Monday, September 23, 2002

Remember Bigfoot?
This is from the Website.

Right off the bat, ill tell you im a 16 year old kid telling absolutely the truth so god strike me dead. I hope you dont take my report as bogus because of that.Let me explain my situation to you: I live, and have lived,on the Molalla river for most of my life, and never thought twice about walking around at night or anywhere period. About 2 months ago, i was alone in my Grandmas house using the computer, when i decided to go home[my house is only about 50 yards away]. As i was stepping outside the most hideous feeling of bieng alone and fear thumped my heart.I kept walking in terror, when, all of the sudden, about 30 feet off to my right, i heard a loud thumping sound crash out.From there on, bieng distorted by my act of running faster than ive ever moved before, i could swear i heard the distinctive two legged foot steps vearing toward me from off the trail between houses.I raced in my house, slammed the door, locked it and sat in the living room to calm down from my strange experience.The oddest feelings flushed through me then, and now. Now, before you dismiss my story as a frightened child running from noises, ill have to tell you of the strange past our 45 acres of land at the end of the dickey prairie road has had:

Around three years ago, when we had cattle and cows fenced on our property,i noticed casually of how they would always stay together and go near the barns at night, then, one day, we discoveredtwo of them killed up in the woods by the drinking creek. The killings werent average killings either. The cows didnt have a scratch on them, both had brocken necks and their eyeballs sucked out cleanly. Since those experiences, im now scared to go hiking and travel at night. Yes, average signs of fear, but, i have the weird feeling of bieng an Intruder. Thank you for your time sincerely, Shawn Murray

p.s. Im a beleiver.

ALSO NOTICED: Before the incident[about 2 years] 2 cows were killed, and ever since it happened, theres a strange silence at night and my mom was awakened by something "banging on the house"

OTHER WITNESSES: Only 1, me. I told my brother and stepdad when i ran in the house.Before the incident, i was typing on the computer.

OTHER STORIES: When i was in 4th grade, my friend heather and her brother were taking out some garbage when they saw " a giant white monkey" walk up the hill and away from the trash cans.they lived about 5 miles away, and moved to texas about 6 months after that happened. It scared them so bad that they slept with their mom and dad in fear. And, about 5 years ago, i heard that some big investigators came to look at some tracks across the molalla river from where i live.

Sunday, September 15, 2002

As I've said before, I grew up in a town surrounded by Titan II missle silos. Every Saturday afternoon at 1:15 I heard air raid sirens being tested. I got used to being uneasy and afraid. I thought that I would very likely be incinerated well before I reached adulthood.

This feeling has never really left me.

It's a dangerous time.

And now Iraq. It seems to me that the stale and hollow arguments put forth by the administration for invasion have little basis in fact.Saddam is a dictator, a bully-boy, a dangerous loose cannon. But is it enough to warrant a unilateral attack? Pakistan has both nuclear weapons and enough Al Qaeda operatives within its borders to be a cause of real concern. Iraq has been on the Bush table since long before 9/11. How convenient that it fits in so well now, particularly since the attempt to destroy Al Qaeda has been such a dismal failure.

So what next? Air Strikes, most likely. Ground troop deployment. CNN. Wolf Blitzer.

It's no surprise that these men would have so little forsight, but the fact remains that if a full-scale attack is launched the likely scenario of Hussein launching chemical attacks on Israel and Israel retaliating with nuclear weapons quite possibly will ignite all all-out East vs West war. I am hard-put to see what advantage lies in such a course. But I am equally puzzled at the advantages of drilling in Alaska.

The sheer amount of 9/11 information is staggering. articles in The Atlantic, The New Yorker and Harpers all take different approaches. The Atlantic has done an exhaustive three-part series on the deconstruction of the Trade Center site, while the New Yorker has focused more on the personalities involved.
In all of these pieces, the unwavering sense of patriotism serves as a backdrop. Proud to be an American. United We Stand. Etc etc etc.

Weird how this corresponds with a trend in American entertainment of seeing former pop culture icons debsing themselves in a variety of ways to recapture past glory and a few bucks. Donny Osmond's head covered with leeches. What next? Hulk Hogan vs Mister T midget-tossing Gary Coleman and Webster for distance? Hell, I'd watch that.

Happy Sunday. I feel worse than ever..

