauldrons if we did visit? Hmmmm? -ed.]

7:28 PM | link |

Friday, September 12, 2003
BlogFodder® #1
a public service plea for cultural literacy
There's a lot more of R. Crumb's artwork where these came from, but for now, let's meet Whiteman, shall we? I can definitely relate to this character!

And Crumb's brother ain't bad either!

You can see more of the book here. Well, I think we've covered most of the really important issues of today today, so that's all for now...

9:13 PM | link |

UpDraft: Malgnostics & Road Apples
Well, I made a few changes here in the last couple days, between bouts of depression and despair. Sometimes fucking with the code is just the ticket. Within the code a deeper code, as someone once said. If not there verbatim, then elsewhere and often. But this, when I finish it (it's short but a little twitchy) will be mostly about malgnostics and road apples Because today is such a Special Day. Oh yeah. A day to smile and be full of cheer and just brimming over with Self-Esteem. But I think it's also a day to remind our dearly departed that...


10:10 AM | link |

Thursday, September 11, 2003
Abandon Hope All Ye Who Click These Links

I just learned a new meaning of abandonment. Wow. One can never have too many definitions of abandonment. To see this one, click here. Then click the start button on the control below to hear my response.

5:20 PM | link |

Wednesday, September 10, 2003
just because I'm laughing doesn't mean I'm stupid
more fun with spam (and jingoism)

11:01 PM | link |

JOHO for the Blind
Speaking of David Weinberger (as I just was a few post back), I've always been impressed that he has this line at the very top of his blog that speaks to the issue of Accessibility. At first, I thought it was some kind of joke. But then I realized that Accessibility is a very big deal for some people, and that this is no joking matter. David clearly understood this long before I did. He has been a strong influence on my thinking for over a decade now, and I often follow his lead. In this case, by ripping off his code. However, it's full of cascading style sheet shit, not to mention javascript, and I have only the meagerest understanding of these things. I know. It doesn't show, does it? Well OK, I'm just being modest. But I'm really not sure if I got it right, so I'd appreciate it if a bunch of you would test the following links and let me know if you experience any problems in your particular browser of choice...

Colorblind? Choose a link style : Style 1 Style 2 Style 3 Default


3:49 PM | link |

9/10 - A Big Fat Hen

In honor of today's special date,
let's all practice joyous acts of
useless desperation.

1:51 PM | link |

Blog Fight!
David Weinberger appears to be annoyed at Doc. I don't know why; I only had time for a quick scan of the post. Sure, Doc can be annoying. But so can David (trust me). So can we all, from time to time. However, I want to go on record as saying that it's just so sad when this sort of thing happens. I think this issue is important enough that I am personally offering the sum of...

...for the best idea to reduce gratuitous rudeness in our beloved Blog-O-Sphere. I know people care about this. Why, just take a look at the responses I've received already!

People, people, can't we all just get along?

1:20 PM | link |

Attachment Theory
dedicated with affection to denise howell, who, at the moment, is seriously pregnant

I turned twenty-one in prison
doin' life without parole
no one could steer me right
but Mama tried Mama tried
mama tried to raise me better
but her pleading I denied
and that leaves only me to blame
'cause Mama tried...

mama don't let your babies grow up to be bloggers
don't let 'em hack brackets and code them old tricks
make 'em be doctors and lawyers and pricks
mama don't let your babies grow up to be bloggers
they'll always stay home and they're never alone
even with someone they love

bloggers ain't easy to love and they're harder to scold
and they'd rather leave you a comment than diamonds or gold
javascript rollovers, old failing servers
night magically turns into day...
and if you don't blogroll him
and he don't get clued
he'll probably just post away...

Werewolves of London

12:49 AM | link |

Tuesday, September 09, 2003

Niek Hockx (a.k.a shutterclog) writes:
Tonight I have done another very serious attempt to read Rageboy's fishblog... I admit honestly I failed completely. This typical intellectual Boulder stuff is soooooo way over my dumb Dutchie's herring head... I found a good pic for him though... ;-)
Yes, indeed. That's a good one all right! But Boulder, intellectual? Perhaps you've got it confused with Bader-Meinhof...

