singsongslipstream

Mon, 12 Feb 2007 06:02:02 GMT

not guilty

Tue, 19 Dec 2006 03:50:04 GMT

smokin' a cig.

amanda and i went to her fresh market party tonight. amanda and i drank wine (a great spanish wine recommended by earthfare's wine expert, richard) Vertus Tempranillo Crianzal, organic wine, from the Tempranillo vine, Spanish (a grape similiar to that which makes pinot noir). We surprisingly held the best conversations (aside from all the football and baby making blabber). ok, so it wasn't much competition. but it was fun and all those white people didn't know what to make of us once we were all drunk.

amanda gave a lecture on the benefits of eating just the meat of fish.

i talked to an 8th grade math teacher about hyperspace. (or what i thought i know of it)

and so my heroes are saira alex and antonio. you three are my standards for living. i love you. peace in god's green acre. please hold out in new york till we can arrive for a while!!!! we miss you!

strange night with rites and fruition

Fri, 15 Dec 2006 06:02:06 GMT

to be honest, i can't quite figure out how to use livejournal. i rarely think that my experiences are worth posting to the 5 of you on my friends list. maybe it's a lack of confidence, but im drunk and tonight was right.

i went to the soon-to-be out of commission Flying Anvil (greensboro's excuse for a cat's cradle or orange peel) and saw the high-flying Marijuana Wolf, a lesser band with surfing video's, and the over-hyped regional Health play. M-Wolf made me laugh my ass off, only to find it later with other assholes smoking in the back parking lot. in the spirit of alex and the royal tenenbaums, i said, "hey, i know you asshole!" and retrieved my back-lot buttocks. Matt B. of M-Wolf had a pot leaf birthday cake presented to him. my head exploded.

after gathering the scraps of rapport that i had spread to each and all i knew i spotted my old governor's school teacher, mark dixon. he towered above the crowd, lumbering with vacant eyes through the crowd. i made my way over to him, trained my eyes on the surfer video and introduced myself indirectly to the teacher who laid the foundation of everything i value in art-making and living six years ago. it was odd. the conversation was brief, he invited me to his band tomorrow night and he spoke as though he thought he was a failure. i assured him that was not true and put my head to his and gave him thanks and went home. anyway, it's good to know he's in town. maybe i can learn something more from him.

health is wealth

vague viewings

Fri, 15 Sep 2006 05:11:10 GMT

A short sample of the periodical rack found at your local Borders:

Ode: For Intelligent Optimists
The National Interest: America the Targeted
9/11 + 5: More Vulnerable?
Newsweek: How Iraq and Terror Will Shape the Election
Time: Does God Want You to Be Rich?
People: Steve Irwin’s Tragic Death
O: Sex in the Middle Ages (Satisfaction Guaranteed)
Bitch: Feminist Response to Pop Culture
Mother Jones: Lie by Lie
How Our Leaders Used Fear and Falsehood to Dupe Us into a Mideast Quagmire
(This cover is illustrated with Bush riding a rodeo on a missile dropped on America, Dr. Strangelove style.)
The Africa Report: Nigeria and South Africa Tussle for Power
Good: A Do-It-Yourself Portfolio
Like You Give a Damn
The Atlantic: A New Strategy for the Fight Against Terror: We Win

And then the magazine Seed: Science is Culture: To Be Continued? has a great conversation between Noam Chomsky and Robert Trivers on the nature of self-deception.

RT: So you’re talking about self-deception in at least two contexts. One is intellectuals who, in a sense, go through a process of education which results in a self-deceived organism who is really working to serve the interests of the privileged few without necessarily being conscious of it at all.
The other thing is these massive industries of persuasion and deception, which, one can conceptualize, are also inducing a form of either ignorance or self-deception in listeners, where they come to believe that they know the truth when in fact they’re just being manipulated.
…When you think about the leaders- let’s say the present set of organisms that launched this dreadful Iraq misadventure- how important is their level of self-deception?
…My view is that their deception leads to self-deception very easily.

NC: I agree, though I’m not sure they launched it with lies, and it’s perfectly possible they believed it.

---

RT: Information is often somewhere in the organism; it’s just well-hidden. It’s well down in the unconscious. And it’s often inaccessible because you build up firewalls against it…
…if you want to deny reality, you’ve got to act quickly and get it out of sight…inventing reality is a little bit more of a relaxed enterprise I suppose.