Friday, September 06, 2002

Listening to Fifty Cent at the office, I am struck by how different he is from "mainstream" rappers such as Dr Dre and Snoop Dogg. I was going through some elderly collections of MP3s I have on disc yesterday and found a big file of hiphop that featured Warren G, the Dogg, et al. Frankly, I was a bit taken aback by the coarseness of the lyrics. I mean, they were pornographically crude, talking about jammin' nigga meat into you mouth bee-yatch and all that. After I was done laughing I began to dislike it. It was not inventive, and beyond 8th-grade "who can say pussy the most times" humor, not funny at all. The voices were cool and the music was great, but shit!
Fifty Cent is a change from all that. Mind you, he's still crude, but he's a fuck of a lot mor real. Of course as I say this, the song is sayin BITCH, this nigga's gonna take yo ass home fo a gang-bang, nigga. Ah well.
At least there's Mingus, who inferred all of this without resorting to crudity.
Heard from Erica today. I met her through the Uberhaus submission site when she was but a stripling, a 15-year-old poet with a sarcastic wit. She's started college recently. Encourage her to keep in touch, will you?

Monday, August 26, 2002

Better today. Amazing how a Monday can be better than the weekend. Didn't do a fucking thing yesterday. Thought a lot, walked a lot, but that's about it. Olivia's mom has taken it upon herself to fill Olivia with fear as a protective measure. The godawful media circus surrounding the recent murders is just gross, with hundreds of people driving from all over state to stand around the outside of the property. All the stations have round-the-clock coverage, filling most of their empty time by talking to idiots in the crowd. Almost all of these citizens say that
1.they have children
2. They came "for a sense of closure for the families of the girls"
3. That you need to watch your babies like a hawk.
They don't mention that they are ghouls, bored and wanting nothing so much as to be on TV.

So Olivia's mom has been making her watch this shit, telling the poor kid that she can expect the same if she's not careful and that she shouldn't play with the neighbor boy because he might want to see her undies.

It makes me really mad. The kid is 8. Surely she needs to know that there is danger, but going out of the way to scare her is just stupid, I think.

Thursday, August 22, 2002

Odd how negative thoughts can run away with you. Haley's reading Naomi Wolfe's Misconceptions, a terrifying book of the facts of pregnancy in America today. Disheartening. Doctors are in the business of sickness, not wellness, and this fundamental attitude is reflected in the way pregnant women are treated. The baby is something to be extracted, a trouble-causing agent that also needs to survive. Episiotomy, caesarean sections, epidural anethesia... all options duly and regularly exercised. Infant mortality is down tremendously from this approach, but perhaps certain societal ills can also be traced to it. The sense of disconnect many of us feel might be deep indeed.

Wednesday, August 21, 2002

Whew. After much screwing around, I've re-enabled the comments system I had under Blogback. They are no longer accepting new members, unfortunately, but I've had them up for some time. The Flash blog was a drag because the raw text files made for poor searchablity. I get a surprising amount of random searches through this blog and I hate to disappoint. Enough of the technical matters.

It was a trip looking at the old Uberhaus site. The Internet archive is very cool indeed,especially if you've been messing with it as long as I have. The dot com graveyard is littered with corpses of dead sites, all of which are readily accessible through the wayback machine.

I've been scribbling a fair amount into a little black notebook of late, reading and scribbling, scribbling and reading. It's the thinking that I'm fond of, but the writing is an important element as well. It tethers me in the world and somehow makes me believe that everything has a point. Such a simple thing, really.

Wednesday, August 14, 2002

Time was when man had a heaven, decked and fitted out with endless wealth of thoughts and pictures. The significance of all that is, lay in the thread of light by which it was attached to heaven; instead of dwelling in the present as it is here and now, the eye glanced away over the present to the Divine, away, so to say, to a present that lies beyond. The mind’s gaze had to be directed under compulsion to what is earthly, and kept fixed there; and it has needed a long time to introduce that clearness, which only celestial realities had, into the crassness and confusion shrouding the sense of things earthly, and to make attention to the immediate present as such, which was called Experience, of interest and of value. Now we have apparently the opposite of all this; man’s mind and interest are so deeply rooted in the earthly that we require a like power to have them raised above that level. His spirit shows such poverty of nature that it seems to long for the mere pitiful feeling of the divine in the abstract, and to get refreshment from that, like a wanderer in the desert craving for the merest mouthful of water. By the little which can thus satisfy the needs of the human spirit we can measure the extent of its loss.

Time was, indeed! O for the unreachable and perfect past! That Hegel... I don't know that lamenting the loss is much in the way of comfort. Why is it that the smallest lack is so keenly felt while the greatest abundance can be completely discounted? Perhaps negative power is indeed the superior. Or at least the more efficient (discounting the argument that the smallest amount of light completely dispells total darkness). Perhaps God is a gray man and wants everythng to be indistinct and fuzzy. Or perhaps God has just moved out of the neighborhood and is seeking greener pastures.
Hey baby, god belives in YOU say the Christians. Without the baby part. O Brother.

I am stirred somewhat by the challenge of my current fiscal situation but I know that at the end of it at best all I will have produced will be a small pile of money. And dear lord another year is gone. I must remember that I am still but three years into my five-year allotment to try to liberate myself from having to work at shit I didn't like. Ambitious, I suppose. I have taken some time away from it, but having not achieved the goal I can hardly but dwell upon it even at rest. I have been occasionally writing poems, but they come out like I had spiritual stomach flu.
AH well, I have a wonderful wife (glad to see her back after what has been a damn-near six month absense) and a charming kid. And it's back to the first question, the one about lacks.