11:18 PM | link |

guess who's coming to dinner

4:35 AM | link |

Monday, September 08, 2003
Fire up the RayBeam now, Gort!

Gort! Klaatu barada nikto!
people of earth...
Your choice is simple. Join us and live in
peace or pursue your present course and face
obliteration. We shall be waiting for your answer.
The decision rests with you.

The Day the Earth Stood Still

The decision rests with you.

11:55 PM | link |

been a while...

read the strip

buy the book

10:32 PM | link |

way too much fun with spam
As a rule, I don't delete posts, but I did delete Saturday's fish post. The reason is, as you can see, that I've promoted him into the blog template. Yes, this means he'll be with us for quite some time, slowing the page-load speed even further. But it looks as if you'll be able to read what he's saying as the rest of the page does (eventually) come in.

btw, the unflappable Anne Craig has one too, over at Plato Shrimp. She calls me up tonight, tells me she's seeing this really nice guy up there in Seattle, tells me she loves me, and says so where's MY fish? These women, I tell you, they're absolutely shameless. They also know my resistance to this sort of blatant extortion is low-to-non-existent. It was easier to make her one than to listen to the litany of all the things she could blackmail me with if I didn't comply. I am definitely getting too old for this shit. Let's face it, HTML is a young man's game. I've decided to either quit blogging or give up women.

I guess I'll give up women, then.

At any rate, what our fishy's got to say will change often. I'm thinking White House press releases will make much better reading this way. Not to mention various penis/breast enhancement spams mixed in with clips from The Great Books. Mortimer Adler would be proud! The possibilities are, literally, endless.

Today's fishtalk is addressed to Donna Wentworth, lately of Harvard's Berkman Center, and now working at The Eclectic Frottage Foundation. As you can see from the logo, these people take themselves very seriously. It must be some sort of Boston thing. (The lance/flagpole, on the other hand, is a Freudian sort of thing.) Now the reason Donna is my first, let's say, "target of opportunity" is that she sent me mail saying: "Are *you* talking to me? (Said best donning a mohawk, but I am currently sans.)" This is a rather elliptical reference to a) Taxi Driver, whence the first part of what Fish is saying derives, and b) the fish itself, around which we've had some previous truck. But of course I took it as a challenge to push the envelope of impropriety even further. Honk if you love borderlines!

In other news, I am all over Latin fashion. Oh yeah. (See  L I N G E  R I O  catalog strip at left.) Frank will like this one for sure. Not to mention Donna and Halley and Denise and of course Shelley -- hell, scores, nay very hordes, of The Gentler Sex® -- will maybe like it too. You know what they say about there being no accounting for taste. Good thing too. If there were, I'd surely be arrears.

frottage: "The act of rubbing against the body of another person, as in a crowd, to attain sexual gratification." Source: The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition. Copyright © 2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

5:24 AM | link |

notes from the jesus bunker
ohmygod, he's back! The Kommissar of Krakow, the great Ur-Freak, the Grandpa of Dada, the inimitable, sure-to-soon-to-be-institutionalized Marek J has a new blog! Although it looks as if Louie has already seized power in a stunning coup. Or a cunning stew. Or a bunch of midget female track-and-field stars. Something. It would be impossible to describe anyway, so just go there. Hereby heartily endorsed by "the Juguverized Cucuber Agency (wholly owned subsidiary of RageBoy Enterprises)." And here we thought that subsidiary was defunct!

But if you do not know of the Kommissar and his Works, let me remind you of his stirring words of about one year and a half ago, when I, personally, was contemplating either a) suicide, or b) a better class of girlfriend. These words inspired me then, as I hope they will inspire you today!

"Now is the time to produce massive failure. To keep it alive is to fail and fail and fail again. This is a good thing. To keep going and fail. To start something and fail. To set out to produce projects and fail.