NC: It’s not as threatening.
…there are elaborate techniques of self-deception to try to build a framework in which we can justify things like, say, invading or overthrowing the government of Guatemala, on the basis of some new objective. And it’s done by making everything simple. You have to make it clearer than the truth.
…And as this picture gets created internally and built up by each group of National Security staffers, it becomes like a real fundamentalist religion, showing extraordinary self-deceit. And then you end up with the Cheneys and the Rumsfelds.

RT: I’ve been appalled lately when I pass a newsstand and there’s some article, “China, the Next Threat,” saying, “Now we’ve got to mobilize all our energy against China” –and they’re talking military.

NC: The threat of China is they can’t be intimidated…When the US tries to get people to stop investing in Iran, European companies pull out, China disregards it. You look at history and understand why –China’s been around for 4,000 years and just doesn’t give a damn…of all the major powers, they’ve been the least aggressive militarily.

Which connects my thoughts to the Old Boy, Lao Tzu:

A big state can take over a small state if it places itself below the small state.
And the small state can take over a big state if it places itself below the big state.
Thus some, by placing themselves below, take over others,
And some, by being naturally low, take over other states.
After all, what a big state wants is but to annex and herd others,
And what a small state wants is merely to join and serve others.
Since both big and small states get what they want,
The big state should place itself low.

Ah, youthful folly.

geez-O-whiz

Sun, 25 Jul 2004 03:13:01 GMT

Here are insightful (and prophetic) words of Mr. Vonnegut from his first book, Player Piano. At this point the Shah of Bratpuhr is attending the christening of the fourteenth part of the supercomputer brain, EPICAC, along with his interpreter and the American diplomat, Dr. Ewing J. Halyard:

““Ladies and Gentlemen,” said the television announcer, “the President of the United States.”
The electric car pulled up to the platform, and President Jonathan Lynn, born Alfred Planck, stood and showed his white teeth and frank gray eyes, squared his broad shoulders, and ran his strong, tanned hands through his curly hair. The television cameras dollied and panned about him like curious, friendly dinosaurs, sniffing and peering. Lynn was boyish, tall, beautiful, and disarming, and Halyard thought bitterly, He had gone directly from a three-hour television program to the White House.
“Is this man the spiritual leader of the American people?” asked Khashdrahr.
Halyard explained the separation of Church and State, and met, as he had expected to meet, with the Shah’s usual disbelief and intimations that he, Halyard, hadn’t understood the question at all.
The President, with an endearing, adolescent combination of brashness and shyness, and with the barest trace of a Western drawl, was now reading aloud a speech someone had written about EPICAC XIV. He made it clear that he wasn’t any scientist, but just plain folks, standing here, humble before this great new wonder of the world, and that he was here because American plain folks had chosen him to represent them at occasions like this, and that, looking at this modern miracle, he was overcome with a feeling of deep reverence and humility and gratitude…
Halyard yawned, and was annoyed to think that Lynn, who had just read “order out of chaos” as “order out of koze,” made three times as much money as he did. Lynn, or, as Halyard preferred to think of him, Planck, hadn’t even finished high school, and Halyard had known smarter Irish setters. Yet, here the son-of-a-bitch was, elected to more than a hundred thousand bucks a year!”
“You mean to say that this man governs without respect to the people’s spiritual destinies?” whispered Khashdrahr.
“He has no religious duties, except very general ones, token ones,” said Halyard, and then he started wondering just what the hell Lynn did do. EPICAC XIV and the National Industrial, Commercial, Communications, Foodstuffs, and Resources Board did all the planning, did all the heavy thinking. And the personnel machines saw to it that all governmental jobs of any consequence were filled by top-notch civil servants. The more Halyard thought about Lynn’s fat pay check, the madder he got, because all the gorgeous dummy had to do was read whatever was handed to him on state occasions: to be suitably awed and reverent, as he said, for all the ordinary, stupid people who’d elected him to office, to run wisdom from somewhere else through that resonant voicebox and between those even, pearly choppers.
And Halyard suddenly realized that, just as religion and government had been split into disparate entities centuries before, now, thanks to the machines, politics and government lived side by side, but touched almost nowhere. He stared at President Jonathan Lynn and imagined with horror what the country must have been like when, as today, any damn fool little American boy might grow up to be President, but when the President had had to actually run the country!”

