Getting ready for the big day, one of the elves comes to me, he has his hat in his hand. And I haven't ever seen an elf with his hat off, so this can't be good. He says they can't find the list. I'm so goddamn busy I'm ready to shit bricks and mail them to Timbuktu. What list? I ask. THE LIST. Says the elf. Jesus Jumping Christ in Red Plaid! I exclaim. Did you ask Mrs. Clause? Yes! says the elf. So after that, we tear up the workshops, warehouses, storage & lofts, we rifle through the stables, look under every tree, present, box, trunk, hay pile & bail, turn over every wreath, look in every nook and cupboard, to no effect. Cookies and Cockeyed Crumpets, we're F--d! No List. Who had the List, last? They name the elf, Fonterloughighoblo, and he's not here, so we all go to his house. And lo, there he is, passed out dead drunk, and the list is in shambles, all over the place. I can't make head or tail of it, the pages all mottled, crumpled and smudged. I see he used some of it to start a fire. So there it is, with no list we had to improvise. Because of Fonterloughighoblo, 2006 was the year everyone got a crate of Spam.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
(Selected excerpts from a Journal, transcribed exactly as it was written, circa 2001.* The pages were found in the junk raked out of a partially burned house on Elm Street, in San Carlos, CA, in 2006.)
....Just finished moving into Bellingville, TN.**
Just my luck -- whose kid has the two-stroke scooter? Who lets thir fucking kid ride the goddamn scooter up & down the road at 2 in the morning?
Of course, nobody knows who the kid is. Then, later, when I go to the police they let slip that it is, apparently, one of their kids. The police chiefs’ kid.. Can I speak with him? Who, what?
I go to Martin Blackwell's house. Our absent chief of police. A faded note on the door all words blurred except: florida
There it goes again -- I get out there with a maglight. Under the dark moon, I hear the scooter shrieking along -- and my light shines all the way up the windblown road, leaves flying and it shines on nothing. Cliché blast of icy wind, the sensation of being brushed by something -- what?
I instinctually begin to back up. I shine the light where I hear footsteps, up the drive. Just blowing, twirling leaves. I turn and when i start to climb the stairs i'm bengmuffled by something - prssing on my arms tripping me panicking I get back inside, drenched in sweat, trembling, I realize what it felt like -- a hand. No bike. No person.
A word a name whispered in my ear. Who, I promptly forgot. A girls.
There is a shadow in my yard, at twilight. My imagination may be getting out of hand. but after seeing it hang around at dusk, flitting around the yard in my peripheral vision, I imagine me saying to a shadow in my yard.
What do you want?
Fun. Says the shadow. I want to have fun.
What does that mean? Who are you?
Nobody. Says the shadow. Nobody now.
Tan Martin Blackwell points a .44 magnum at my chest and says his son is dead. He was killed by the first gulf war.
If I come around again, he will kill me. If I ask around about his son, around town, he will kill me. If I tell stories about scooters he will kill me. I don't know if I hate him, if I feel pity for him, I just say goodbye.
He watches me close the fence to the drive, tears in his eyes.
Carl sits on my porch. Carl rides his scooter at 10 at night. Carl's girlfriend used to live here, back in the 1980s.
At the library, I look up his obituary. Carl died after his discharge. The librarian tells me he walked into the woods with a rifle and blew his brains out. Who else sees me? The phone rings in the middle of the night. The voice sounds faint, slurry. I'm warning you. Stay out of it.
Via the internet, I try to find the family that lived here. I stay away from the library,
Dictating from St. Johns Hospital
On Wednesday, October 10 a police car pulled away from my house when I come home. I find Blackwell in my kitchen.
I woke up one side of my face warm, the other cold. Blackwell in firelight. In the woods. My hands tied.
I can remember what he said, almost word for word.
I want to tell you about my Son. My Son. He was the first in this family to ever go to college – football scholarship to the state school here – no big deal but it was something for us. He was so proud of himself, you should have seen him on graduation – poly sci. I didn’t even know what the hell that was. Then he joined up, because he said some day he was going to run for President, he had it all mapped out on note cards, I still have them. And he needed to serve so he joined up and he was decorated – he was a goddamn war hero. Saved his squad from an entrenched position, something like that, but he came back changed. Had no fire in him anymore, was good for nothing, we tried to help him but his mother, she got killed by a drunk driver. And he rode that goddamn 2 stroke scooter after that. Was fucking a 17 year old girl who was running away from home all the time. What a fucking mess. So she runs away again and my pal sees her in Memphis, loitering, on drugs, so he calls and I have them do a special job for me -- a bag on her head to bring her back, because she’s pregnant. They hog tie the bitch and she strangles accidentally on the way back.