Thursday, August 08, 2002

A raving screaming fight with my wife this morning about the same old shit. Money mostly, but also about how she feels that I am doing nothing at all for her (like going out and getting a real job, etc. etc.) She has a point. I screamed and broke shit, she screamed and cried. It always is this way under pressure. We have a huge fight and everyone feels like shit. Like stabbing yourself in the leg, only more painful.

I think it comes down to a lack of trust. We don't know each other well enough yet to unconditionally trust one another and so under strain we fall apart. On each other, and very messily. I say the meanest shit when I am angry and regret it mightily afterward. My opinion of myself could hardly be lower these days.

Wednesday, August 07, 2002

So here I am blogging in the class I'm teaching. I've developed an unfortunate penchant for 1st person shooter games, gleefully gunning down pretend villians and liberally cheating whenever I get the chance. Turning 37 has been really hard for me. Why, I'm not sure. 37 is, I think, one of the unsung woe years. Lots of people I kow have had more trouble with turning 37 than 40.
We went last week to see the Nina which has docked at the riverfront. Even though it was a replice, it stank of ancient evil. A black ship indeed, it was Columbus' favorite. He was a bloodthirsty bastard, rupedly impaling bibles on pikes and carrying them through villages to demonstrate Spanish ruthlessness lest the Indios get a clue and kill the vastly outnumbered sailors. A very European technique (we must remember that in 1492, it was quite common for villaged to buy a pardoned prisoner's contract so the public torture could take place anyway; no one like to be deprived of their amusement).
Dreary thoughts on this bright day. At least I am not feeling quite so despairing. Maybe even a glimmer of hope?

Monday, August 05, 2002

I turn 37 today. More later. Or so I think now, anyway.

Friday, August 02, 2002

Things are much better in my on-and-off- again world. I fear I am utterly of the moment, completely blind to any other way of feeling at the time. At leat I've become facile at sending myself mental telegrams to remind myself that everything changes.
The Spanish have a saying that everythng changes but God. This somewhat limiting idea is a source of much comfort, I would imagine. It casts a loght of imperfection upon us, the creation, while assuring that any shhortfalls in life come from us and not the Almighty. Milosz has noted that there is probably no greater comfort to the evildoes than athieism because what could be better than escaping ultimate judgment? Certainly Goering lived fat and if he wasn't expecting hell than even his trial woul have been more amusing than otherwise. I often wonder about this belief in justice and balance. These make humans noble, perhaps, but the shadow they cast could certainly be a dark one.
Today I did some cartoons for the first time in a great while. >An old idea. But I sure liked the feeling. My tablet rocks. I have no excuse whatsoever for not doing more comics. Shit, I did the thing in Flash.


Tuesday, July 30, 2002

I feel awful. Today was a rough one for everyone, I suppose. Pregnancy has its ups and downs, but in typical fashion this one has been all downs. I winder if my wife has a taste for suffering. Our first year of marriage has had more than its share of hell, much of caused by her intense emotional reactions to trauma.
I am a heartless bastard I suppose. Life is not all bad, but when one feels as I do now it sure seems so.
So, in enabling Flash I've disabled my comments. Fat lot of good it does me to have them, anyway. I suppose you can still comment on the archives. "You" being a relative term, I suppose. But do check out the spinning infant surrounded by floaty heads. A pretty cool little piece of scripting, if I do say so myself.

Friday, July 26, 2002

Well I must say that a night of drunken etc. rambling goes a long way to restore peace of mind, if used judiciously. God knows I am all too glad my wife is out of town because I am, at 3AM, wasted drunk. I had the best time. Got a whole lot off of my chest, I must say. Let's see what good it does me, hey?

Wednesday, July 24, 2002

I just read through my archives. I used to be so much more thoughtful than I am now. What the fuck has been happening to me that I abandoned myself? Did I really think that I would feel better if I just shut up and ignored my sould and spirit? Did I think that keeping the peace was more important than telling the truth, at least to myself? I wouldn't know the truth now if it came up and shool me by the hand. I have become pretty fragile. i used to be so robust and strong, too. Now I feel as if a breeze might shatter me.
I'm pioneering new ways to despair. I lie awake and think horrible thoughts and wish for cancer. I fantasize about bullets tearing through my body, plan suicidal hikes and drives. I feel sorry for myself and then feel contempt at my own self-pity. I turn 37 in two weeks and have accomplished nothing of what I dreamed of doing in my youth. I haven't even been to Europe. I feel numb and hopeless, worse than I have felt in my memory. It seems that I have comprimised everything I am for everything that I thought my wife wanted me to be. And as a result I have lost what grip I had upon myself. It was always tenuous at best.
Sound familiar? I certainly hope not. I wouldn't wish this on anyone.

