The Phosphorescent Enlightenment Machine

jettison your apocalyptic yearnings

2009-09-04T11:19:00.000-07:00

i mean it, especially ye, ye sluggards!

Night in NEW Mexxico

2009-08-28T22:46:00.000-07:00

shuddupppp!!!, shrieked Hildegaard McCovinskly over the roar of scooter noise filling the nearby alley with it and shouts of them; them being kids of all colors and size, guffawing and possibly killing each other she thought. ne'er in all the days of living in the dry yet despondent outskirts of Albecquerci had she wittnessed such needless and heedless abandon of thought and maturity and natural decency and good heavens, were they killing a cat?! A shriek of what sounded like horror subsided into laughter and the banging of perhaps garbage cans against what must have been a wall of the hardware store and hopefully not someone's head. that would not please her not at all she thought to herself her mother Mildredge DeBoer would have trod out in her clompity boots with a shotgun and like a man or yester woman shot the shit out of the trouble raising her rangy voice into the heights of the lower registers like she'd seen her do once to ward of the local boys trying harass her friend on her way home in her cheerleader outfit boys were so much more forward then not like now who knew what subdued them all you heard if anything were the packs of the dark clothes wearing types the druggies rummaging through town like their lives were over and who knew really maybe they were on to something with their despondent i'm already dead look of crushedness the normal sort of chasing that used to go on was different but the aggression was still there much more than today the internet and the pornography takes the chase out of them she mused, shuffling down the hall to the closet at the top of which a shotgun a hundred years old could that be was below a few extra blankets and above the scrabble game that hadn't been removed since her real estate smuck of a son in law had brought her granddaughter to visit her daughter god knows where was probably still in L.A. no longer pretending to be a producer now just decomposing in a ditch near the border most likely probably fell in with Hell's Angel's after the stint in pornography whatever had she done or not done to deserve such a wreckage the billboard outside her home had a light which flickered in technical despair below an enormous advertisement for some sort of liquor a girl seemed to be drinking it while on a leash held by a man in underpants but it had the look of a fashion magazine and the sign read: Be There. And where exactly was that, here she was while the lights from this sign and the oil change spilled into the neighborhood and half the windows facing that way were blacked out by the houses up the street to keep out the light at night for god's sake across the street a man stood in front of the bar and billiards smoking a cigarette until at last a cab pulled up and he shooed it away. She went to the refridgerator with the shotgun under her arm the children screaming had past and she poured a lemonade and took it to the porch and her swing and sat at last in a slightly cooling breeze beneath the billboard and faint moon in the desert night.

IKNOWIBEENCHANGED

2008-01-21T00:08:00.000-08:00

Tom Waits

EDIBLE DIRT

2007-03-26T18:50:00.000-07:00

Melvin was reading that, according to Nietzsche, 'free-will' is a bullshit guilt-trip concept invented by idiots to make themselves feel guilty all the time and hate anybody who steps on their toes. But the phrase is something more along the lines of 'impute guilt', thought Melvin, feeling guilty about how he'd paraphrased his fav. philosopher, who he idolized above all stupidities ever. In point of case in fact, he was just now making a nifty new leather binding for that indispensible classic of yore, 'Twilight of the Idols'. Ahhh the refreshing gusts of bullshit-bashing Friedrich could hencerightly follow his e'r footstep through the miserably unenlightened world gefilled mit error-stricken monkey humans, dithering pathetic 'long the yester banks of mental destitution. Take for one the retarded believers in things that don't make sense, Melvin negotiated, with a furrow of brow, gazing out with dunkel darkening concern, with exuded genius, with perservering pessemism for the UBER man. Was the subject truly sublimated into category by now or was he confusing his geniuses? Wait - the retards, he re-requisitioned his thought gone awhirl amid the mind capsizing tangible elements of the external, indeed corporeal reality. Existence reasserted its Dasein-ness in simple water eddies, like those below the pier he stood on presently, overlooking the genuine Pacific. Mistake, again - forgot to concentrate on the likelihood of lost subjectivity - reified pseudo-consciousness, how could this enlightened farce register? Why was this artifacted hangman metaphysics not shattering the consciousness of modern being?
Ever the slight compulsion to dizzy from the Zarathustrian Elysian heights! But it was slight, and Melvin carried on upon the mountain of knowing. Knowing and knowing and knowing. And he knew. And he knew some more and then even some more. But he could see that down below, here and between the strangled rivers there were ant people, retardedly remaining idiotic. And he knew it because he did.