Blackwell puts more wood n the fire, takes a piss. Pushes back his hat.
Then my son, he kills himself when she doesn’t call or come back. I never meant to kill her. I never meant to kill anybody. I see her face on milk cartons now and again. She’s buried right over there. Under the tree. So you get up writer. Here’s the conclusion of your story, ain’t you happy, Mr. Writer? You’re gonna get up, go over there, and find her, and her baby. Get up you son of a bitch.
Nosy son of a bitch, poking your nose in where it wasn’t wanted. Fucking with things that don’t concern you.
He propelled me forward, over the fire, and into the tree, and I fell, scattering bones, A skull with fine straight white teeth stared up at me, with a few strands of faded blonde hair. And by that skull, there was a smaller egg like thing, with two holes.
I could see his silhouette, the gun coming up. The first bullet grazed my skull. My eyes were full of blood. As I started to move, another bullet broke my left arm.
I ran and ran, pitch black woods, down a cliff, then into a stream and over rocks and he followed for awhile shooting but then he couldn’t go on.
I think I heard him arguing with...and then they found him face down in the stream with two handprints on his shoulders.
* There is a Wednesday, October 10 in 1984, and in 2001
** There is no Bellingville, TN. There is a Billingsville, MO.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Friday, November 24, 2006
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Friday, November 17, 2006
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Sunday, November 12, 2006
what it is like to be all grown up
is to realize that there are people
who are better than you at everything
better than you by a million
times they just do it wow magic
but i keep on going
because mostly i'm stubborn
sometimes i'm sure i got some thing coming up inside
like a diabolical flower
In North Beach somewhere back in time
I dreamed we wandered the cavernous
from bar to bar
Until we found in a back room
A card game going on
With people all so familiar with each other
Laughing and drinking
Sweating and throwing down cards
Telling wild stories and bragging
And who was there but Joe Di Maggio
So Young and slim and his face shining
Full of himself and his friends
Yelling out and laughing in the dim light
He wore a brown suit and the table shone
I was dumbstruck because
I knew he was dead as I watched him move
Among the sillhouttes and smoke
I was in a time I had never existed
But here he was in my dream
In his prime
(I had this dream a few nights after Joe Di Maggio died)
Saturday, October 28, 2006
In Venice, in the Piazza San Marco, you are firmly not allowed to sit on the chairs and tables set out there. Even if you are ordering a cappuccino or mocha, you are not allowed to sit in the chairs and tables associated with that cafe. No, no, it is impossible! Impossible! Please do not ask why. After getting your drinks, you review phalanxes of empty tables and chairs. They are roped into sections for each cafe by braided thin steel cables coated in plastic. Mysterious and remote -- empty of all butts -- conceptual art under wheeling clouds of pigeons. (BTW - a mocha is a drink you give a little kid, and civilized people drink a cappuccino in the morning, not in the afternoon, you stupid American.)
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Depressed & pissed off
I watch a man who lives
In an apartment next door
Straighten things out
In his living room
It is dusk
Night falling hard
Like a ton of bricks
The man moves about
Picking up rearranging
Magazines and paperweights
Objects I cannot see
Yet it is easy to imagine
What he does the way
His shoulders move
I can make out what
He is wearing
He is bald
I am surprised
When I see his head bobbing
Very low next to the side
Of the back of the couch
His forehead almost
Disappears past the ledge of
The he straightens up
Looking at some odd thing
He found back there
He continues to busy
The window becomes
Light is falling
Falling falling dying
Just like my emotions
Seem to be smoothing out
Into my eyes
And as this happens
He looks out and sees me
Sitting across the way
He walks out of the room
With a few things
In his hands
A minute later he comes back
Maybe he threw the shit
Away who knows
He stands there
And he looks at me
And I look at him
He moves over
To one side of the window
And as the drapes close
Bit by bit
I imagine how
They must go
Monday, October 16, 2006
Thursday, October 12, 2006
In Austria, for Christmas, the hotel puts on a Christmas Eve bonfire and sing-along for the kiddies. After some songs, Santa shows up with presents, and our daughter gets a few nice little toys. Hot chocolate and cider for all. Very cute. Then I look close at the red paper bag the gifts came in, and I see that there's a sticker on the bag of a big leering Devil. He has a small child over his knee, the kid's pants are down, and the Devil is getting ready to paddle the crap outta the kid with a birch S&M switch. The kid looks terrified, tears spilling out of his eyes, and the Devil looks like he'd gonna bust a nut because he's so happy. Next to the Devil are chains and a wicker basket, to carry the beaten child to the flames of everlasting damnation. Then our daughter asks, "What are you looking at, Dad?" I say, "When you're bad in Austria, you don't get a lump of coal. No, you get beaten by the Devil and you get sent to Hell." I show her the sticker, and after a pause, she says "Oh."