Saturday, July 20, 2002

It has been all too long since I updated this blog. The Uberhaus site has lain fallow for about as long as it ever has. I am unsure whether to even continue it. Haley hates all mention of Uberhaus and the bygone life it represents. Tpp damn bad because it represents most of my best stories. Because I have let this log go for so long I can pretty much safely assume that it has no more regular readers, so I can attack the truth with rather more zest than is usual. Or at least I can pretend to.
Last night my friend James was over with his wife and their two kids. We had a bit of a barbecue. True to form, I poured much wine and before long James was quite drunk and revealing such indescretions as his hatred for Mr. Plymouth and his lust for pregnant women (of which Haley is a lovely specimen. After a point he was quiteclear in his rage against corporate America, rich people, inequality and so on. It was a bit much because his opinions were pretty juvenile and poorly-thought out. Not that he didn't have a point, but it's just stuff we've all heard before. The world is vastly unfair. None of knows what we will do nin a crisis until the crisis is full upon us. Talking about how bad the Nazis were is a bore. James' wife Amy was pretty embarassed. My wife has been in her time too, i suppose.

Wednesday, May 01, 2002

Actually, I feel pretty bad about this stuff. Sub2rainEN is super cool and here I was giving her all this bull. She strikes me as someone who I would value as a friend and now there is no way it will ever happen. Freak that I am, I lied when the truth would serve me better.
This blog is configured so that you can't tell when it was most recently updated. I seem more current than I am, I guess. I have several all-flash blogs I've been using to great effect. They are very fun to do, for sure. it's always the quality of the writing that pans out in the end. Which is why the attendence here is so mediorcre!

Wednesday, April 17, 2002

Every so often it's nice to pretend you are someone else.

From An IM chat I had earlier:

