040604 WORD OF THE DAY: magnetosphere Dissembling, dissimulating, prevaricating and fabricating all are part of the job. 041304 Duh. I forgot. You smoke to kill restlessness. But another word for restlessness is creativity, which is a dorky, moony-eyed word for life-force or something like that. So yes, it’s going to hurt to stop smoking, but once you burn through those layers of habit, you’re going to find something a little younger and greener underneath. Like 1994. 041404 So here I am at Fuel, smoking. Ha ha ha ha ha. It’s 2004, asshole. Get used to it. And I was reading stories about Brautigan by a guy calling himself Gorgo, who was friends with him, and what I was reading was on the Internet, and what is the point of all this? Duh. I forgot. Except I am a little bit sad and tired. I miss the woods and fields. I miss the air. I miss the water. I miss the rocks and the sparks cast off them by kinetic energy provided by yours truly & friends. Friends. Time is ticking away. Accept credit cards today. Even the pollution is polluted. There were those who predicted 9/11 would diminish popular irony. Look around you. I really miss having a boy friend (been reading 1994 about Taelin again) because of how surprising it always is when they say things you wouldn’t expect a boy (man) to say. And how much it always would disarm me. The month of the werewolf. The werewolf shows us around the castle, which is actually a house, a big fucking house, the whole ground floor of which has been semi-converted into some kind of art gallery. We follow the werewolf by smell. The werewolf smells like the best perfume you’ve ever smelled; all innocence and wickedness, freshness and lust! How you want the werewolf never to leave, never to have left in the first place (although she always does; although he always will have...). Life is so short, to wish it to end is purely folly. And yet.... No. I’m not going down that ramp again. Not today. Not now. YOU’RE JUST BEING MELODRAMATIC! screams a voice (o where do these inane voices pop out of?) and you the command “realize something” Maybe I should just take a walk since I wimped out on drinking. “Let’s go,” say the haughty voices of the so free they don’t even realize the amazement of what they’re saying. A double-edged sword. Big deal. Many of them are. It’s just not that remarkable. Unless you’re fencing in a tournament and the other guy has a puny foil! (or the other guy is you) If I ever quit Capoeira, the next thing I’d want or need to join is a choir. Maybe I should anyway. I love to sing. God how I love to sing. Those too would be good last words. Not that I’m going to you know. Chances are they’ll be something more like “please stack donuts Hmmm..... Bland mechanics....... what to do about Zaiah America? God that’s an awesome name. At least I’ll always have that, even if she’s a lousy lover. Even if I am, did I even have to mention that. I need a haircut. That, at least, I can understand. 041504 Well. Well well well well well. If you say “deep subject” I’ll kill you. But either this “world” is a “place in which” each individual gets a dichotomous assignment of either “you suck; you’re a failure” or “you win; you have the ability to accomplish something special” or else it isn’t that kind of world. So, what the fuck? Roll the dice or better yet flip the coin. Then go back to whatever it is you’ve never done before or were already doing but didn’t know it. This hippopotamus optimism has me gankin for more. Many people are Christ. I am not one of them. Who am I? A random wheel-maker Slapstick is a formidable force of humor. 041604 tried to drink some beers so i could be more like RICHARD BRAUTIGAN, but all that happened was i slipped on the stairs and dropped my TWO AND A HALF WEEK OLD daughter on the floor. she cried. i’m pretty sure she’s all right. i felt (still do to a considerable extent) pathetic. 041704 Done with my GEORGIE BOY omelette croissant sandwich from hIfI; now it’s time to get down to some serious smoking (strikeout) I mean typing (strikeout) I mean FINE ART. I’m going to paint some pictures today, because it’s such a fine day out and I’m not very good at linear storytelling. I’m going to paint several pictures, the subject matter alternating between people getting their asses roundly kicked, and sexy-innocent girls in cotton tights rolling around on the floor with their feet in the air. Sound cool? Just wait. It’s a beautiful Spring day, the “it” that can “be” anything at all, that is. I played a little casual Capoeira with Tesoura (you know, I think he seriously believes his name is Tesouro, but it’s not, because “tesouro” means “treasure,” and Tesoura’s name, as he told me himself, is supposed to mean “scissors,” which is what “tesoura” means. I looked