After we get back to the hotel, I want to snag the Devil sticker to show everybody in the States -- but when we aren't looking, my daughter shreds it into tiny bits. "Oh!" says June. "You didn't like that did you?" "The Hell won't get me!" says Phoebe. "Why do you say that?" I ask. "Because if I'm bad, and I go there, the Hell won't be there!" "Where will he be?" I enquire. "He'll be out SHOPPING! Shopping for STICKS to smack BAD KIDS WITH!!" Phoebe yells, jumping up & down triumphantly. So, case closed. And I hope when I get sent to Hell, the Devil happens to be out at the Mall, replenishing his Infernal Devices. Or better yet, the day someone is damned, Hell just breaks down and can't be repaired. Just be extra good in Austria, don't forget that.
Friday, October 06, 2006
I miss you so
I’ll always miss you
Though things seem bent broken
Stretched all out
Beyond recognition or feeling
Here is something in us that loves
Loves completely and entirely without effort
Naturally for ever and ever
Inexhaustible radiant complete
But it still hurts
And I could only
For a few seconds
But they fluttered
In my head all
A ghost flock
A friend of mine
(as a child)
Pigeon in her
Almost 3 years*
At the time
She thought all
This is true
And also untrue
* My friend told me when she was about 3 years old she was walking down the street with her mother on a sunny windy day, and she was startled to see a white pigeon fly by close past her ear. When she turned, she couldn’t see where it went. So she concluded that when she cupped her hand to her ear, this soft noise she head was not the ocean, it was the pigeon now nesting in her ear…
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
One time I followed this
Beautiful young woman to
Her house from the N Judah line
To see where she lived
I wondered if she had a boyfriend
As I watched her in the twilight
Switching on the lights in
I watched in the dark
From across the street
Through the slits
Of the venation blinds and I wondered
What the hell I was doing
She closed the blinds
A television spouted
Blue light in another room
And I walked home
(two weeks later)
I got very drunk and I started
Knocking the carefully arranged
Bottles that I had
Supposedly meticulously set
To be out of my way
I picked up all the bottles
And I put them under my bed
And put on my coat and scarf
I took a bottle with me
Outside it was silent and cold
I walked along
And I decided to go to her house
Once there I amused myself
By drinking the beer
In the shadows of trees and cars
Looking up at the dark windows
Where I had seen her
I knew I was drunk
And it was cold
Very cold out there in the street
I was surprised how cold and quite
Everything was so contained
And I stood there in the night
And I wondered what I was doing
What the hell was I up to
I was acting like a fucking nut
I found myself opening the
Waist-high gate that was on the
Side of her building
As I entered the slot-like
Side yard I felt as if my head was
Bobbing independently of my shoulders
I looked up
And I could see
A few stars and the cold
Seemed to fall away
For some reason
I felt very amused
I was now very amused
Just standing down there
Doing nothing in someone
Else’s backyard in the dead
Of night quite drunk
Off my gourd
I nudged the cement
Retaining wall with my
Toe and I figured out
Which back porch was hers
I was that she had wrapped
Several of her plants
To keep off the chilly air
The cellar was locked
I pissed on the cement wall
And then staggering home
While I was unlocking
The gate to my house
A cop car passed me going
Up the street
Friday, September 29, 2006
So one day that was a day off for me, I woke up at 2.30 AM and I had nothing much to do, because Petaluma closes shop at about 10 PM and all my friends were asleep. It also happened to be my birthday. So I decided to watch “Field of Dreams” for an extra special happy birthday to me.
For some reason this night I kept on wanting to cry in certain parts of the movie, but I also kept remembering that this was, after all, just a movie – these people I was on the verge of crying over were actors who delivered lines convincingly.