Sub2rainEN: Hi, sorry I keep missing you on IG. It stinks.
telesphory: no lie there. sucks
Sub2rainEN: Yep.
telesphory: how are you?
Sub2rainEN: So does this mean we're both narcissists?
Sub2rainEN: Fine and you?
Sub2rainEN: What are the odds of you finding another mirror photo, though, that's the thing.
telesphory: very well, thanks. had a bit of wine earlier.
telesphory: ah, long odds
Sub2rainEN: Always helps.
telesphory: one thread behind.
Sub2rainEN: Yeah, not like it is something you could search by in the matches.
telesphory: sure.
telesphory: What did you have for dinner?
Sub2rainEN: Pork chops and applesauce
telesphory: wow.
telesphory: very american.
telesphory: or maybe chinese
Sub2rainEN: Nope, a Brady Bunch line. One pork chop with apples.
telesphory: peter being bogart.
Sub2rainEN: plus wilted asparagus. They packed up the salad bar before I had a chance.
Sub2rainEN: Yep
telesphory: I hate that. Smearing up the sneeze guard.
telesphory: Dinner at beefstael charlies?
telesphory: beefsteak, I mean?
telesphory: Although stael works, too.
Sub2rainEN: Nope, there are meals included where I live.
telesphory: Ah. Are you institutionalized, by chance?
telesphory: Not that there's anything WRONG with that...
telesphory: Or perhaps a school?
Sub2rainEN: LOL (really), no...but sometimes it feels that way. It's like a dorm, so I can relive college in perpetuity.
Sub2rainEN: Yes, but you thought institutionalized first. Very telling.
telesphory: Well, it IS New York.
Sub2rainEN: True.
telesphory: Giuilani's gone. Be very like Bloomberg to put Internet terminals at riker's...
Sub2rainEN: Thought I met far more freaks in the suburbs. Nothing else to do, I guess.
telesphory: That's all of America, my dear
telesphory: I'm looking out at 44th street right now.
telesphory: Times Square is so fucking clean it breaks my heart...
Sub2rainEN: I didn't realize the Chrysler building was lit all night.
telesphory: really?
Sub2rainEN: I'm looking at it now.
Sub2rainEN: ESB is dark.
telesphory: I can't see it from my window.
telesphory: Red White and Blue most of the time.
telesphory: My block is lit like Christmas.
Sub2rainEN: Yep, it was tonight, but it's already turned off tonight.
telesphory: Wonder why...
Sub2rainEN: I think it goes off at midnight or 1.
telesphory: Maybe for peace in the Middle East?
Sub2rainEN: No, it was on earlier.
telesphory: Oh yeah...
Sub2rainEN: I figured the Chrysler kept a similar schedule.
telesphory: So, the dorm thing...
Sub2rainEN: Yes?
telesphory: never heard of meals included before.
telesphory: Rent control, yes. rent stabilization, yes..
Sub2rainEN: It's a hotel for women. Most of them include meals.
telesphory: but MEALS?
telesphory: Ah...
telesphory: I don't qualify.
Sub2rainEN: I guess most people think those went the way of virgins in the '60s
telesphory: Virgins in the 60's had a rough go...
telesphory: The Kennedy years and all
Sub2rainEN: Nope, but some take senior citizens. Some are all men and they are cheaper.
telesphory: I've been in a few now at again. They all seem to be named St. James.
Sub2rainEN: Hadn't heard of that one.
telesphory: So, you really can't think of a lie? Good or bad?
telesphory: Or was that just for the ad?
Sub2rainEN: No, I couldn't at the time. Sure I've told plenty!
telesphory: Oh yes.
telesphory: Unavoidable in a polite society.
Sub2rainEN: But not one that seemed particularly interesting.
telesphory: What do you dream about?
telesphory: If you don't mind me asking?
Sub2rainEN: So often I don't remember.
telesphory: Lie or dream?
Sub2rainEN: Dreams -- often mundane. Like I'm at work/school and something happens, a certain person comes up or calls. Really dull, the ones I remember.
Sometimes I get chased by a killer.
telesphory: I like the little warn icon at the bottom of AIM. So telling of the kinds of converstations one has here.
Sub2rainEN: You?
Sub2rainEN: I don't have as many problems on AIM as ICQ -- get all sorts of marketing crap and porn URLs on that.
telesphory: Oh, i dream of places mostly. An airport. A mountain city. People I barely remember. Sometimes it's really nice, sometimes not.
telesphory: Oh yeah. Hotmail is the wprst for that stuff.
telesphory: Not that this is one of those conversations, mind you...
Sub2rainEN: I know! AOL was pretty bad when I had it. Friends on AOL inevitably delete messages from their friends by accident, wading through all the spam.
Sub2rainEN: Thank you.
telesphory: Do you work? I mean, a job and all that? Your profile said you're a writer...
telesphory: A tough go in the best of times
telesphory: I mean, it is late and all
Sub2rainEN: I had a job. Got fired last week. Or, as I like to think of it, emancipated.
Sub2rainEN: Yourself?
telesphory: Ah. What happened.
telesphory: ?
Sub2rainEN: It was secretarial, paid the bills anyway. But I need time to write and create and pursue freelance stuff. So the entire time I was there, I begged to have an appropriate work area or at least a few hours a week so I could do the more complex stuff, that required concentration. My desk was in a hallway for months, even during construction (jackhammering!). Then I got moved by the copier.
telesphory: Jesus. No. I fortunately or unfortunately do not work. It's weird. My great-grandfather Lucius was one of the Ball brothers.
Sub2rainEN: It was bad news. I wrote my boss a memo asking to work from home a half day a week or somewhere more secluded at work for an hour or so a day, so I could keep up. His response was that he couldn't meet my demands for a private office (which I never mentioned).
telesphory: Ball Jar. I'm sure you've seen one.
Sub2rainEN: I've owned a few.
telesphory: That man is an ass.
telesphory: You'd probably work more. Guilt is so much more motivating than shame.
Sub2rainEN: I had to force the issue. It's one thing to have a day job and I'm the kind of person who has a work ethic. But I am also creative and need to have a life, so I'm not willing to work overtime and take work home after working a full day, everyday, just to get by and still be behind. Screw that!
telesphory: So anyway, I had money jammed down my throat. Being weathy is really weird. really guilty. If you are born to money you lose the American dream. It's reversed, actually. Fitzgerald had it all wrong.
telesphory: Yeah, screw that.
telesphory: Good for you. Ethics are so misunderstood.
telesphory: Unfortunately, the culture says you are what you do.
Sub2rainEN: Hmmmm...never thought of it that way. Though recently I had a crush on a boy who I thought might have money and it made me uncomfortable. It can be hard to cross class boundaries.
Sub2rainEN: Not that I'm a person who believes in such things, but it can become an issue.
telesphory: This is the US, tough. It's not class. It's money. If you found fifty million in a suitcase it'd be the same as if you were a Kennedy.
telesphory: Not so in England, but the whole country needs to take a good crap in my opinion.
Sub2rainEN: What kills me is when money becomes an issue in dating. I've heard so many guys complain that women only date guys with money and that is the only thing women find attractive about guys. It's funny, that's never been a consideration for me. It never occured to me anyone else would "take care of" me but me.
Sub2rainEN: We do still have a line between new and old money.