it up. So anyway) yesterday. I got my feet and hands dirty. I felt like a lead sponge. But it’s cool, it’s all good because you know why? I talked to strange men in a familiar tone. I even punched one of them on the chest. That one, the one I punched playfully on the chest, was quicker than me by a long shot, more aggressive and tactical in our little roda. I actually said to him, while we were playing, “Everywhere I go, there you are.” It’s cool. I’ve really grown a lot since the twenties. Dad was right, or rather, I agree with Dad: the thirties are the best. This is the best time. Can I get a refill. The most frugivorous (at least for the usufructuary, namely me in the middle class which they say is vanishing faster than the rain forests) product of so-called civilization remains: the cafe. The best time, that is, with the possible exception of the summer of 1994, during which I was young, smart, whippet-strong, and not too bad with certain of the ladies, bless them, bless them, bless them and their pert, luscious ideas. Had I had the presence of mind at that time to undergo Capoeira, I would probably be pretty fuckin awesome at the game by now. Instead I have to compensate for my physical mediocrity with philosophical prowess and good god damn sportsmanship, which, I must point out, is not such a bad deal, all things considered. At this almost-late stage, gulp-remaining-bigger-than-was-thought, etcetera, etcetera. think i’ll read over some Carver poems now, excuse me please Poetry is protein, plain and simple. Sometimes it’s luscious and fat, sugar-cured and pineapple-poked, in mounds on Sunday’s languid buffet with in-laws and friends, and sometimes it’s salt pork, dry-cured, rattling around in your panier, lonely company for the hot, dry frontier. Either way, either way what? I don’t know. Eat up! ***** I’m going to read another chapter from the scorching, smouldering book of tobacco now. Problem with OS X: the scroll bars look more like bubbles than troughs. Really, the whole damn thing is just too bubbly. 041804 As a beautifully, innocently, maliciously stoned corollary to my beloved 1994, I’m going to point out with three delicious little scrumptious, crinkle-nippled letters that “it” “now” “is” the time of the morning i do still love so well, and those chenille folds of mothering fabric who deign to flutter down from the great casino in the sky only to be with us, and comfort us, spin once more gloriously about our misbegotten heads, which heads, talking though they only are in less than whispers, still sit utterly enchanted by three letters pointing out what hours it is, the namely of the morning: wee And this, this is the poem that forgives all: “Where Water Comes Together with Other Water” by Raymond Carver. atwitter addendum ps: and my pants o hazel o hazel o hazel thank (you) (my) god(dess) for lotion and the lateness of the hour my hazel my bnabe come gather around me now should i masturbate or should i fuck my wife? should i masturbate or should i fuck my wife? bnabe and hazel naturally are laughing at me it’s not exactly the most friendly laugh i’ve ever heard & so of course it turns me on fucking pervert. let’s ask the fuck saw ah hazel how you could hold me in and make me come bnabe how you sent me out again but when it comes to suck my fuckin dick bitch cholula handsdown wins but what did holly mean by “you suck”? i think she meant “you went to buy drugs before taking your daughters to the park” but she may have meant something else. in any case, a) ann wanted to drive around while they slept anyway, and b) even if she does think i suck, even if i do, what then? that’s what hotel rooms are made of and me and cholula will race away on the interstate mist come the next hot summer pot horny orange creme outside lights on breezes blowing all my wad on one sweet girl in the middle of the ether champagne charlemagne chartreuse chablis chinook poo cheem ka! chivalrous chivalry (ending in an lry) is sultrier mr grenache returns and then he disappears. it’s a new system we’re trying out. he says something like “i would be so alone without my wife” and i counter with something like: the sidebar is distracting [pause] then he’ll say “i love her deliriously” and i’ll say she enables me then it turns into a little scene. HIM: The way her hair streamed down and covered her face when she leaned over the pages of her book.... ME: Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. These are cards. HIM: I am scared in my breast like a robin. ME: Each of them knows you are who you are. If you are pretending you are not, you must be trying to con or scam somebody. And it’s probably one of them, or you. So either fuck you, or else fuck you. HIM: at least i’m free and out here, at least i’m still