Still, when the movie was over, I rewound it and watched it a second time – playing the good parts over and over again. When the sky had the faintest suggestion of light in the east, I decided to take the dog for a walk.
We walked a few blocks down to the main drag. As the dog crapped in a newly ploughed field that was the empty lot next to an ice-cream shop, I saw legions of commuters zipping down the boulevard, going to god-knows-what jobs where they probably got pencils grinded up their asses day-in and day-out.
I watched them and I was bored to death, completely alone with nowhere to go, and I am sure they wondered why I stood there on the corner, by the ice-cream shop with a Dalmatian watching them all zip along.
Later that morning after the dog had gone back to bed, my father gets up, drinks a V8 and reads the newspaper in the bathroom. He’s gone by 7.30. Then my mother gets up.
It’s funny that I think about this on today of all days, but it’s been about 12 or 13 years since my old man and I really got along, or had any kind of feeling, or relationship.
High School just about killed him and me. I don’t ask him the questions I want to ask because there is no way to ask the questions that could get at the root of the matter.
I think about this as I read the weather forecast.
July 11, 1990
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
For some reason I have been thinking persistently on this particular sketch over the past few days. I was thinking about how it looked when I was waking up this morning. I don't ascribe any meaning to it when I reflect on this sketch, because this sketch is not supposed to signify or diagram a real thing or anything that appears in external phenomenon. It just is a collection of lines, really. I drew it that way, as an exercise in connecting lines that seem to refer to something, but in fact, do not. Over time, this drawing has taken on some subtle significance for me. So here it is.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
This from one of my journals/ sketchbooks.
I mean, she's tired, really tired, and she comes to the cafe with all these books and she is so tired, with her cup of coffee & I hear someone saying in the background, "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON -- COME ON MOTHERFUCKER -- SHOW YOURSELF!" and the music selection is ending, all this winds down down down and she is sleeping with her hair on her books.
San Francisco, November of 1994.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
We got a few of these packets with meals while we were staying at the hospital after the c-section. I know institutional mentality can be this way, but should you really advertise it on the products themselves? But then I tried BLAND and I like it. And I can't seem to get BLAND now that we are home. I want BLAND. Now I find I cannot have BLAND.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Friday, September 01, 2006
2. Eve remembers being created while Adam does not. T/F
3. Adam and Eve had tall kids. T/F
a) Knew beforehand that God was ready to put the Universe together in seven (7) days
b) Likes to eat sandwiches (ham on rye) for breakfast
c) Remembers what it was like when he was an Angel
d) Had his own rebellious plans mapped out, but also felt free to improvise
5. When the _____ came out of the ______ they were really in the _______.
a) Apple...tree...deep shit
b) Devil...garden...deep shit
c) couple..Volvo...distant future
6. When I think of God, I feel happy. T/F
7. God feels happy when he thinks about me. T/F
8. God loves a sit down dinner. T/F
9. When somebody is missing something, this usually means that...
a) They have sinned
b) They have "Paid their 'Dime' and 'Took Their Chances'"
c) They have Sinned, but God has forgiven them
d) They are dying
10. Satan licks the key-locks with his tongue at my house. T/F
11. If you are Evil...
a) You know it
b) You know it but you deny it
c) You realize it from time-to-time
d) You hate getting up to do your laundry
12. God is...
e) Other (please specify) _______________________
13. Adam and Eve had tall kids. T/F
14. The last thing God created out of nothingness was a ______________________.
15. God likes to believe in....
16. Adam wanted to be a Auto-Mechanic. T/F
17. Eve was a Lesbian. T/F
18. One time Satan disguised himself as a woman and had sex with Eve. T/F
19. This test is going to send me to Hell. T/F
20. Heaven and Hell are indistinct once you are dead. T/F
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Friday, August 25, 2006
Sunday, August 20, 2006
i was fine
but she wasn't
she was a jerk
she was fine
but i wasn't
i was a jerk
do you remember those nights
when we were fascinated
with each other
there seemed to be no end
in the moment we inhabited
we were as delicate as two origami
poised by a window
with no idea how fragile
how transitory things are
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Monday, July 31, 2006
Monday, July 17, 2006
Day 2: I want Hazelnut flavored creamer for my coffee. I settle for French Vanilla
Day 3: Ibid.