Remind you of anyone?

High low where to go in my house?

Mon, 19 Jul 2004 07:14:11 GMT

“1.!Sure they took advantage of sand”

To create something, first, a line
Then a direction, directive
I am nano-machinary, beehive survival
And with bent fingers, I go on to the next song
Glacier icicle burnt bird
AND images of cycles lops the work loft
AND finds the subtlest vibrations in the work oft
AND his bottom shaked
Hack rake, spade lode stone wrunner.
Jesus I am destroyeder lode stone
Lo’ below pit and pile of vile filth
To create something, Reptile!
Nubian Saintly Sedan! Sudan!
SukaCOOka

SukaQueKahk

“2.@True (future) music”

Polyrock synthesizer pop
Talking Heads talking like heads talking
Head talkings, bitter encyclopedias
Brown-booted men, moon minstrels
Ministration or menstruation on a bloody Sunday
When you gotta work more than
Eight hours, reality is harder
Hard reality, hard water
Soft childhood day-men,
With obscure Branch and leaf patterns,
Playing in the sun, rays and children running
With plastic swords and careful carefree hops
Hopes, with robot infested festoons
Hanging on the yard
Birds baffled by the yellow yarn
GI JOE used it as a zip cord
Magnum PI used it as a concord
JB Wright used it cause he was left-
Handed, heady stuff that summer brought up
And I couldn’t have asked for anything better, you see, I made it out of the place by midnight, and on my flight home I saw two cops. Two of the guys (fuckers) were sitting by the road, making me paranoid. I had made it only so far and my luck was sure to run out. It wasn’t out quite yet, but it'd have to soon, damn it. On the karmatic scale of this and that’s I was bound to be in the red. Narrow escapes and late night returns home,

My EYES patterned after the patter music bands that shook my entire living bodyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeyeye
Egypt glitter patterns, Alter Alter Alter
My body
And body body, is blood bluuue
Aftermath you
Miss me?

don't change or rearrange your mind

Mon, 12 Jul 2004 10:01:14 GMT

“With God Conversing”

Red paths that wander through the gray, and cells
Of strangeness, rutted mouldings in the brain,
Untempered fevers heated by old kills,
By the pampered word, by the pat printed rune,
Unbalanced coil under glaucous blooms of thought,
A turning mind, unmitigated thinking that
Feeds human hunger and eats us alive
While cringing to the death, expecting love,-
Such make the self we are. And do you make it?
And practice on us? For we cannot take it.

Listen. Grow mild before the flicking lash
Seems welded to your hand, self-wounder.
What are we, cry we, while our pain leaps lush,
Too jungle thick: the jungle where we wander,
No seeded faith before, nor after, miracle,
Of bidden faith in things unseen, no particle.
For we think only through our troubled selves,
We note the worm that in the apple delves,
See gibbous moons and spots upon the sun,
Speak gibberish, and keep the poor in sin.

Plus birth and death must war-lash winnow
While every pod-burst leaf of May sucks life?
Because we think shall we be less than minnow,
Cat, carrot, rat, bat and such from sense aloof?
What doorless maze is this we wander through
With fuming souls parched of our morning dew?
Reason confounds as it presents to NAUGHT:
Earth worn, man moving into self-made night.
Reason-begotten science sets war’s pace
And, civil-mouthed, makes civilization pass.

Created in your image, made up of words,
Till words reduce you to a zero-O,
We, then, reflecting you, are less than birds,
Bugs, or empty dugs, still less than minus no.
There must be something wrong with being wise-
Talking we go, wondering and wandering with woes,
Big thoughts have got us, hence we organize,
Govern our heroes with unmeant yeas and nays,
And breathe in dungeons of our nervous mesh
An air too blank to snare meandering flesh.

Night melting dawn shall turn the renewed sky,
Aurora Borealis and Australis
Fanfaring leap the poles, the moon fall by;
But if our science does not quickly fail us
How long for us will space blue light the dun
Of populaces, while wonderers eye the sun?
The gloomy silhouettes of wings we forged
With reason reasonless, are now enlarged,
The falsified subconscious, beast-a-woken?
We-you? Post-suicides, shall we awaken?