taller than the three foot chain link fences everybody uses to mark off their property. at least we all still know we can jump or crawl over those at any time. ME: Actually I think they’re runes. HIM: Actually I think you’re right. ME: Shall we search for another? HIM: Often when you search for them, they retreat. ME: True, as often disappear. HIM: Agreed. ME: And yet... HIM: For the sake of debauchery and avoidance... ME: Let’s search for another! HIM: Agreed! You get the flashlight and I’ll get the hooch. ----------- so for now, that is to say nowadays, virtually all converters are still one-dimensionally layered, with interpolated heirarchy. the difference is, where you used to have your basic four layers (stone [usually marble], tula, activated yungeon, and of course the illegal and much vaunted pershidium), we now have seven, having inserted a forevorium layer, essentially a patch with its own memory, between stone and tula, and having slathered a liberal coating of honey (usually tupelo) atop the pershidium, and by this excellent conductor connected pershidium to the new top layer, gamium. what you have to realize is, most of this is hype. to put it politely. visually, the new ships are stunning. but logically, they’re just better, not different. and there is the matter of the pulsing of the gamium. it’s loud. too loud. louder than a bee-loud glade. it keeps me up at night, forces me to go down on the porch under the old moon and swing, swing, swing. 041904 Omigod, Rochambo is like 100 100 times cooler now. They have a hole in the floor now and you can still smoke up here. It’s airy. But still just barely sleazy enough. I’m glad I looked her in the eye when I gave her a tip. Now there’s a guy talking to me more than I want to listen. He could be a dream figure out of “waking life” and i could be missing some really important part of my lesson, but shit, it’s my dream after all and right now i don’t really want to listen to him that much. I want to type and smoke, smoke and type. “So much for tryin to make it gambling,” he says and I’m still somewhat listening despite myself. then after we have a talk about smoke and which kind we roll and why, a talk in which i took a genuine interest, he says “i’ll let you get back to your homework.” it IS waking life! so far he’s only interrupted once since then, and it was to talk about whether we like the remodeling job. i do, he doesn’t. “i think the problem here,” he says after a while, “is that i’m facing backwards.” he turns his table around and faces north. i’m still facing east, toward the vast body of the naiad of history. feeling only a little self-conscious but the music is good, the smoke is good, the rhythm is in the air, and now it can flow up and down and in an out of the brand new hole in the floor. Talking to strangers is usually a good idea. I guess the simplest explanation [for my current obsession] is, I’ve been trying to build a divination engine since i was something like 12 years old. Cuz that’s what takes me home. The building it as much as it itself. (so has the GUY, who is behind on his motivational material. he has meditation books.) he’s still talking. i’m back to wanting to work now. it’s time for another quiet spell. in the big rock candy mountain. “by the way my name is Jay,” he says. All my women have taught me how to love, and all my men. Ann is my teacher as i graduate to being able to marry someone. did you ever want to hug the world? (thanks scott) i do: when people come up here and, maybe a little embarrassed maybe not, inevitably go over to the hole in the floor to look thru. pierre is up here now, or was. jay has left. i don’t want to listen to pierre, i mean really. he’s too abrasive. manna manta mantra now THAT’s a good title. 042004 Why you should worship nature: nature actually does things for you. For example the sky, which burns up shooting stars before they shoot us. going now. see you in the fucking snoke 042104 Shakespeare’s feeling pressured (if he did) to include homage to the king or queen is an example of advertising. Wasn’t today Cunnyhol’s birthday? Wasn’t I supposed to get her something? But no, I was too busy working on my speech, “I don’t see any logical reason to not split infinitives.” If anything, it reinforces the negation of the verb. how much you’re benefitting from the current system will have an effect on how much you contribute to changing the system. Thank you for that lovely piece of whatever it was. Now can we go to the theme park? Sure, here’s the keys. Be back by sundown. Actually, I think it imparts a different connotation each way: No reason not to act like a nerd, here. No reason to not act like a nerd, here. The first one is a friendly invitation to act like a nerd. The second one is a