Day 4: Ibid.
Day 5: Ibid.
Day 6: Getting coffee, I become irrationally angry. I say to myself, privately, in white hot emotional heat, "Why do I settle for French Vanilla? Why?"
Day 7: I try Hazelnut creamer in my coffee. It is then I discover all along I have not been drinking French Vanilla. I HAVE BEEN DRINKING HAZELNUT.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
1. Always be gentle, polite, and speak kindly and nicely at all times
2. Never throw things
3. Moderate nasty habits
4. Think, "I am attractive."
5. Remember to inculcate a feeling of modesty, and diligence
6. Never kick animals, or small children, especially at parks and in nature preserves
7. Use spittoons if you chew, or a handkerchief if you use snuff
8. Avoid any kind of low drink such as Vermouth, Gin that is sold in plastic containers, and soforth
9. Attend a Church occasionally
10. Do well, and fear not
Friday, July 07, 2006
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Monday, June 26, 2006
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Monday, June 19, 2006
Friday, June 16, 2006
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
He kept sitting by the open window after he had hung up. He kept sitting by the open window, after leaving such a stupid idiotic message, a message that made him look badly -- a confused and selfish person full of himself. He hated feeling that he was a confused and selfish person full of himself.
The light was fading. For some reason, he took the cap off a blue ballpoint pen. The cap was smooth and pointed like a bullet. He balanced it on the ledge of the open window. He looked at the bullet shaped cap, balancing on the ledge of the open window. It trembled slightly when a gust of wind blew in the room. Soon it would be blown away. But he would save it from going out the window.
He watched, and right when the cap was going to be blown away, and he would save the cap, a roommate came in the room. Startled, he knocked the cap off the ledge, into the night. Then he realized he had fucked up his relationship with Linda, to try and keep a bullet shaped plastic pen cap from falling out the window.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Haven’t you done it by now, fucker?
You have no lucky number, so get over it.
The harmless pranks of your youth will become the bane of your old age.
Glorious mediocrity will be your ultimate refuge.
Mistaken. About. Everything.
It would be advisable to not answer the phone for four months.
Confucius say, "Piss-off, flathead!"
God hates you.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
When God speaks to you, it is not pleasant, it comes through so strong. Your whole body becomes stiff as a board, as if you are paralyzed. It reminded me of an epileptic seizure. After God was done telling me I was going to die this afternoon, I got a pack of ice, and applied it to my head. Then I crawled across the floor and I called my brother.
"Joe -- its me!", I said, trying not to sound panicked.
"Oh, hi Bill.", said Joe, sounding sleepy.
"Joe -- I gotta tell you something."
"What?" said Joe, sounding annoyed.
"I just heard from God. Directly from God! It was terrible!"
"Oh?" said Joe, sounding more annoyed. Like he was going to hang up. But I had to go on.
"Joe - he said...God said --", but I couldn't go on because my fucking asshole of a brother had hung up.
That fucking asshole, here I am getting messages directly from God about me dying and my own goddamn brother won't even listen to me before he decides if he believes in me or not. Or believes in God or not. What an asshole. I hate him! I hate him!! Joe, not God, God. Are you really sure I am going to die this afternoon?
I wait, on my knees by the phone, but God doesn't say anything.
I think about my schedule, and wonder how I can avoid dying. What would kill me? Crossing the street to drop in on Sister Margaret's 5th grade class at 11 PM when they are to be discussing catechism? Having lunch with that tiresome group of ladies who are part of the boosting committee? Mass at 3PM for the departed Mr. Chiantilini?
I decide to try and talk to my lousy asshole of a brother one last time, before I could go out and die, according to God.
"Aw -- what do you want?", says Joe. "I've got a hangover."
"God said I'm going to die this afternoon."
Joe doesn't answer for about 15 seconds. "Well..." he drawls, "...can I have your golf clubs?"
I hang up on him. Insolent bastard. How I hate him. All sorts of memories and instances from our childhood flood back into my head. Like the time I strapped him to a wagon and pushed him down a hill, or the time he poured beads in my ear when I was sleeping, and we had to go to the doctor to get them out. That fucker.
I wash my hands and appreciate the large bruise throbbing on my forehead in the bathroom mirror. To hell with it. If I'm gonna go, I'm gonna go. I was a bit bored with the priest thing. Or guilty too, I walk down the stairs or the rectory, and into the strong sunlight. As I squint, getting used to the brightness of the day, everything is right in the world.