I have been running radioPossibility.com for a year. I failed to produce results from this project. I have no paying customers. I continue to fail month after month. I will not give up. I get in trouble when I give myself to regrets and bitterness. Instead I give myself to failure. In failure there is choice. A choice to keep on moving. Regrets kill choice. I have been there. I would rather be in massive failure. There is more power in failure."

3:36 AM | link |

Second Opinion
more fun with spam

3:11 AM | link |

Saturday, September 06, 2003
Collect The Whole Set
As usual, be sure to click everything. You know the drill by now. I would have posted this sooner, but...
Amazon Hacks No matter how much you think you know your way around Amazon, guess again. From 35-byte product URLs (great for ASCII email newsletters; hey there's an idea! I should write one) to... well, check out the middle button at the right, for instance. There is more in heaven and earth than is dreamed of in your philosophy, Horatio. Essential reading for every red-blooded blogger, even if your name's not Horatio.

Google Hacks An excellent reference to all Right Thinking People's favorite search engine, and thus a must-have for all have-nots. Co-author Tara Calishain wrote the first review of EGR in January 1997. "Reading this newsletter," she said, "is like riding down a steep hill on a Big Wheel with no brakes. Christopher Locke, Man Behind EGR, has a command of the language that makes reading a great ride." Well, this sucks, doesn't it? I'm reviewing my near-defunct* zine instead of her book. I must be a narcissist after all. (* not really dead; more like a resting parrot.)

Google Pocket Guide Ah, but you see, Tara gets two entries, so I'm saved once again from the dreaded NPD diagnosis. Anyway, this one is smaller than the big fat one above. It fits in your pocket, if you have a pocket, thus the Pocket Guide designation. Look, you know and I know that I'm just filling out this table and have nothing terribly meaningful to say about these books except that they're super useful for all sorts of seditious projects. Just click the fucking links, OK?

but here's the one I'm waiting for!

10:46 AM | link |

Thursday, September 04, 2003
HAL 9000

smart collaboration

(click quick! before the hosers change the page.)

2:25 AM | link |

mystic eyes
This clip from a recently arrived spam reminded me of my very first original online artwork. I know that's hard to believe, given the mastery of the medium its execution bespeaks, but yes, this was but an early stumbling attempt. The reason the spam reminds me of what I like to think of as my Microsoft Paintbrush Period is that I later used the eyes from a similar spam to bring the image to life. The mouse pointer was added later still and has an esoteric meaning, to describe which would require an in-depth explication of Kabbalistic iconography that is beyond the scope of what was originally intended as a relatively simple and straightforward blog post. But then, ah, you know what happens by now. They never are. Simple and straightforward, that is. No, they're not. Ever. Because one thing leads to another, as one thing will. And before you know it, such is the sheer complexity of the human mind, that nearly anything can follow from the merest observation, tickle of memory, latest reading, whether it be the untold evil wrought upon the world by an Abraham Maslow too naively dim (and/or supremely venal) to perceive the ramifications of his own wool-gathering "psychological" theories; or Karen Horney's 1937 reminder (preminder?) that psychology describes not universal truths but cultural mores anchored ever and always to time and place; or bell hooks, the black feminist culture critic, saying remarkably sane things about love. Which is not to suggest that said remarkability lies in the conjunction of blackness, feminism and sanity, but rather that what she has to say (at least in the little flip-through I did at Borders this evening) is so much saner fare than what's being served up in the purportedly normal cafeteria of the soul operated by white heterosexual women who are little more than aging cheerleaders for a dying patriarchy. I'd say "You know who you are" but I very much doubt you do.

So, you know, things rise and fall, things come and go. Little things like that. And I am haunted by these eyes and the phantoms they conjure, neurochemical traces, ghosts, rogue proteins, lost notes, last rites, written in molecular desire. And the sound of the words themselves, their rhythm and cadence, their balance, their valence, suggestion of meanings not consciously meant. But something speaks through them, through these media, you could say. Some voice that is not ours to command, only to invite. Would you like to use the keyboard now? No, sure that's OK. I wasn't really doing anything anyway. Just sitting here thinking. So yeah, go ahead. Do you mind if I watch as the words flow out across the screen? I find it soothing, comforting, assuring. How you do go on.