Pepsi and Chimpanzees are your father in heaven.

2006-10-09T13:13:00.000-07:00

--------------------------MY CENTURY (Reductio ad absurdum)------------

PEOPLE ARE CIGARETTES.

NOTHING EXISTS EXCEPT ME.

There is nothing I can do to make anyone else happy. (No one can make me happy.)

You haven't hurt me. Yet.

Love is chocolate.

SEX IS GOOD FOR YOUR COMPLEXION.

I do not have any choice. I have millions of choices. I believe in freedom but I am a determinist. I believe in the big bang. The different choices of soft drinks mean I am free.

TRUST YOUR DRUGS.

CONSCRIPT, PRESCRIBE.

A TATTOO is a PRODUCT ENHANCEMENT.

Marriage is status quo and staus quo is, as you know....

COGNITIVE DISSONANCE.

Everyone has real feelings on television.

COPYRIGHT YOUR PERSONALITY.

Be my COCA-COLA. I WILL BE YOUR VERIZON WIRELESS.

YOU SOUND WRONG.

EMOTION IS MYSTICISM.

IF you are not happy enough, you are unsuccessful.

IT IS YOUR DUTY AS AN EMANCIPATED AMERICAN TO HAVE A good time.

FREE WILL IS YOUR ONLY RIGHT.

CAUSALITY IS AN IDEA.

IF THERE IS CAUSE AND EFFECT THERE IS NO FREEDOM.

FREEDOM DOES NOT MEAN 'NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE'.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN SCIENCE?

Organic matter means something.

SCIENCE IS NEITHER BAD NOR GOOD IN VIRTUE OF ITS BEING SCIENCE.

"A MOLE HAS NO CONSCIOUSNESS BUT IT burrows in a SPECIFIC DIRECTION."

Love is MORE THAN YOU THINK.

YOU CANNOT MAKE YOURSELF HAPPY. YOU CAN MAKE YOURSELF HAPPY.

TWO OBJECTIVE INTERESTS CAN BE IN OPPOSITION.

WHAT IF I HAVE THE ONLY FOOD AND SHELTER LEFT? (CONSTRUCT A POSSIBLE SCENARIO.)

Who accepts complexity? Complication is acceptable.

COMPLEX HUMAN.

The unlikelihood of setting sail let alone finding new lands or ending up anywhere.

2006-09-07T15:25:00.000-07:00

From Patrick Chappatte (Switzerland).

HOW WHAT?