Interestingly, the last thing I think about is not about Jesus, or God, or my asshole brother -- but of Janice, from an affair I had three years ago. How she moved to get away from me. Janice, who now lives in Lower Manhattan, in New York, NY. I imagine she got on just fine.
This is the only great regret in my life. How I ruined her life. I cross the street, smelling her perfume, and that is when Janice runs me over with a Ford Escort, with a screaming baby in the passenger seat.
As I bleed to death in the street, I remember what I said to her when she asked.
"No." I said. Because I was afraid. I was afraid.
Monday, May 22, 2006
I wake up. Yes, thank God, I was dreaming. The sheets are creamy and comfortable. I have expensive pajamas. I live in a large house.
And as I wake up more, I realize; I hate my job, I hate my boss, I hate my mother, I hate my children, they hate me. I hate my house, I hate these sheets, and turning, I see I hate you. And waking up more I realize I am in Hell.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Friday, May 05, 2006
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Monday, May 01, 2006
Happy May Day! Sadly, one of our favorite cats died yesterday of a rare wasting disease called FIP, Feline Infectious Peritonitis. He had been sick for about 2 months -- losing weight, sleeping longer than usual, and generally looking poorly. The first round of tests were both hideously expensive and also inconclusive -- but a month later, the second round of tests belatedly confirmed that he had FIP, which is 99.99% fatal. We kept him comfortable, we told him it was okay for him to go, and he died in the afternoon at home, on his favorite couch. For his eulogy, I can say he was loyal, clean, affectionate, never begging for food or being a nuisance in any way, and he especially loved his home. He was a jumper, he enjoyed walking on the banister, and he liked to nap in a patch of sunshine on the stairs. His eyes were large and luminous, the most expressive and intelligent eyes -- full of love. He was so happy while he was here with us -- a castoff cat from the pound. We will miss him dearly.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Monday, April 17, 2006
Did you know that today, in 1578, Philip III was born? He was king of Spain and Portugal from 1598 to 1621. Many historians don't know this, but Philip III prided himself for his ability to balance tables on his chin, and pry bottle caps off with his teeth. He also was fond of a game called "Baacebal", attributed by the renown baseball historian Walt Swisserson as being one of the precursors of American baseball. Because of this, if Philip III were alive today, he'd be playing shortstop. But very few people know this. So All Hail King Philip III!
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Thursday, April 06, 2006
2. Thus, most meetings are a waste of time, because most meetings are not absolutely necessary.
3. Leading to the fact that the longer the meeting is, the bigger waste of time it is.
4. This is because (as mentioned before) meetings are inefficient, compounded with the fact that most people cannot speak and think constructively at the same time.
5. Because of this, you should reduce meetings, because they create contempt between people, and also result in confusion.
6. To force people to be concise, you should automatically reduce meeting times by 50%.
7. You should also forbid meetings that last more than two hours.
8. You should also try to have as few repeating meetings as possible.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Friday, March 24, 2006
Thursday, March 23, 2006
we raise the dead
we forgive the sinners who
do not deserve to be forgiven
we carve out the darkenss
we raise the fires
we burn the damned
in everlasting flames
every day a bomb explodes
we don't know why
you press on the accelerator
the clock says 4 5 6 o'clock
we've reached the holy land
we wrote the book
we guided the unknowing
and made them observe and pray
we raised the towers
we strung the wire
beat and starved the helpless
scatted their ashes
every day a new life begins
we don't know why
air in the newborn lungs
the baby cries
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
Friday, March 17, 2006
1. Put a camcorder around your neck, hold a map in your hand, and walk slowly while gawking at strangers in the street.
2. Keep a loud running monologue of everything that you see, and how it is different.
3. Enter a shop, and greet the person behind the counter with a loud melodic "Bonjuuuuurrr!" then laugh on how hilarious you are. Jovially find fault with products offered for sale, saying a few of them look disgusting. Really really disgusting.
4. In a subway, ask for detailed directions while standing next to a giant subway map, with a map in your hand of the subway system.
5. Complain wherever you are staying that there isn't enough hot water for you to take an hour-and-a-half long shower.
6. Insist people to give you times in AM/PM rather than the normal 24 hours. Also, refuse to learn how to tell time in 24-hour increments.