Something in the way she moves. You could say. If you wanted to. If you were so inclined. But what, the title slug? Oh that. Van Morrison before he was an asshole. Band called Them. One Sunday mornin, we went walkin. Down by the old graveyard. Mystic eyes... Mystic eyes... I used to get wrecked as I could, which was very, and play the 45 at 33-and-a-third.

Somewhere in here, it's playing still.

Mys..... tic..... eyyyyyes.....

Mys..... tic..... eyyyyyes.....

Mys..... tic..... eyyyyyes.....

Mys..... tic..... eyyyyyes.....

Mys..... tic..... eyyyyyes.....

1:46 AM | link |

Tuesday, September 02, 2003

"the difference between decoration and art"

Some people seem to go trippy all over when it comes to ART. These people tend to think of themselves as artists. It's a big deal for them to be artists, because then they can tell other artists that they're artists too. Then they all talk about how heavy their art is and how they're getting these way deep insights and shit. To me, it seems a bit embarrassing. But you know my philosophy: live and let live. That's right. I mean, it's not like these individuals are actually hurting anyone with their meaningless bullshit about numinous archetypal this and that. But I have to say that this is why I am currently so fascinated by spam. It's definitely not ART, which to me, is a good thing. I fuck around with it and make it into anti-art. There's a long tradition of this sort of thing, not that I see myself as following in anybody's footsteps in this regard. I mean, in Tristan Tzara's day, they didn't even have spam. And yet, he said, "Art is not the most precious manifestation of life. Art has not the celestial and universal value that people like to attribute to it. Life is far more interesting." Yes, I would have to agree with the dead gentleman from Zürich. Yes indeed. His brouhaha precedes him. So back then, they had to use toilets and stuff like that. Urinals. Brides descending staircases in wireframe guilelessness. The fact of the matter, if you really want to know, is that I fucking hate art. I think it sucks. I would rather go to a Monster Truck rally than to the frigging Musee du Louvre (however you say that). Buncha what? Pyramids and curious little objets d'art. "Oh, Walter! Isn't that cloisinee brooch just darling?" You know? Truck rally's more lively. More shouting is THIS art, then? and everybody pretty much stinking drunk. It's an American thing, I guess. Or take this guy here. A nut case, in all likelihood. But an entertaining nutcase. Possibly with a sense of humor. Possibly not. But still. Is it art? Is it decoration? 'the fuck should I know? It's there. Isn't that enough? Being there now. Right? It is ALL-ONE, ALL-ONE, just like Dr. Bronner says. Dr. Bronner, whoever the fuck he was, was also seriously cracked. Life is crawling with whackos. Are they merely decorating our mental space? Perhaps. Actually, what got me started on all this tonight, this morning, whatever it is now, was a request from Dave Winer, the now-1600-lb gorilla of blogdom, to say something about art. I know he's been wondering why I haven't responded for so long. But the reason is that I didn't want to tell him -- or Halley, for that matter, since I'm pretty sure she's behind the whole thing; in fact, I'm beginning to suspect that Halley is really God, as she points to something about a New Age Boot Camp (quite wonderful) by one Dervala, who mentions en passant "disgusting: pineapple-flavored frogspawn"; pretty good! -- was because, as I've already said, I fucking hate art. And this is likely to be interpreted as demonstrating an overall bad attitude. Which I would be the first to admit, and often do. Can I get a witness? Can I get an Amen, brothers and sisters? But anyway, I didn't just want to say this straight out to Winer, because I thought he might come over here and hit me or something, and I don't deal well with conflict. On the other hand, maybe he'll understand. I bet he will. Because, you see, that's why I like the web, in general, and blogging in specific. The ARTISTS are too much legends in their own minds to screw around with this stuff. They want to be in one-man/one-woman shows and in galleries and museums, and places like that where their WORK can be fully appreciated. Its subtlety, its depth of feeling, its utter self-absorbtion. And there are way too many people here online. Some of whom are so far beneath the notice of these sensitively attuned Children of the Universe that, well... they don't want to, you know, like sully themselves with us common rabble. Now, I don't mind telling you that this pisses me off. A great deal. But it's a small price to pay, I suppose, to keep this arty riffraff out of my world. I once said something about all this in an EGR send. "...and here's what I think," I wrote. "That