2006-02-28T12:24:00.000-08:00

Grey. Or gray, if you want. The breakdown of ability to make distinctions results in 'totalitarian' landscapes. We 'exist' in 24 fps, in exit right, enter left standard - the tempo of cinematic conventions have locked us into step. With what? With what though? With an ever-homogenized aesthetic. Attempts, as there are, to 'free' the 'trapped' are over-focused on notions of false consciousness. Whatever became of faith in mind? The core of that great big existential corpus - was really the affirmation of the individual as an essential identity (not the supposed necessitation into nihilism)... see Kierkegaard, see Kant on 'freedom'. (But) Hence we would free ourselves through enslavement. Via dedication to extremities, to 'new' unconventionalities. Blatant stupidity is the way this contradictory new ideology presents itself. Be unique - and choose for yourself the drink that everyone else is choosing. No work is required to undermine the absurdity of these kinds of statements. Nevertheless the contradiction is taken as non-contradictory - why? because the message 'be unique' and 'be like everyone else' are both accepted as generically positive. And contradictory language has a 'stunning' quality. Examine the tautological sentencings of contemporary politicians. What shall we do about the budget deficit? We will do something about it. What can we do about improving education? We will resolve to do something about improving education. But what? How? And there is now the persistant clamor of all-connectedness - this persistant effort to eliminate the natural borders (instead of the unnatural ones) is just more evidence that we are loosing the ability to face our individualities and suffer our uniqueness, to make connections of our own free will, out of our commonalities and differences alike, across natural divisions there are may be natural connections - the metaphysical ones, those we must make distinctions in order to be able to see. We are not all the same... "We had to learn to distinguish. To distinguish and distinguish and distinguish. It was distinguishing, and not explanation that mattered." (Saul Bellow, Mr. Sammler's Planet, pg. 61) And from the previous page: "Whereas others sought the extraordinary in the world. Or wished to be what was gaped at. They themselves wanted to be the birds of rare plumage, the queerly deformed fishes, the ridiculous breeds of men." Max Weber - "Specialists without spirit, sensualists without heart, this nullity imagines that it has attained a level of civilization never before achieved."

Thanksgiving Day

2005-11-24T09:44:00.000-08:00

Predictions

2005-10-30T13:34:00.000-08:00

In the future:

1. A person will digitally sign 5,000 pages of contract every morning at breakfast.

2. Breaths will be taxed and insured.

3. Sex will be a competitive sport.

4. Sexual activity and hours spent television watching will be tied to your credit rating.

5. Corporations will build private cities.

6. Children will be taxable assets.

7. Every inch of the planet will be watchable via camera satellites.

8. Video cameras will nestle in and try to sleep in your bed.

9. People will be assigned a group of 'diverse' friends: one gay, one bi, one black, one from somewhere in the middle east, one superstitious, one aethiest, one christian, one racist, one skinny, one ugly, one bored, one fat. There will be obligatory monthly meetings at the government re-education center or the local high school gymnasium.

10. People will have barcodes on their tongues. You will have to stick out your tongue to buy groceries, a muffin, a stapler, whatever.

11. Automatic weapons will be legal only in inner cities and impoverished areas, on the argument that it is dangerous to live there, and violence is more likely.

12. Sterilization of females born in major cities where heavy ground level ozone concentrations - sulfur oxides, etc. - make fertitility a 'risk'.

13. Eunuchism will re-emerge as a popular new mystic religion.

14. People will have pet rats on leashes.

15. India and Pakistan will join with Iran and N. Korea to form what they will call the 'Axis of Evil', and bend their collective wills towards destroying all living things. Or nuclear war will break out over the Kashmir.

16. The United States will legalize torture in cases where the probable criminal probably knows something about something atrocious that happened or may happen in the future - under these circumstances, and these only, is such extremity justified out of concern for the rest of humanity. They will push for the ratification of the same legislation at the U.N.

17. Marriage will be illegal if you have cancer or any life-threatening disease.

18. Abortion will become a matter of state legislation - it will be outlawed in all states except for New York, Massachusetts, and (a new state in the future) Southern California.

19. Public health officials will come arrive at your door one day to evaluate your house and leave a little card taped onto the front window reading 'B'. You will notice that the house across the street has a small 'A'.

20. I will move to Switzerland and live in total seclusion, except for the wife and kids, where we will eventually die of exposure to nuclear winds.