telesphory: Maybe it's that money will make men confident. Or feel imprtant. Oddly, I usually hide it as much as I can. Grifters, cons and so forth are all over. I'm young, but I've been educated by some hard cases. I used to run away a lot. Stayed at some hotels near the Bowery, actually. Park Ave to the Bowery by way of Yellow cab.
Sub2rainEN: Which I'm reminded of whenever I see "Cribs"
telesphory: Yes, there is a line, but it's not as etched as you miiight tink. It's manners mostly. I've met some very courtly homeless before.
telesphory: Cribs?
Sub2rainEN: Nope, the complaint insinuated that all women were gold diggers.
telesphory: Like men aren't.
telesphory: That man was an ass, my dear. An absolute ass.
Sub2rainEN: It's a show on MTV, where they go to pop stars' homes. Really tacky.
telesphory: Ah. I have a big ass stereo but no TV whatever.I am wary of "any" "all" "Always" and "never"
Sub2rainEN: It wasn't just one man, I've heard it again and again. It's like we're living in a Marilyn Monroe movie and the only possibility is women trading their looks for money. What of ugly women and poor men?
telesphory: Although I saw Fear Factor once in a bar.
telesphory: The best they could do, toots!
telesphory: No, seriously. NY has been about $$ since day one.
telesphory: Not unlikely that many people share that callow philosophy
telesphory: And there is some truth to it, but generalities are largely nonesense.
telesphory: men and women both are gold diggers. With no diggers there'd be no rush.
telesphory: Ball made it's money on canning, you know.
Sub2rainEN: Yep
telesphory: Frugal women with big gardens.
telesphory: Tomatoes. Peas. Corn.
telesphory: they were spud diggers. And their men were poor.
telesphory: its
telesphory: I mean
telesphory: Do you live in a basement, perchance?
Sub2rainEN: Nope. Often work in them, though.
telesphory: I thought with your moniker...
Sub2rainEN: I was reading Kerouac at the time.
telesphory: Ah. Normal Mailer said that On the Road was "typing"
Sub2rainEN: LOL
telesphory: But then again, he stabbed his wife at a cocktail party.
Sub2rainEN: I never finished the book, I couldn't get into it.
telesphory: Short man complex, you know?
telesphory: On the Road is very depressing. It's a gay love story, i think.
telesphory: I think Jack was in love with Neal Cassady (Dean)
telesphory: he sure is mooney over hime
telesphory: I like Bukowski pretty well. John fante. Alice Munro.
Sub2rainEN: I never got into that one, either. Boring and pretentious.
telesphory: A young man's writing. A cultural event. Not very interesting except as an artifact.
Sub2rainEN: Guess that's it. I missed the boat on that one.
telesphory: Who do you read?
telesphory: Say, you like the Brothers Johnson?
telesphory: For music, i mean?
Sub2rainEN: Haven't been reading lately, but some favorites are Plath, Margaret Atwood, Fitzgerald. Haven't read nearly enough.
telesphory: I like Sylvia well, but her death haunts me. Which Fitzgerald do you like?
Sub2rainEN: Gatsby. Tender is the Night I didn't get at the time. I think I was too young to understand the whole relationship.
Sub2rainEN: Bernice Bobs Her Hair
telesphory: Fitzgerald was all over the rich. He was in love with whole idea of big money.
Sub2rainEN: I'm reading Plath's journals and the writing is phenomenal. Better than many writers' published work.
telesphory: His story "The Diamond as big as the Ritz" was written like porn.
telesphory: Oh, she had talent. When she offed herself her husband Ted wrote The Iron Giant for their kids.
Sub2rainEN: Yeah, he had a morbid fascination with the rich and fitting among them.
telesphory: he was pretty gross about it. Married to a lunatic didn't help. Neither did the drinking. Hemingway's A Movable Feast is a must-read for the Scotty fan.
Sub2rainEN: I've been realizing with this job how sucked into that world I've become. I don't have any room in my brain for the things that are important to me, like books and music. I'd been thinking of quitting, taking something with a lower salary and lower demands, so I can have a brain again.
telesphory: It's hard.
telesphory: You get out to see music much?
Sub2rainEN: True, it's an expensive city.
telesphory: jesus, yes.
Sub2rainEN: No, I've completely lost touch with music.
telesphory: Because it's expensive?
Sub2rainEN: I've been thinking back to about 5 years ago. I made half as much, but had far less stress, always made the time to read and write and have adventures. Somewhere along the line, I drifted from that carefree self.
Sub2rainEN: Partly the expense, partly just losing touch with what was going on in the world in general.
telesphory: You have anyinterest in seeing Elvin Jones on Saturday night at the Blue note?
telesphory: I could send a car for you
telesphory: And be in it, of course...
Sub2rainEN: I just made a date for Saturday night. That's a sweet offer, though.
telesphory: Ah, my luck
Sub2rainEN: I've been meaning to hit the Blue Note.
I lie, I went to BB King's a few months back to see the New Jazz All Stars or somesuch. Only because a friend was in from London.
Sub2rainEN: Thank goodness he came to town. It was so great to listen to music, have a nice meal, drink a few bottles of wine.
telesphory: That's a cool place. I slipped out to see the Mahavishnu Project at Bottom Line a couple weeks ago.It's really hard to meet anyone. My friend took that horrific pic of me for the ad. He said that the ladies would like it.
Sub2rainEN: LOL
Sub2rainEN: I wouldn't think attractive people would have a problem in this town.
telesphory: My butler, actually. If you can believe it. My parents sort of keep watch one me, you know?
telesphory: I'm of age and everything, but they are somewhat unimpressed with my self-discipline.
Sub2rainEN: Sure, my parents would, if they could.
telesphory: Mine can and do.
telesphory: I'm in the bedroom typing this on my laptop.
telesphory: They don't live here, but I am almost never alone.
Sub2rainEN: Me too. Of course, all I have is a bedroom!
Sub2rainEN: It's terribly ironic that this is the kind of place good families sent their daughters in the '50s to keep them pure in the big, rotten apple.
telesphory: that's the Bell Jar. Rehab and all. They don;t trust me. One weekend I flew thirty perople I hardly knew to Paris and we all partied for about four days until my dad put a stop to it.
telesphory: It was ugly. Paris is a big town for E and we were EEEEEEEEEEEEEEing hard.
Sub2rainEN: I spent my rent money on a weekend in New Orleans last month. It's just a matter of scale.
telesphory: I think you've got me beat. But being busted by French hotel police when you're frying is no picnic.
telesphory: I like you, Sub2rainEN.
Sub2rainEN: I beat up a guy who I thought broke into a neighbor's apartment and had to talk to the cops while stoned out of my mind, courtesy of the local homeless hippie godmother of Haight Street. Talk about paranoia!
Sub2rainEN: Thanks, you're cool yourself.
telesphory: Beat him up? Right on.
telesphory: My name is Luc. Lucius Ball IV. Lucius Ball the Last, I am prone to calling myself.
Sub2rainEN: I thought he'd broken in and was lying in wait for a girl who lived there to come home. He was drunk and humping her bed when I got up there. It sickened me. I dragged him down the stairs.
telesphory: Cool!