I will not last, no matter how fearless my speech. That the great is in the small. That real? What is real? And to whom? And why? That I think too much. Which is why. And to you. Which is whom. Flashes of ee cummings, bird by snow and stir by still. And still, I will not last and I know it. I have no standards. No higher calling. No shame. Didn't anybody tell you? I plagiarize freely. I can steal but I cannot rob. I want what I write to be more like a car crash than a work of art. More like a street corner than a museum. So I fuck it up on purpose. Not to be admired. To be loved. What do I care what happens when I'm dead?" And further on, at the end of that piece, which had some sad and some angry parts in the middle, I wrote this: "A rumble down the tracks a mile away. I can feel it coming. A train. I used to brake on the Penn Central when I was a kid, eighteen. Nights so cold out along Lake Erie I thought I'd die right there. Windchill thirty, maybe forty below some nights. A train is coming, passing along beside the creek now. Boxcars, tank cars, oil probably. Gondolas: steel, lumber, piggyback cargo trucks, tanks -- the military kind. Eight of them, headed guess where... I get up from the creekside and walk over as close as I can get. It's picking up speed now, past the limits of crossings and signals and switches. Big noise! Like a car crash. Like a way of saying it's not just something in the water. Like a flag, like a flash of lightning. Picking up speed and gone just like that. Like a stab in the heart. Like a cry. Like a cheer going up for the world." So see? When I do this stuff with the spam, like I'm doing here, it really does have a point. For instance, in that big one at the top? The message there is that the woman has just had an earth-shaking sexual experience, and she's sort of shell shocked, as she didn't quite believe RB had it in him. But he did. And more importantly, he does. The message is that you too, if you are a woman of my general species with similar sex-positive attitudes, well... I can supply references. Just click where it says Click Here. Duh. Or call (720) 304-8077. DO IT TODAY! Is this art? Are we not men? Fortunately, no, not all of us. And so that is why I fixed up the spammish grafik and yes, I'll admit, did decorate it so as to be pleasing to the eye, with a double #CC0000-red border and everything (did you notice? did you click everything?). And yes, I made the little rubber ducky appear and disappear. And the other woman to look in the guy's pants to see what he's got in there. Because why? (as eminem might say) Because she's interested in what he's got in there, is why. The spammers know this, of course. Nothing sells like what we've all got in our pants. And of course, they want you to buy something. I don't want you to buy anything (except tons of books from my myriad Amazon links, consistency being the hobgoblin of small minds). I am merely pointing out that when taken out of their usual and expected context, these images speak a different language. Speaking of which, the language in which they are embedded is critical as well. It must, first and foremost, be funny. Or, failing that, vaguely ontological. But it cannot afford the pretense of the numinous, the spiritual, the aesthetic, nor does it seek any truck with the veiled suggestion that There Is Something More. There is not anything more. And yet -- are you ready for the mystery of life? -- there is. The woman looks amazed at her wonderful orgasm. The woman makes a rubber duck appear. The woman looks into her friend's swimming trunks, presumably to get a good look at his penis. And that's it. That's all it needs to be. That's all she wrote.

8:20 AM | link |

Separated at Birth?

If you ask me (aren't you glad you didn't?), there's nothing worse than a smarmy fuck with a droopy dick. The more recent TV Guide piece opens with the following (sans hyperlinks, natch; sticky, sticky, sticky!).
Phillip C. McGraw, better known as Dr. Phil to the nearly six million daytime TV viewers who have made his talk show No. 2 in the nation, has a new book coming out. And no, it's not titled More Advice I Just Pulled Out of My Ass, as David Letterman joked on The Late Show. It's The Ultimate Weight Solution: 7 Keys to Weight Loss Freedom.
with viagra w/o viagra
September, 2002
one year later
caution: truly disgusting site alert

1:44 AM | link |

Monday, September 01, 2003

Credit Where Credit Is Due
It's the most beautiful day Boulder has seen all summer. Cool, clear, sunny. So I guess this is why I live here. Then why I am I sitting indoors, writing this blog post? Search me. Except that I recently got very cool email from Mike Golby, who, christ knows (if only few others do), has pointed to this EGR page often enough. In his letter, he says things like...