-Gene Derwood

then there was livejournal

Sat, 10 Jul 2004 15:29:14 GMT

“…and also telling long stories about our childhoods and pasts:-“Pretty soon Ben do you realize there’ll be so many additional childhoods and pasts with everybody writing about them everybody’ll give up reading in despair- There’ll be an Explosion of childhoods and pasts, they’ll have to have a Giant Brain print them out microscopically on film to be stored in a warehouse on Mars to give Heaven Seventy Kotis to catch up on all that reading- Seventy Million Million Kotis!-Whoopee!-Everything is free!-””

Jack Duluoz to Ben the Zen Buddhist

Sun, 04 Jul 2004 16:50:47 GMT

“to hugo”

to Hugo Ball

Taking the figurative and all that is recognizable and related to it
Making primal terms in colors and sounds and phonetically
Dressing down the past 500 years
To a single, ephemeral
Event of
“bim”

Cultural cleansing without the genocide

Absurdist manifestos written about the destruction of the corporation
Anarchist performances played out to the dissolution of communication
Heady readymade Freddy-all-fingers music banged out of improvisation
Pancakes make from upside-down flip flop batter falling from the ceilings

Coffee costly caffeinated South American peasants growing heroin coffee
On the tables of the revolutionaries tobacco flags in the pocket mouths
Of teenage determinists marketed kool cruel cancer fatalists listing
Reasons to grow up or go down

All in the sound of
eeya uut haa kkahk
Mivah moot hhhkk
Roouh aht aaah
Eeya uut eeh koo
Uuuuuooooo
Phfffouuu
Phfooow
?////////////

Café’s!
Dark or dirt-heaped drugga ragtime
Syncopation! Mire
Grounds jazzor sounds
Insurgent housewives on weight-watching mid-thigh crowded lain bed
Dissatisfied!
Aggravations
Ramified!
Complications
Clarified!
Usurers artfully funding the potentially harmless still-lifers and
Abstractora
Academia-Dementia
Sad Professors! On tenure

Change the language and change the pace and crowd crow row ow
These full brains languor with fullness language ow,
Ow!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWH

Let us all one day meet in the street
The Café!
And show our painted and typed
Language
And form; our own new day
REVOLUTION!

Fri, 02 Jul 2004 01:26:12 GMT

“And my written by”

Look! I’ve made a big joyous painting
I think it is about last summer, the sum
Of picture thoughts never placed in
Paint

And here! A book of poetry by Alex
Told me that these breathy words were
Because of Jack Kerouac, Alex
Writes in careful words and makes
Books

And? My written by is a modern song
In keyword scribble search engine vision
Googly-eyed and energized-organized
Verse is stuck in the information drain-fast-
Lane

“and my written by: and imaginary other devices and white orlovsky, and Julius is length film credit card following information: at 08:15:26 pay me for High…Somewhere Time Vhs Christopher Reeve”

-Found on the Internet.

Outta House and Home

Thu, 01 Jul 2004 20:59:04 GMT

I can read the stars now in order to foresee my parents’ every move. Nearly two weeks ago I could tell that something was different, that the atmosphere had become light and clean- the forecast: low humidity. The electro-magnetic tension that formed around my folks and I had disappeared; a completely unnatural turn of events.

Or was it? No, this was just a newly recorded, but age old phenomenon concerning misplaced neurosis and a lessening of conservatism. Why was this happening?

The best explanation I’ve come up with is Cincinnati. They want to live there for some ungodly reason. They have made about four trips there in the past year, a record for my reclusive parents. These people have no friends, just each other and I don’t believe they even like one another now.

Daddu thinks Momma is too fat.
Momma has to be a good Christian wife to Daddu (clean and cook every night, even after her longer day at work.)
Momma feels she has to be uncomfortably careful with everything she says around Daddu, and I feel the same.
Momma wants to be on the city council of Gastonia someday (true!) Daddu wants a jeep someday (oh, and to write for Cincinnati’s sports news page).
Momma worships Jesus and Corporate America and Bush
Daddu worships Running and Bush

Everything was airy and quite contrary for a week before the Cincinnati trip. Once there my Dad even suggested going a hop, skip, and jump away to Indiana in order to gamble a nice sum of money in a large casino. Mom was apprehensive, Jesus don’t do that shit, money lenders outta the temple and let Caesar have Caesar’s and don’t get greedy on me but she thought it might be ok this time, THANK GOD Josh isn’t 21 for another month and isn’t old enough to be allowed access to the sinful place. Daddu, so close.