friendly but stern dissuasion from self-conscious sophistication, and an invitation to let the shields down. So yes, they mean about the same thing, but the one is upbeat and the other tells you exactly what (not) to do. Or, this: the second one makes “not acting” active. not to act to not act act to not to act not not act to act not to i don’t see any logical reason to not act not to act to act not act to not not act to act not to split infinitives. did cholula catch the guilty hope in my eyes (or mouth) when i asked who she was going to go see? I’M LEAVING MESSAGES IN MY OWN METAVERSE! What I notice while at a non-smoking joint: I cut my writing with smoke, as one cuts hamburger with egg and bread crumbs. Oh shit I gotta go act natcheral now. 042204 OS X is not better in toto than 9. It is different. It is somewhat more stable under some conditions. It multitasks better. Its display of text on screen is relatively stunning! And there are a bunch of dumb, illogical, confusing things about it too. It requires more computer resources, but what else is new. Anyway, I’m enjoying it right now because it is less familiar. I’m in tinker-mode. Okay, now it is crashing more often than OS 9 did. What the fuck? If I have to reinstall this bitch again..... WORD OF THE MOTHER FUCKING DAY BITCH: dacryphilia Part of the appeal of BDSM is that while you’re doing it, you can say to yourself, “I’m doing it,” and it makes it even dirtier! 042304 The heart of art is art. He farts. I hold my breath too much at crucial moments. Make the people talk (or rather, let yourself listen to them), but don’t consign them to a cardboard-cut-out arbitrary hell. Let them have full run of the ship, let them wander [in]visible dimensions! rickrack is deprecated (according to the TMG) in favor of concrete, but there are plenty of ships still using rickrack. Okay, maybe Gume “gets it” more than I gave him credit for. After all, you gotta think: Amen lets him be a prof for some reason, and it’s probably not because he feels sorry for him. EVERYTHING IS UTTERING THE UNUTTERABLE TRUTH ALL THE TIME ALL AROUND YOU 042404 the best thing i ever did (on acid) was staring down that guy (those guys) in the Ynot. FLASHBACK to the PRESENT: people are meeting people downstairs, buoyantly. It’s ten o’clock. I’m waiting for the tea to turn green. Same old stuff. YEAH, I FEEL THAT WAY TOO. OS X: Stuff hides. Little window critters will dart away from you, hiding behind the broad side of a text document, when you try to click them up. Then other little critters will pop out at you from behind the foliage when you least expect them. The two british girls just came in here to scold me. There are new growths in the old forest. Remember to look there. Back among the mokin, again. I’m hoping the accuracy/precision curve of the AB Dick will complement that of the iBook display, and reproduce some kind of light or spirit on paper. I just saw another one come over by the (new) hole in the floor and look down, smiling, leg-swinging, childlike, enthused. I just smiled look-away-shyly at an old crone. She was making her way to a table. It is the table by the window. She is beautiful (of course) right now i’m still a man trying to look like a man who has learned or perhaps remembered how to move like a free man my personal mestre=free man and let me tell you sista, it’s all in the hips. it’s all in the hips it’s all in the hips it’s all in the rose hips it’s all in the rising hips it’s all in the hips ***********home can be such a scary place. how do i suck the toe, suck the tit, lick the boot, eat the shit, and also keep my spaceship running? sometimes it works. As the old lady said, “I don’t have a problem with getting old. It’s just so inconvenient!” nevertheless, the “old” do get shot down a lot. okay, here’s what just happened: the two brits lowered a note down by a long string* to the bar boy. he basketball-jumped and plucked it out of the air, announcing, “I got it!” Then he read it as the brits ran around and giggled. He crumpled it and threw it up here. It landed on my table. The brits are still giggling about it. One of them came over here and said, “I believe this belongs to us,” as she picked the paper ball off my table. I said, very politely, “Yes, I believe it does.” And they still don’t want to talk to me. *actually, the “string” turned out to be some kind of strap, bug-green, secured to the balcony rail by one of those sexy-climber-girl claspy things i’m too smitten even to recall the name of. I want to drum some more with Tam, and this time listen a little more, stomp a little less. That Si never said anything about the book I sent her speaks volumes. She always has to withdraw, an acorn back into her shell, after any time we meet. It was only five