  • I haven't a fucking clue what it is about your writing that rings so true, but there you go. As my spiritual adviser, Father Christopher, is wont to say, "It's an eternal mystery, my son."
  • Whatever... your writing is magic and will continue to piss people off.
  • Ah fuck, just rock on. You're the voice of a generation. God knows why, but you'll just have to get used to it. Best regards and thanks for reading a note that possibly makes absolutely no sense whatsoever [mind you, you're probably quite used to it by now].

In fact, I am, Mike. I get incoherent communications quite frequently, as you and the rest of the Valued Readers can only imagine (because it's primarily you who send them). But Mike, my man, for the above good words, I think you deserve some sort of reward, and I've been scratching my head all morning about something appropriate I could send you. If only I had the money. Sadly, I do not, and believe me, my sadness over this is not for your sake alone. However, I thought I'd at least tell you what I would have sent you under happier financial circumstances.

Alright then, Ed, tell him what he almost won!

  • The OH! Cards - see more here and at the totally lame Official Site
    Pretend the universe is speaking to you personally! These were a favorite of ex-date Anomalie Aesculapius. She used them to help her decide all sorts of Really Important Things, including whether we were "ready" to meet. This was after emailing each other for about two months from ten blocks away. Evidently, the cards answered no. OH! You see, they turned up The Nurse on a background card (the images and words are on separate cards) that said WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG. Her interpretation of this was that, as a child, she'd served as an emotional caretaker -- a nurse of sorts -- to her mother and father, and that this had the unsettling effect of inclining her to do the same in relationships. I see, I said. Though I really didn't at the time. In 20-20 retrospect, I realize now I should have listened to that oracle myself. As it was, I learned far too late what sort of "nurse" Anomalie really was. Anyway, I was thinking a gift like this could save you some considerable heartache and all-around hassle down the road. I mean, if you studied it carefully for possible clues. I only wish I had.

  • The Urantia Book on CD-ROM
    Hours of fun for the whole family! Here is Today's "Thought to Ponder" from the, yeah, you guessed it, Official Site
    "Spiritual growth is first an awakening to needs, next a discernment of meanings, and then a discovery of values. The evidence of true spiritual development consists in the exhibition of a human personality motivated by love, activated by unselfish ministry, and dominated by the wholehearted worship of the perfection ideals of divinity. And this entire experience constitutes the reality of religion as contrasted with mere theological beliefs."
    Yeah, so like I'm all over that shit. And check it out: new age narcissism just doesn't get any better than this. (well actually, it does, but for purposes of argument, let's say...)
    This is the true meaning of that divine command, "Be you perfect, even as I am perfect," which ever urges mortal man onward and beckons him inward in that long and fascinating struggle for the attainment of higher and higher levels of spiritual values and true universe meanings. This sublime search for the God of universes is the supreme adventure of the inhabitants of all the worlds of time and space.


    when the Lord
    gets ready
    you gotta
    - stones

  • Yeah, well, moving on, so to speak, it also occurred to me to get you one of these...


    ...but then I thought perhaps you'd already had enough of a fucking. We've all taken our licks, have we not?

  • The Sabian Symbols
    Now here's a gift that keeps on giving. This is one of the damndestly weird books I've ever come across -- many long years ago now, you betcha. When I was into such things. Which I would not even admit under threat of torture today. And of course there's a web site. Wouldn't you just know it? I noticed that there's an actual FREE ORACLE READING you can click on, which advises: "Clear your mind, make a mental picture of the question, then click on the wizard." My mental picture was a little fuzzy, as my question was: "What the fuck's up with Golby that he's being so nice and all?" Here's what came back...
    *** AQUARIUS 3 ***
    # 303


    You may find that the rigorous restraints and rules of the situation are no longer bearable. A decision to opt out may be moral or to maintain free spirit. There are always consequences for not playing the game. Are you prepared for them? Someone could feel as though they are being taken away from home and family for a reason they don't really understand.