So, slack on the religious values and saying very little about the political scene, the vacation went without a hitch, only one argument between the folks and a small one at that. And we have half a week of this same existence after the vacation. Nothing’s not never gonna get em’ down, Daddu, what to do? You have a week off in addition to your vacation and you are getting bored already, I see it in your eyes and you just need to think about Cincinnati when yer down, but its not working, but remember! Sarah Jessica Parker is from Cincinnati, remember when you found that out? But argh, it’s not working, but the Reds game was great, Pena got that grand slam in the 6th inning, but it’s already soooo far away!!! Gastonia, hellish sinkhole quicksandtrap tripped me up again!

And so the day before yesterday Momma say Momma say you don’t need to go that way, pleadin’ don’t go watch Fahrenheit 911, it’s all lies! But I gotta live Momma.

And yesterday Daddu sayin’ “You old enough to vote for yerself, son, yer old ‘nuff” said. Who ya gonna vote for?

And today Daddu is a grouch and says I’m wastin’ his money I never asked for and drivin’ his car which I never asked for and being a financial hindrance because of this life I never asked for. Oh grow up Daddu.

here,

Thu, 01 Jul 2004 06:52:20 GMT

“He Sings For,” or "Greatness; I'll Help You as Many as Possible!"

I sit in a room of judgment.

Around an array of famous eyes,
You could make them out
In a guessing game:
Bob Marley;
Jesus Christ!
Byrned by the glare of Wood’s
Burning stare
The Sandman the Spiderman
Spiegel and Lee and Yorke
Cummings and Campbell
Vonnegut and Voltaire

I had eyes on my every move
Gandhi Gandhi Gandhi
Buddha!

Canonize greatness engender timeless
More or less we are asking the wrong questions:
When is now? What time greatness? Preparation how?
Cuz’ the “Giant Book of Challenging Thinking” puzzles my way to a thought
Low
Like this on a string, a man on a string, a thin taut thing,
Singular trapeze, above the world without a sound or song but a
Singular responsibility to make it transform the speak-spark human
Mark of building budgeting
Sleep sour hero-eyes behind the minds of empty lives
Propagated by the books where physics lie
To die again to die again
Torment human minds again
Torn again Torn within
Song sleep sour sing mind again
With ease my friend, Trapeze
Ascend

Everything I ever thought I’d do was great without my lies within my fate within my grasp my last breath (gasp!) I thought easy to superhero out into it into out of it sink slip and be proud of it but sour grapes make bittersweet meat out of me of it could only make me think that greatness was out of place out of shape for a
Death-trap-hazard-half-assed-lath-crap-lizard-graft-amassed-meth-rap-blizzard-staff-crass
Empty monkey nothing that wants only to be something,
If not helpful.

Oh what a day that was

Sat, 12 Jun 2004 23:05:59 GMT

…I’ve done it…

…what once was impossible…

…was reality, last night…

…David Byrne… rocked my socks…and my head exploded as I sang very loudly into the startled ears of the people in front of me, and danced on the toes of those behind me, and my energy reached such heights as to make Mr. Byrne himself look directly at me for THREE WHOLE SECONDS. I kid you not.

Actually, D.B. rocked on Antonio’s sock, drilling a hole into it. And Anton accounts for the night after the concert in a very curt, but appropriate way, read here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/putridbob/

And I would be dancing and the music was perfect (because D.B. strikes fear into his band-mates, the sort any Christian would appreciate) and I would look up and there he was, a wax replica endowed with the fever of dance and the likeness of David Byrne, and I had to check myself because it looked like him, danced like him, and sang like him, but so did all of the recordings and movies that feature D.B… but no I wasn’t far off and he constantly moves his hips, I don’t think he can control it, and he had a dance that resembled a vulture, and ecstasy set in when “What a Day That Was” played, but sooner.

Happily, I live the rest of my life, fulfilled.