ADHD and Mass Hysteria

2005-10-04T21:55:00.000-07:00

My great great third cousin thrice removed's brother in law is recovering from ADHD. What trauma the family went through those preceding 45 years! Now he's become addicted to philosophy. In a tiny woodshed behind his house he's created a library of suprising scale, in which he sits and pores over his texts. Every weekend, while he's away from running his contracting firm (house building- he's made a lot of money this way), he goes into his little space and dissappears. During the first weeks of this extreme change, they tried knocking on the door, say, for dinner, but soon learned better. They would either be ignored or violently reprimanded from within. Nowadays, he stays inside all weekend. He doesn't even take meals inside the shack, much less come out, except during the very late hours, to go to the bathroom. He goes in the woods. On Monday morning he exits the shack as though nothing's happened at all and very somberly strides up to the house, puts on his working clothes, and, without a word to his wife or five children, drives off in his truck. None of that is out of the ordinary. But we've noticed another curious phenomenon. Little George, aged seven, has taken to sneaking into his father's study after school. George might have his reasons: he doesn't get selected for team sports, for example, or get on much with his peers. Breaking apart battle toys holds very little interest for him. But lately he's come out of the shack before dinner with a dazed look on his face, and he doesn't speak at dinner as he used to, which was almost incessantly, except to ask strange questions that upset his mother and make his father chuckle (which is nice since he usually doesn't speak either). For example, he blurted out last night, apparently, something about 'reified subconsciousness'. The rest of the children accuse him of stupidity, but he doesn't seem to notice. That dazed look seems to convey a deeper paralysis of some kind. Anyway, it's giving the rest of us pause, wondering what this bizarre turn of events could mean. We're all writing extensive emails back in forth, forming desperate and complex theories and comparing notes, trying to find out what it all might amount to, and what it might mean. My great uncle in London thinks it's a case of childhood trauma recontextualized by the 'urban climate', but nobody seems to understand what that means. Then there's my sister's husband, who conjectures that it's a case of mass hysteria manifesting first in these two individuals. This email was rebuffed by my grandmother, who says this would redefine the phrase 'mass hysteria', and that furthermore the phenomenon doesn't really exist since consciousness isn't transferable between people. My grandfather had a few complaints about this, suggesting that we don't really know what consciousness is in the first place, and so we can't know the functionalities of an unknown, or at least non-physical property. As you can probably guess, we've been at our wit's end. So recently, we've sent a petition to the governor of the state asking for an investigation into the crisis. We've not heard back yet, but are hoping for the best, that this mystery will be solved, and that things will fall back into their comfortable normal positions and we can get on with life.

OUT THERE

2005-10-02T12:45:00.000-07:00

This post has my heart right in the middle of it. I've disguised it as an ordinary word which I expect to be read over without anyone's noticing. The purposes for enacting this little scheme were in vague terms described by myself to a fellow passenger on the bus yesterday. I had said to him, "So as to get 'out there' a little more and make more human connections, and also so as to severe the old and passe bonds between it and my body, I've devised this experiment. I intend as a result a final state of complete disillusionment, where I sense things as from afar, like in a remote control system. My emotion will belong to the chance encounter of this word with the various eyes that skim over it." The gentleman on the bus had paid no attention to my explantion, though if I remember correctly, it was he who had opened the conversation, he who had gained interest, as with mounting curiosity he had asked, indeed, why I was conducting this unusual experiment at all? Perceiving that he could perhaps be one of those odd sorts who likes to pretend he isn't listening when he really is, just so he can feel insulted when you ask him why he was reading the paper when you are talking to him - I continued in my explanation. "In the system, the heart is put in a game of chance equivalent to its usual placement in the human chest cavity. I experience what it experiences though we are displaced objects: the slow flit of an occasional eye skims past the word that is a disguise, and expects no more of it than any other ordinary word. It might be an article or a conjunction, a noun or a gerund, a verb or a preposition. What a profound moment of euphoria when that one little word is crossed over! Perhaps not only days or weeks or months, but whole years go by until at last the body quakes at that distant event, happening again. Imagine the productivity one could reach, putting this situation into effect! It isn't as though you're cutting yourself off - on the contrary, you can assuredly plough through your days with the comfortable knowledge that your heart is really out there making the most of the dice factor, but without your having to go through the endless fluctuations that come along with its being carried around inside you."

Person for President

2005-09-22T12:15:00.000-07:00

Another actor is running for president.