    Rebellion. Leaving situations although allegiance had been pledged. Wrestling with one's conscience.

    The Caution: Not being prepared to play by the rules of any socially structured game. Withdrawing support when one should be involved in a physical, mental or emotional way.

    M-a-a-a-a-a-n, is that heavy, or what? I'm saddened that you find my rigorous restraints and situationist rules no longer bearable. But I do understand, believe me. I can't bear them myself most days. So really, don't feel bad. You fucking deserter!

    While I was at it, I figured I'd better check up on our mutual pal, Mr. Gary Turner. Same question, same questionable results...

    *** LIBRA 30 ***
    # 210


    There is ability here to read spiritual understandings into concrete objects. Several different aspects can be combined to result in a truly wise outcome. Pierce through appearances to see the truth of your situation. Bring abstract truths into reality. Concentrate on questions of a philosophical nature, but try not to live in your head too much!.

    Look to the signs. Wisdom that transcends book knowledge. Phrenology. Great brains. The head, scull or cranium.

    The Caution: Analyzing things too much and reliance on intellect. Taking things far too seriously.

    Oh yeah, that's Gary all right. Always the serious one! Sad really.

    This could go on forever, I know, but I figured I should ask the oracle one more time about AKMA, that arrogant, intolerant imperialist. And here's what it said about him...

    *** CAPRICORN 30 ***
    # 300


    There are decisions to be made and possibly plans to be laid out. You can't really make all these decisions on your own, you need help. Call on the relevant knowledgeable friends or authorities, with them you'll be able to iron out the details of your situation. Strategies may need to be implemented to move things forward. However, you may feel shut out by those "in charge". .

    Masterly control. Sharing innermost secrets. Confidential information. Big guys calling the shots. Governments and secret spies.

    The Caution: Excluding those who will be affected by decisions. Exploiting people or situations.

    Holy crap, huh? I always thought the guy needed help, but a secret government spy? Who would have guessed?

    OK, so that's it. No wait, wait. No wait. One more. I got a call from Don Williams as I was wasting this perfectly beautiful day writing this fucking leviathan post. Seems I'd missed our session for today. Not good. Not good at all. You know what they say about missing sessions. So anyway, one more about why I let this happen. How could I have spaced out (we say "dissociated" to be polite) this far? I suspect it was because he ripped off my Lauren Slater find and blogged it before I could, uh... so to speak, get it up. The dirty penis-envying low-life!

    *** GEMINI 8 ***
    # 68


    You need to stand up for your rights, and possibly for those of a group. You have some support from compatriots, but you can become separated from the general situation and may have difficulty finding creative solutions that satisfy everyone. It may be time to consider what negotiations can be made to bring things back to a feeling of equilibrium. By withdrawing your energies you will see how important you really are in the situation.

    Bargaining to find more equitable solutions. Demanding better rights and conditions.

    The Caution: Becoming obsessed with what is wanted. Refusing compromises. Protesting about everything. Not noticing one's rewards.

    What's with this "withdrawing your energies" bullshit? Oh crap, he's going to abandon me. I knew it! He doesn't care about me. He's going on vacation (again!) and I'm going to go crazy, I just know I will. Well... relatively speaking, that is. Hard to go somewhere you already are.

  • Simply The Best
    And so, as this lovely day draws to a close, and I prepare to take my first real bath in about a month, I leave you, Mike Golby, with this one little thing I can give you. As you see, I made it all by myself. With a little help, of course, from Mr. Bezos in Arts & Crafts. I hope you like it. If you mouse over the picture, I'm sure you'll see that she looks much better my way! So hey, go ahead, give her a shot!

6:52 PM | 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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