Mon, 07 Jun 2004 08:52:33 GMT

MAGIC. The word is life, science, esoteric, alchemic, prudent. Distracted by this outlet, I turn on my computer again, its gentle buzz and fan clouding my mind. The sound says the light is conjured, a technology far removed from my understanding, but I use it anyhow, in ignorance. Magic is the secret power of gods or is the substance, the fabric of reality. Harnessed, its light draws me to the monitor like a moth. Harnessed, humanity gathers its wits and has magic.
But I don’t understand it, I use the vernacular like air. I understand little about air. I’ve accepted giving up on expectation. Of course I expect, it’s the jargon of civilization. Tomorrow never dies. Expectation really means the second coming of Christ, or perhaps the assurance that something will power my computer. Never give in to these expectations, never betray your shiftlessness.
My keyboard reads: shift, lock, control, delete, end, insert, home, escape. Enter/ a command? It also has a “power” button. As well as “wake” and “sleep.”
Keyboards are the wand imbued with magic potential. Our arcane runic symbols inscribed, we combine, knowingly “spelling.”
And I have been spell-stricken, sick with power and without understanding.

the dude abides...

Thu, 27 May 2004 21:13:49 GMT

According to the "Which Big Lebowski character are you?" quiz:

Why don't you check it out? Or we cut of your Johnson!

blip

Mon, 17 May 2004 18:27:45 GMT

http://home.earthlink.net/~hipbone/index.html

And about the black backdrop of NINTENDO fame/games…

I found an interesting site that has idea association games created in the spirit of Hermann Hesse’s “Glass Bead Game.” It’s a wonderful site and the webmaster has captured the spirit of the “Glass Bead Game” in playable formats that are very simplistic, but could lead to greater ambitions. A player could take the site’s offered formats and build upon them in an infinite series of associations (forming a crystal-like structure; the provided formats are symmetrical), or a player might create their own board design. The webmaster has one board that is based on motherboards for a computer.

Using the “Psyche’s Board,” which consists of ten circles/ideas structured in the shape of a triangle, I tried to find out what the black backdrop dream symbol meant. The Psyche’s Board is set up in a way that almost always describes three aspects or diverging ideas of a central idea. Sorta gives an idea a spatial feeling. The webmaster claims that this board is good for insight into dreams…
Grouped together:
-Nintendo/Night stages Super Mario Brothers/linear movement, inaccessible
-Space/Foundation/Night
-Existential void/Dark Depression/Death anxiety

With night stages/linear movement/death anxiety/depression/night/foundation in a ring around the theme, the Black Backdrop Sky. So it could just be a foreboding symbol of something that always hangs above me and is always in the back of my mind…something I’m not comfortable with- obviously, death.

acquiescency

Fri, 14 May 2004 04:07:42 GMT

So Antonio and I went out to Books-a-Villain and talked for a while about nothing. That is, that any sort of notions I’ve had about reality being a big zero, are now truer and reinforced by Anton. Having a mirror of oneself is reassuring, and my consciousness, as we also discussed, is all about some reassurance. Comfort to the ego, rub my big ego. That’s the place, mmmmm, good.

Not that this reality isn’t something, but that it’s all equalized. Furthering that thought, that we are equal to a rock, a spit, spat, spot on the bottom of the universe’s fat ass. A cancerous spot in most cases. Consciousness is a multi-dimensional rock, twisted so into itself that it is like looking infinitely at the space created by two mirrors. Man I’m deep. On a quantum level.

Anyway, the point is that we were trying (were we trying? do we have to?) to lessen the “specialness” of the spiritual by making it integrated into and as everything. Or, big whoop, it’s like anything else.

We lamented the fact that the universe wasn’t more, or that we couldn’t feel it as more, or that we were the total package. Being more, being inconceivable, is the way a universe should be, not just more, or just inconceivable in the sense we have it, or any sense. Just being something else. Inconceivable. But better. Butter. Yum.

And Antonio made the great point that physical actions are all based on self-preservation and that implied that the ego controls will, and ego is again a mixed up result of distorted reflections. Super-ego and spirituality are constructs to build a framework for sanity, prolonging the body, the organization of universe-stuff/essence. You may destroy your ego, or your ego will destroy you, but your energy-stuff isn’t going anytime soon.

Come to terms with your existence, stick it out, cut it up, poop it out, you still have to be it in one way or the other. Deal with it, you twisted, knotted nothingness rock.