Giant Apes of Wrath

2005-09-07T19:36:00.000-07:00

Gustave Hanscleft was reading up on the EPR paradox when of a sudden the house began to shake. This could work as a fairy tale, he aptly surmised, in turn realizing he had no idea in what direction things would turn. The thunderous clamor grew in decibelity, and from his window he saw that great apes with Kaiser helmets had breached the horizon. They came swinging massive guns and clubs, pillaging the gardens and people along the way. With scarcely a second lost, Gustave fell into action, pulling posterboards and brushes from his closet. Within moments he had rendered several posters depicting the apes as mere men with weak limbs and without clear ideologies. His artistic prowess had reached top form. He only hastily realized it though, for there was scarcely time left over to do what he needed to do next. He faxed off the posters, bearing their various slogans, to the other nations and the Vatican, made copies, and Paul-Revered across town - hammer in hand, nailing the propaganda to the walls and church doors. In narry a shake of a lamb tail, the citizenry had mobilized against the ape army. Farmers with pickaxes, old Bolsheviks shaken from old age, tarrying Marxists, descendents of Paris communes, neo-Christians, pacifists, Oktober-festers and fascist demagogues gathered in the square, minute people of the moment. Needless to say, the apes were driven asunder, driven high and low, out of the gardens and squares, back into the fold of history without much ado. The great assistance of other powers, some formerly known as enemies, now enemy-of-your-enemy friends, and the tide of influenza that swept across the land with its own tide of monstrosity, all proved adequate to the contest. So were the days of the future saved and the legend of Gustave Hanscleft promoted to the eternal tome of historical greatness.

WHAT AM I POLLUTING MYSELF WITH NOW?

2005-08-25T14:08:00.000-07:00

What rankles us is the self-indulgence of saying that what one is about to do is self-indulgent, and then getting right on with it as if one had escaped the problem by stating it's presence. I'm going to list the books that seem to have had the most negative impact on me, on my psychological (mistrust the term though I may) well-being, my 'world-view', my basic functionality among fellow inhumans. What's torn my otherwise sweet and carefree nature into this neurotic little mass of twittering shame and timidity...

1. Number of books you have owned: I burn them after I read them. Ok, just kidding. I don't own them, I'm renting them from trees. Thanks, trees.

2. Last book I bought: “How to Read a Book” by Mortimer Adler. Impossible to read. I burned it. Just kidding.

3. Last book I completed: I’ve never completed one, the migraines prevent me.

4. Five (or so) books that mean a lot to me (because they’re directly or indirectly responsible for f-ing me up, or putting me in a bad mood (see 4 and 5)):

1. The Bible. (seriously – this book has started more wars than the writings of Lenin ever could)
2. Almost anything by John Calvin (the world would be a better place)
3. Descartes (idiot)
4. “Letters from a War Zone” by Andrea Dworkin
5. “Against Our Will” by Susan Brownmiller (gravely depressing)

4b. What are you currently reading?

1. Recipe books
2. Newspapers
3. Astrology stuff (it’s amazing how accurate it is!!!)

5. Which 5 bloggers are you passing this on to?

Nobody should have to read. Read books about wind patterns, if you must read something. Or the packages of industrial products. I don’t know.

ok, here's one

1. hemorrhoids!

Speed Limited on Concrete

2005-08-10T00:30:00.000-07:00

Elias wasn't up to going out. In fact, he wasn't up to homeopathic tea either, but that's what he was drinking. Yesterday was like a lemon rind and today was like a purple isotope clattering against the memory of yesterday. Obscurity like that careened through him like the breeze of a bat you don't see passing. An airport shuttle bus creaked up the street. A foul death-cloud emission burst from the tailpipe. The raw power of the vehicle, it's roaring unassailability in an equally indifferent framework mouldered me sleepy. It was all so vulnerable, so exposed out here, all you could do was go to sleep, feel the battering convulsions as a mind-softening pastorale. Or you were just another bleating nerve ending wacking along against the pavement, being trod over by punk goths, ordinary citizens, survivors impervious to the violence in the air, on their way to a concert, a bar, a job, a rendezvous. Someone says physical pain is the mark of true emotion. At the end of the day, reeling with carcinogen intake, back aches, anti-depressant migranes - are we not letting ourselves go bullied by the highways, the shrieking vortex of trashed alleys, syringed avenues? We can't avoid becoming neurotics in our new tarmac speed limit world. We've made a spiritually unsurvivable world. If you're surviving, you might be dead. Thank God for medication.