Sub2rainEN: LOL
telesphory: I hear someone stirring. My door is locked, though
telesphory: Isn't this sad? I feel like Bruce Wayne.
telesphory: The butler's name is Alfred, by the way. Swear to fucking god.
telesphory: My parents are really sadistic.
Sub2rainEN: Hilarious
Sub2rainEN: Could be worse.
telesphory: He's a great guy. Big black man from Trinidad. Huge stiner, which is nice and not so nice.
Sub2rainEN: They could be sadistic AND poor. Ha!
telesphory: stoner, I mean.
Sub2rainEN: A stoned Triney butler named Alfred. Too much.
telesphory: I could deal with that. A sadist with money is raw indeed. I tell you. Imagine you are on your own, having fun and you get nailed. Wham.
telesphory: Yeah, he's cool. But hard, too. He likes Elvin Jones, so off we go to Elvin Jones.
telesphory: I could run. I might. I've tried before, but I get caught by my cards.
telesphory: You know? I can't get enough cash to go far. I'd need top shrug it all and get a job, I suppose. Then my story'd be worth telling.
Sub2rainEN: I've been on my own for years and my mom still nags me, as if she has a right to say anything about how I spend my money or live my life. Parents are parents.
telesphory: Yes, I suppose they are. i'm envious, though. I feel pretty useless most of the time.I suppose my time is coming. Sooner or later I'll be free.
Sub2rainEN: You could plan ahead, buy a coach ticket with cash and horde a bit of cash for a month or two.
telesphory: I need probably six months to stay ahead of the detectives. I'm watched, too. Likely this session will be gone over at some point. Even my laptop is not my own.
Sub2rainEN: Once I took Greyhound across country for a month. I only spent $1500 for rooms, meals, souveneirs, tours, everything.
Sub2rainEN: Then don't log it.
telesphory: Greyhound is a great idea. Maybe I could fly somewhere like El Paso and take the bus from there, eh?
Sub2rainEN: I started the trip at the Port Authority. They have passes for 2-8 weeks. A lot of people turn their nose up at Greyhound, but it was one of the best things I ever did. NY-CA.
telesphory: Oh, I don't. But somehow it gets found. I use a Windows machine and I think it leaves a log wheter you want it to or not.
telesphory: NY-CA?
telesphory: Cool.
telesphory: Do you keep this AOL handle? Could I reach at it another time?
Sub2rainEN: Yep, it was a blast. Stayed in youth hostels -- cheaper and you meet people. I still keep in touch with some of the people I met on that trip.
Sub2rainEN: Yep, I've had this handle for years.
telesphory: very nice. I've got to go just now, but I've enjoyed our chat very much.
Sub2rainEN: As long as you're an adult, do what you want. You have to decide if you'll be controlled by the money.
Sub2rainEN: Kind of how I decided about my job, but on a different scale.
Sub2rainEN: Thanks, I enjoyed it too. Have fun on Saturday. Heck, everyday!
telesphory: I'll write you again soon. Maybe I'll do it, you know? I'm 21, so what can they do to me? I'm supposed to go to Harvard Law in the fall, but it's about as appealing as a bad sunburn just now. Maybe I'll fuck with them and go running for a bit.
telesphory: You're a treat. Take care.
Sub2rainEN: Enjoy your life, if Sept 11 taught us anything, it's that it's too short to take for granted.