And Antonio also pointed out that early home video game systems, like the sacred NINTENDO, were based in a purer fantasy. New gaming systems are all about representing reality, movement through real space and emotive situations. Fooey, that’s for the movies. NINTENDO was strange, with its rigid side-scrolling and flattened, blocked space. I have one symbol that reoccurs in my dreams that was taken directly from the 8-bit and lesser video game world. There are stages, say in Mario Brothers or Mega Man, that feature a screen and ground/scenery that scrolls with the player but the backdrop remains a black nothingness. It almost feels solid, this black backdrop, but you know it isn’t. It’s the space outside of heaven. It’s the place where you can fall off the screen and lose all of your extra lives.

forgotten

Wed, 12 May 2004 07:43:28 GMT

Fucking look at me, doing the things that I’m always at, not bad, but not exciting people have always sat and made meanings while on their ass, the past has passed,
I like fruit flavored candies and sleep induced phonetic phonomenoms, when I can spew multiple meanings and unsheathe heated strands of verbosity,
Bureaucrat
Official empowered person of the people
War mongers and heroes
Most people just lose me on the cause
Complain and rally or support and cohort with or against the political powers that be
Call their representative, voice their opinion manically, flyers, books, reports and papers, news news newer
I’m lost on the current situation
I’ve never held a position
Vie the curriculum
But of course the political heads and party runners and majority challengers all seem the same
The type of figure is inherent in the system
And we all like our symptoms that the system gives
What discomfort! Would we have if we up rooted the government?
I stand for a something I can’t conceive
I act in a world which results in nothing
I want to be ruled by the silence and agreement in two old people sitting together
Under volleyed stars and margined walls
Buildings on both sides
4 or more sides to each building
Vaulted skies, catapulted, atmospheric highs, spaces between, mounds of earthen mess, gaseous greats mirthful might of mythological god delight who cares?

“Lord Krishna

I will teach the deepest mystery
To you since you find no fault;
Realizing it with knowledge and judgment,
You will be free from misfortune.”

“Arjuna saw in that universal form unlimited mouths, unlimited eyes, unlimited wonderful visions. The form was decorated with many celestial ornaments and bore many divine upraised weapons. He wore celestial garlands and garments, and many divine scents were smeared over His body. All was wondrous, brilliant, unlimited, all-expanding.”

In so many words, boo-yah.

“You are the supreme primal objective. You are the ultimate resting place of all this universe. You are inexhaustible, and You are the oldest. You are the maintainer of the eternal religion, the Personality of Godhead. This is my opinion.”

This is my opinion.

“O great one, seeing this wondrous and terrible form, all the planetary systems are perturbed.”

“If in jest
I offended you,
Alone
Or publicly,
At sport, rest,
Sitting, or at meals,
I beg your patience,
Unfathomable Krishna.”

filibuster

Thu, 06 May 2004 00:08:51 GMT

I Zimbra

(David Byrne/Brian Eno/Hugo Ball)

Gadji beri bimba clandridi
Lauli lonni cadori gadjam
A bim beri glassala glandrid
E glassala tuffm i zimbra

Bim blassa galassasa zimbrabim
Blassa gallassasa zimbrabim

A bim beri glassala glandrid
E glassala tuffm i zimbra

Gadji beri bimba glandridi
Lauli lonni cadori gadjam
A bin beri glassala glandrid
E glassala tuffm I zimbra

from 'Fear Of Music' (1979)

baby, i'm a richer man

Wed, 05 May 2004 20:08:25 GMT

Today was really grotesque
I got out of bed and that was that

I feel a bit strange because we've just moved to Idaho and there's a weird smell in the house.

I'm so hardcore. Me and Buzz went to the mall today, and I stole a whole heap of stuff. I got a Good Charlotte CD, a couple of DVDs and some new boots. Buzz got caught, but he fought his way out, and then we stole some lady's car and smashed it into a phone booth.

Last night I had to go and pay Joshua's bail. He's such a jerk. He got arrested for punching the Walmart clerk in the face for refusing to sell him beer. He's only 16!

I want to tell the world to Customize.

I am updating this journal for the first time in ages, because I've been in prison.

Today, I got a digital camera! Yes! NO! Wait, Yes!

I want to say thanks to my dad for giving me my own computer and digital camera. Here's a photo of my room. The weather in Ontario is cold. I have nothing more to say.

I went to the doctor yesterday, and he said I have bipolar disorder, and should stop smoking drugs.