Barf Bags

2005-07-22T21:21:00.000-07:00

So he gathered up his losses and gains (one outweighing the other, as it were), and thudded out of there. The glow of twilight spread across the avenue, and his face, for that matter, picked up the light too. Why didn't he think of THAT? Weren't all things connected? Nothing had to be ruled out.

The club was packed. It was a sex pot-luck. The sequins attached to bellys shimmied through the strobes. He belched out a hint of Jagermeister. What was he doing here with his plaid suitcase and his astro-debts? A flock of honey pots ungulated past, and then past a table of virile youths. The virile youths were cracking perverse jokes. Actually, perversity was kind of in these days. Obscene was hip. Everyone was premedicated for catastrophe and everyone was down with getting it on. Or getting it off, as it was. Thomas McDuddle ordered another martini and watched a teenager making out with a pole. Perhaps it was only his imagination. He seemed at ease, and in a moment his taxi would arrive. Where to? Well, not where he had thudded out of, that was for sure.

Actually, he mused, whilst the techno-job blurted it's cacophony toward his soul, what's the deal? I don't mind this a bit. Maybe he'd stay awhile - maybe he'd score a homer. ShieBe, he murmured under his breath, why not live a little?

HEY, WHAT

2005-06-24T00:33:00.000-07:00

April, 20??
The icebergs melted this morning and now Fifth Avenue is full of water. Anyone who managed to get their car out in time was feeling lucky.

The War of the Universes was showing at the Solar Theater and three of those seated drowned in a rush of water that filled the room and made the exits difficult to open. Afterwards, several of those interviewed testified to the novel experience of watching the top half of a film on a half-submerged screen. Apparently many of the occupants enjoyed the experience, swimming and discussing the situation, until it became apparent that raw sewage had begun to bubble up.

Again this morning radio announcers decried a new wave of 'propagandists' who blame inadequate emissions and pollution regulations for global warming. The New York Signs cited Senator Clumb's remark from the previous week: "...adherents to the Kyoro Treaty must realize that such imposed economic limitations are at the root anti-democratic." Clumb has been an outspoken advocate of New Fuel Systems and presides over the committee for infrastructure re-integration.

The President (may he live forever), meanwhile, declared the area a national disaster and moved emergency funds into the NY fire and police departments within hours. Residents of lower Manhattan have evacuated and a team of engineers who began lobbying for funding to build a sea wall several years ago, have suddenly been supplied with generous grants. "This brings to mind the sinking of Venice," quipped Tom Futile, a city engineer, "but with some of the greatest minds on our side, I'm absolutely confident our efforts will succeed in preserving our great city."

Absent Nothings

2005-06-14T19:29:00.000-07:00

A little bit of the whole one thing after another and pretty soon things were way beyond reckoning. First there was the peak in petroleum production. Then there was the disenfranchised class and the stumbling beaurocracy who tried at the last minute to salvage the suburbs - no such luck. Then came the hostile neighbor symptoms, the convergence on the cities, the disappearance of fast-food joints, the miserable ineffectiveness of the 'alternative' fuels and energies that themselves relied upon the old means of production by petroleum-based technologies. Desert towns merged back into the desert. It all happened yesterday. No more mangoes in Michigan. No more jiffy intercontinental airplane flights. Then James Kunstler sighed and shook his head. Who wanted to hear about it when there was time? The people were pissed now, and voted for extremists. That's happened before, but not here. Like, could it? Dude, like, I don't have time for this. Like, I have to DRIVE to work tommorrow. Forget it. Forget it until it reminds you. Yo.