7. Get impatient with the waiter for the bill. Ask if the tip is included. If the tip is not included, say it should be, but you can't believe how expensive it is for what you ordered. Tip 1 Euro.
8. Comment constantly on all the bathrooms you've seen. Scream if you see a squat toilet.
9. Recoil from people who smell funny. Act like they have the plague.
10. Misplace small worthless items, and accuse staff-people of stealing from you because you're an American.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Monday, March 13, 2006
Friday, March 10, 2006
G: Sleeping is fun!
G: Sleeping is fun!
C: Seriously, I'm not kidding. Why?
G: Dreaming is fun?
C: You wanted us to spend half our lives laying around unconscious to creation, dreaming and thinking we are awake?
G: Now that you put it that way -- yeah!!
C: So we were designed to spend the majority of our time completely deluded.
C: You agree with what I just said?
G: You have a great way for summing up things.
C: I don't think that was a complement.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
G: Not exactly -- but you are right about blowing the budget when I created this universe.
C: How so?
G: We call this universe "The Fractal Universe" and it was just supposed to be a elegant joke. I mean, who would build an entire universe based off of fractals?
C: And what happened?
G: Things got out of hand. Seriously out of hand. On like, the third day.
C: So you really built the universe in days? And who is "we"?
G: Don't worry about the "we" part. And yes, I started the universe off in a few days -- like a week, as they say.
C: Let me backtrack here for a second if you don't mind...
C: You said "this universe".
G: Oh yeah. We, or I made mostly, a load of them.
C: You've made multiple universes?
G: You have multiple blogs, right? You even have a whole separate website.
C: So the universes you create are like blogs and websites for me.
G: Not really. But sort of. It's better than that. I'd like to show you the unbridled majesty of it all but it would probably end up killing you.
C: Well that sucks. How will I ever know?
G: Do you need to know?
C: I'd like to know.
G: Do you know what you want to know?
C: I want to know what the man behind the curtain is doing.
G: Ha ha. There ain't no man and no curtain.
C: If you exist, I want to know what power allows you to exist.
G: Aha. Cute. From "Her Bak". That is a nice sentiment. The big deal here, or the message for you to absorb, is to follow a correct & specific process of elimination. Then you'll realize what is to be realized.
C: Which is nothing.
G: Not quite.
C: What is your favorite color?
C: You have a favorite color?
G: Yes. Blue. I like blue. Blue is a fabulous color.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
But still, who is more important? I am 2.75 USD, you are 2.77 USD and he is 17.99 USD. We all agree it is outrageous to charge 17.99 USD for the Carnitas plate, whatever the ingredients are. Give us multiple beers, give us salt, give us limes. Cut the limes into quarters, so they are quarter limes. Drink up.
There, now things are looking better. The waitress says there is a typo in the menu. The Cartitas plate is 7.99 USD. Feeling better, we curse God, but we're just kidding. What a typo! And what kind of Carnitas is it?
Then, much, much later when Ego is feeling better, Ego sneaks up on him, puts him in a choke-hold and rubs his nose on the carpet. Ego rubs his face on the carpet so hard he gets a nose-bleed.
Monday, March 06, 2006
There are whole unique geographies and cities that exist precisely in my dreams. Some of these geographical and urban locations resemble places in the waking world -- I have portions of
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Friday, March 03, 2006
"Are you a time traveler?", he asks himself.
"No. Not exactly.", his double says, a bit uncomfortably. "Today is not now. I am in the future, and this is an illusion. Like a memory projection, reconstructed from my past memories."
"What do you mean, exactly?", he responds.
"I guess I am like a memory tourist. This is a memory. You are a memory of me when I was a young man.", the double says and tries to smile.
"What's wrong?", he asks.
"I -- we are dying in the future. This is a sort a final trip down memory lane, literally.", says the double from the future.
"Oh.", he responds.
"I'm so sorry to put you through this.", says his double, "This was one of my favorite days in my - our entire life."
"What happens today that makes it so special?", he asks himself, feeling crushed and excited at once.
"Today you are going to meet the girl of your dreams. And she will love you for the rest of your life.", says his double, "Only this time you won't have to meet her by pure chance. I know where she is right now. Get up. My gift to you."
And later, his double said gently, "See there she is."
And he said, tears welling up in his eyes, "What should I do? How long will my life last? When you go will I go as well? What should I say to her?"
"You should meet her. I don't know. I don't know. I'll tell you exactly what to say.", His double replied.