pages. It couldn’t have taken this long to read. Maybe I should start by making “short” books. Only a few, choice pages, a postcard version of the eventual folio. Only not stiff like a postcard, but fabricy and flowy. I still have the feeling I am or should be in some sort of “trouble” for skipping class. Once utter I in reverence again her name: Omsatigo! I’m going to look at the crone a little bit now. Maybe a lot. Who knows but the clouds. the crone smokes forgiveness by the pack she does a lot of gazing, out the window, today the brits are dancing with the urban lumberjack i’m almost ready to go A good Captain eventually has to relinquish the need to be purely “in control.” ugar! On the Internet, we are all passe. Holy shit, bender week is almost over. I gotta start the fuckin cleanup, dude. 042604 Edna, you’re still in my heart forever too. You slick bitch There’s a guy over there eating a fat sandwich in front of a computer with a sign on it that says, “Please do not Eat at this computer.” So fucking what? you skinny whore i guess it’s time to smoke some more * hide others and read from “haiku * wanted to be percieved as down to earth; never took cream in his coffee * thin slices of metal strewn precisely across a paper desk * all url’s and books are merely people talking * get me the fuck out of here! he collides with the chill of the neighborhood afternoon in the cafe as evening comes hey, that’s some real tortured soul stuff, there. buy my cd and fuck me til my ear hurts! is that Bone over there? O mi gawd, I so don’t need him anymore! Well, let’s see what he has to say anyway. This place [bremen cafe] is a lot more laid back than fuel. i think i like it. No wonder I was scared to come here. It was worth coming to. something kind of killed my mood. what was it? illness? smoke? fear? coffee? smoke? that screeching little dog behind the door behind my right ear (see “illness”)? oh well. moods have been known to reverse themselves, or possibly rise, ashen-like, from the phoenix. absolutely the only reason i smoke is i don’t know what else to do Whoa! When’d that happen? The text in the [Panther] clippings looks good! Was that in one of the updates? Or somehow related to this appearance theme? Or a bizarre side-function of Fruitmenu? WTF! I like! (Still fucked up boxes and view arrangement, tho) Obligatory [not]laugh=it’s been 7:48 for an awfully long time now “I wanna be sedated!” sings the bar man behind the bar. OMsATIGO (where s=sip instead of the usual S=Smoke) Shit i could stay here all damn nite, if it weren’t for all the all the um the other um you know my little you know that one thing, that personal, all that stuff that you, you know, know about. You know what I’m saying? No. And neither do You. 042804 Help me, come smoke me out of the smoke house. Forgive my pretentions, they know not what tey doo. (tho my permutations do, and they remain unforgiveable) if you’re so desperate, why come to me? why not go to Weenur or Gargor or Misty or any of those guys? See? Your coming here implies its own answer. MY ASSIGNMENT FOR WHEN THE BOOM-BOX WEARS OFF: FLASK 3 042904 Wayne places a lot of a certain kind of emphasis on “Performance!” I don’t care for the way he does that. It’s like a church group for jocks. Tall Stump was the source of much drama in my adolescence. If you wanna go and live with your daddy, you go ahead. ...laid your ass out all night... I’ll pin him to the wall and let the people see what kind of man he is. ...your mama... The source of much information about dogs. Tonahutu became threatened by my percieved allegiance with Tall Stump. I never want Moonbeam or the Monster to feel as if they have to work at Kmart. Unless they want to feel that way, I guess.... 043004 oh. the reason bush said the “illegal” immigrants could get id’s, was so they could keep track of them better. When people who challenge The Leader are disappearing, dying, committing suicide, or being otherwise neutralized, isn’t it time for the magic to start working? So I married my fag hag. So what? We love each other. Reading “those one nites” is reading a tragedy! it just goes down and down and down (do i think that because i know how it ends?), and you feel the preciousness of the love that is pouring out like the blood of princes and rustics alike. i’m getting bored. i want to get smoked i want to smoke some cock i want to taste some genuine man sweat REMEMBER THIS: EVERYWHERE YOU GO IT’S LIKE WAKING LIFE. PEOPLE WILL JUST COME UP TO YOU AND SAY STUFF, AND SOMETIMES IF YOU LISTEN IT REALLY MEANS SOMETHING, OR IS IMPORTANT, OR MAKES YOU THINK, OR IS JUST WEIRD AND FASCINATING. the light, tingling laugh of a girl behind the bar in the other room, the warm room. it’s almost too hard to record what it makes me