Vulgar Brains

2005-05-31T11:32:00.000-07:00

When there are no more buttered rolls to go around once more, and the polite conversation has run through the usual grist that becomes such occasions, then perhaps the addled craniums will crank toward the green and leaking sky and someone will mutter to a senator that it 'is going to help the economy'. I can imagine an evening flock of bipartisans peering from a white house window. The smell is of papers and aftershave. Then later, when the air-tight suited contamination gauging crews from a corporation with stocks of now inestimable worth go scouting through the wilds of various downtowns, or the beaches of Massachusetts - relaying their reports to the leftover people, settlers of the future, then vulgar brains will silently calculate the profit margins, and the innovative ingenuity of an investment made possible.

END OF THE WORLD SEEMS LIKE

2005-05-26T11:22:00.000-07:00

The pickled carriage of reality has again trampled the grapes of opulence, and the whittling dwarf at your barber shop steps isn't communicating with you anymore. He just makes figurines of the pope and whistles Irish folk songs. The boat you drive around in doesn't feel safe anymore, now that you put a television inside, why did you do that? It's so hard to turn it off, and the kids will always want to watch something. Now when you see potholes, you aim for them and hope to jar something loose, not in the car, but in your mind. For weeks it's felt like something wasn't right in there, that something had overlapped something else, and that something essential wasn't there. In fact, something feels superficial about just thinking, just letting your mind wander - it almost feels fake. But if that's fake, then what isn't? Once in awhile you roll through for a fast-burger or two and when it's over you can't remember anything distinctive about the trip, nothing can distinguish it from the last, the last one, the last time, the last act... Where have your senses gone, when you pick up L. Ron and he just isn't cutting it. All these books you never read and all this information you won't have any time or interest in assimilating. What act are we in? Secure your belt, hold up your pants, keep you self strapped into your gasoline powered boat. You're in the middle of the continent, secure as a fox in a chicken coop, the farmer dead. But the sky turns a little greener and a gnawing in the stomach reminds you your senses do work - they work to fear. The great horrorfilm suspensefilm dramafilm spacefilm climax, the boom we've been trained to wait for, we can sense the possibility of that. The do-nothing that can only be our reaction when the mideast sh-t hits the fan, the india pakistan sh-t, the china sh-t, the sh-t from russia, is our destined perogative - but for now we vote under Montana sky, smile at mom when she brings more lemonade, we can support raising the stakes and a slobbery description of moral imperative - John Wayne will by god I reckon fix er up before nightfall, ride off into the sunset without askin for anything. On the other hand, if it's the end, ever, there's always the basic - Jesus gonna be here real soon. If you can speed this up by bringing on the apocalypse, that'd be real dandy. Brandish your arms, citizens!

Crumbling Testimonial

2005-05-20T13:28:00.000-07:00

"Eh," mouthed Captain Francois de la Soul. I think therefore I have feet, he reasoned silently, but not even this could obscure the aweful vision that had prompted that original 'eh'. Because the horizon was descending and the red of it's edge like blood pressed from a razor cut and the broken ridge of wires houses trees airplanes dropped at an unexpected rate when you went without moving long enough and just when the sky bleached pink the air currents entered the senses - was it the movement or the touch of wind or the sound of it first was hard to recall but there was the culmination of these too or the various connections that held experience together - not that it matters to the wind what you think but all the same it's blowing from someone else's face don't you know it.

What is the nature of this?

2005-05-16T18:32:00.000-07:00

The ever-large world gates itself behind the scene of everydayness that like an omnipresent mask coats the collectivity of mind. What is it then with dog manure or sled runners? Nothing doing basically, I reckon. Basically there are two options with which to divide the possible futures. Unless there are more. Like actuality the fringe benefits appeal only to the extinctified relics of yesteryear. Or is it so? Rather the marginal gains appeal to the codified class of lusting greeders, the absent-souled fakers. The non-entrepreneurial sorts are giving McBlanold'sis a bad name. Visage this, cheap-thrill-mongers! Mark my frozen, no trans-fat tamalies, cumbersome demagogology won't stand! But mostly it does. Shredded dispositions of babysitting iron-clads mean nothing to the Franks of the world. They come on with a thing going but leave without knowing the way back in. History-manglers! But what am I on about?