You should all do this quiz! It's amazingly accurate. You just put in your name and birthday, and it will tell you what job you'll do when you grow up.

the rules committee is the most powerful committee ever

That's enough for now. But I'll leave you with Customize.

Created with the Gregor's Semi-Automatic LiveJournal Updater™. Update your journal today!
Powered by Rum and Monkey

Mon, 03 May 2004 21:23:48 GMT

DAMN, DAVID BYRNE IN A MONTH, ANI DIFRANCO IN A WEEK, AND GOOD SHIT TO SPREAD AROUND. MY PLAN IS TO CORNER MR. BYRNE AFTER OR BEFORE THE CONCERT, GIVE MY HEART TO HIM IN SONG, AND AFTER HE HEARS THOSE MOST SERENE SOUNDS BELLOW FROM BENEITH MY BOSOM, HE’LL BEG ME TO GO ON TOUR WITH HIM, TO RECORD AN ALBUM ON HIS LABEL AFTER THE TOUR, AND THEN MARRY HIM (DON’T WORRY AMANDA, YOU CAN MARRY HIM TOO).

I’M DRUNK.

I'm not the wallaby I used to be

Mon, 03 May 2004 14:50:38 GMT

Geezus, I can’t believe I slept for half a fucking day. I dreamt of everything from a Blondie pyrotechnic extravaganza to a vision quest in which I tried to sneak into a cult stronghold, drink beer in the movie theatre without being caught, and tried to save the mythic man from being burned alive.
So now I am up, I have to go to class, but not without fitting in an episode of rocko’s modern life. “Heff, this is bonzo, what’s in it?” I found a 5 episode tape in the Wal-Mart 6 dollar and under dvd bin (same place I found True Stories). “Heff, you're, you're-“

“Naked!”

And the B-52’s sang the intro to Rocko’s show… Heffer’s such a cow.

My building has every convenience, its gonna make life easier for me...

Sun, 02 May 2004 08:02:27 GMT

“At the even earlier age of two or three years Klee had a dream about the family maid in which her sexual organs were revealed to him. “They consisted’, he later confessed, ‘of four male (infantile) parts and looked something like a cow’s udder.’”

“But Klee’s attachment to animals was rarely of a silly or sentimental kind. It is true that... much later in life, he could be heard conducting an entire telephone conversation with his son, Felix, in animal noises. It is also true that as a man of thirty he could still be moved to save the life of a young sparrow.”

For the love of Fish Magic, I hold Paul Klee in the regard of Master of Phantasmagoria. What man could be so mythic, expressively childlike, and yet simultaneously phantasmagoric? I knew a man strictly of a phantasmal protoplasm persuasion, and he wasn’t nearly as rhythmic or colorful as a work by Klee. Because Klee could rapport with nature better than the average 18th century Romantic, and because his line was truer, you couldn’t beat his message with a stick:
“John the Baptist, get the hell out of those potato chips.”

I thought a lot about Klee’s influence on my own personal language of shapes today. Having a “line go for a walk” is the most simple way to get from here to there when constructing a work. I round my corners and bend my lines. Most of what I say is lies, but only until they are fulfilled; then they are prophecy.

I smoked in a line that lead me exactly where I wanted to be. I found Jonathan at the film lab as I walked back from Tate street. I had been looking for him earlier in the day and couldn’t find him. He found me, yelling, “I SEE YOU!” from across the street. We made a song about 3 hours later and I sang with it “A color the shape of blue,” which soon became a story about leaving when you aren’t wanted. I found that I could sing for the first time; my true voice is rounder than I had thought it would be. That’s just the problem when I attempt to sing- I try to force it and I jump between singer-styles. Well, tonight was just different, ok?

If I can, tomorrow I will go back and sing again and I will make a painting about singing. Klee played the violin, I believe, and was quite good. He also talked to people like a squirrel. Go figure.

Sat, 01 May 2004 03:56:48 GMT

So the storm has finally passed and as a result I’ve sat in my room all day, alone, very much awake, as opposed to asleep (like everyone else is/has been around here). But now that the sun is down we can all leave our autonomous holes-in-wall/rooms/beds and gather in the streets and discuss going somewhere, doing something. Alcohol would be an undeniable solution right now, but it is nearly midnight and I think any gatherings have either happened without me or are over with or not happening at all. Happenstance is the stance I take with most of my actions. Damn I’m hungry.