AFFECTING THE STARS

2005-05-15T11:31:00.000-07:00

A recent study of 37 people who were all born as infants in the city of Barcelona between a certain period of days, proves something. We got them all in a room and gave them some questions. On the handout they all answered, for example that they "...are able to stand back and look impartially at matters which call for an impartial judgment to be made on them." This confirms that, for one, there are stars. They are big fiery objects that fizzle. I hasten to add to my case. In the survey, the Barcelonians turned out to be similiar in that "They have elegance, charm and good taste, are naturally kind, very gentle, and lovers of beauty, harmony (both in music and social living) and the pleasures that these bring." All 37 answered 'yes' to this yes/no question! Who'd have guessed that these Barcelonians would prove that their influence upon the stars with such profundity? They all agreed that they could 'degenerate into gamblers', 'are sensitive to the needs of others', 'show an understanding of the other person's points of view'. The reality is mind-boggling! WHAT COULD SUCH A GIGANTIC COINCIDENCE MEAN?? Don't tell me it doesn't offer a definite confirmation of the existence of stars, at least! Could we have a clearer-cut example please? I.E, we know that a physical body affects us less the further it is away from us, but there's relativity too, so we're obviously affecting the stars. Furthermore, the Barcelonans were all born in the same period of days. So excuse me, but... Can I get a 'duh'?

Clamps with purposes

2005-05-12T23:44:00.000-07:00

Tougher than the tough, and meaner than the knarly streets of Brooklyn or Catalina Springs, the ever glowering towering pines of New England or the sodomized streets of downtown wherever. That was it, trucked in by dawn, a heavy frost and a whirling spatter of blizzard remains. Erudite mosquitoes had a few bandits on the run by noon, and the old folks were up in arms again, waving the flag, stomping their feet, carrying on on the tube about biases and contortions of truth such that would make your folicles stand on end. The grandpas were snorting and shuffling about, badgering the bridge players with snide running commenteries about the 'state of the union' and generally making a racket with squirt guns and water balloons until the next door ranchers drove them off with a caravan of silver mercedes. "Dang," and old guy was heard to remark, in the wake of the nasty onslaught. A few anxious grandmas wept like banshees over the 'pointless loss' when a few grandads seemed afterward to have lost their sense of hearing. This was due, they eagerly reasoned, to the rapid torpedo fire sound of heavy engines backfiring during the event that happened. Suddenly, later on, a giant bomber appeared in the sky, from which was sprayed a really big torrent of pamphlets about safe-sex and guns. Then there was a lot of ruckus over nothing, when a troop of brigades and platoons ended up coming for breakfast, and the elderlies just hadn't had TIME to get anything prepared. Nevertheless, a swell output of pancakes, lardbuttercrumb-waffles, jam torte thingies, egg scramble how-you-like-ems and toasts brightened the sturdy lads day considerably. Aces.

Crap-shoot Festival!

2005-05-08T13:42:00.000-07:00

Churlish whirls of slivered onion curls! Some yackity-mouthed, base-brained buffoon-louse, self-appointed muck-loather on yonder alleged height hath heckled our pomegranite cloud heavens! May his phasic characterological underpinnings be churned hereby into heaps of vaguely brown idiot-mulch!! The days of ANAPHASE are hencerightly numbered invisibly by symbols of amounts - may the crap-shoot festival of it's months be forewarned of approaching airborne diseases, of apocalyptic tides of magnitude! May the stench of aforesaid decadent pseudo-anonymity carrion be decimated by the extreme doom of funnel clouds, hurricanic water blooms, earth-shattering quakes, fiery tornadoes from the earth bowels, and spit. (The spit of an undiscovered creature whose saliva is very acidic and burns through just about anything, including stupidity.) Thus saith us.