Friday, February 22, 2002

Damn, I have neglected this log. i've been busy setting up flash-driven blogger sites for clients. Works really well . I'm here to grab the comments script to use...


Saturday, February 09, 2002

Hi to all the family squattin' in the fields. I feel your pain.

Tuesday, January 22, 2002

Follow me here is absolutely fantastic. Makes me wonder what I've been doing with my weblog.

Ah, I was also talking to Astro the other night about utter candor in weblogs. He told me that he had once built a client site that for some reason had failed to load and defaulted to his blog. As luck would have it, that day's entry was full of references to how much pot he'd smoked and his latest porno doscoveries.

Needless to say, he lost the client.

Something to think about.

This is the best refutation so far of drunken Dubya's pretzel incident. It's also the only one.
I am really sick of being lied to. I'm tired of other people's depression and self-delusion governing my life to such a great extent. Looking at the so-called "great lives" of the past two hundred years, I am particularly struck by those who have conquered their depression and go on ahead in spite of it. Merriweather Lewis, Winston Churchill, Theodore Roosevelt... they all battled depression in one form and another. U.S. Grant, too. But was it the extraordinary circumstances that allowed them to rise to the occasion? What of famously, romantically depressed people like Dorothy Parker, Sylvia Plath, Kurt Cobain? Surely they are as identifiable by their disease as their accomplishments?
Perhaps it's that the first group made no excuses at all and the second was famous for the eloquence of them.

At any rate, I'm sick of it.

Thursday, January 17, 2002

I have a new job, teaching Macromedia Dreamweaver at a community college. I think I'll do well, although I am a bit nervous. I need to get my college transcripts from Arizona. Haven't seen THEM in a while, brother. The idea of needing a class to learn Dreamweaver seem ludicrous to me; it's a very intuitive program. I have been alerted to the different learning capabilities of the classroom, however, and am preparing for a lot of handholding. I have turned a corner and gone into teaching at long last. My my. What the future may hold down this road (poverty, most likely!)

So, I think that Mr. Bush was drinking all alone watching that playoff game. Yep. I think he's done it before and that this time there was a big bruise that could not be explained away. A pretzel lodged in the throat, for God's sake? I four-year-old coulkd come up with a better excuse that that one. I think that the Bush administration has reached its pinnacle and now will need to answer for its behavior. Such as Mr. Ashcroft's rounding up of a thousand people, not releasing their names and trying them with tribunals. Dear lord, we stand for it. United we stand for it.
Of course, the American populace has always been ignorant. As Dany Ackroyd said in Tommy Boy, "What the American People don't know makes me rich."


How are YOU today?

Tuesday, January 15, 2002

I keep tripping over a box of old photos that is in my office. These photos go back years and years. Why the fuck do I still have them? Why are they in my office?
Often these unconscious little things are "tells." Red flags, perhaps, or perhaps little tics in the machinery that betray a larger flaw.

Monday, January 14, 2002

Well, I feel better. For one I am not drunk. I admit that I have some serious problems, principal among them a horrible propensity to overreact. I've not had the best luck recently, but to carry on in such a fashion is pretty degrading. Sob sob. S.O.B.

Anyway, I need to get some help for this shit.

Friday, January 11, 2002

Oh yes, a great selfish debacle.

I have long since ceased caring about what happens here in the NetWorld. Once my lifeline, it has now been relegated to a big bunch of claptrap. Self-indulgent drivel such as you might find in any bar. Lacking eye contact, but what else is new?

I am reminded of Lulu having Jimi Hendrix on her show. Lulu, full of late 60's pop glam, was thrilled to have such a sensation on her show. She was going to sing "Hey Joe," a song made famous by Love. It'd be a duet. Jimi, high and freaked out by the breakup of Cream, had other ideas and immediately launched into an imprompteau (and totally unrehearsed) "Sunshine of Your Love" cover at top volume. Sloppy, loud and rude. Lulu left her own stage in tears.

I feel like setting fire to my own house and dying in it. I feel like vanishing into the merchant marine, like going to a country like Argentina or Afghanistan to find out what real suffering is like. The tortured, self-indugent gentry who flocked to the trenches in 1916 have much in common with me. Soft times have begat a reluctant, self-loathing fool who craves validation and deeper meaning. I wish to not keep repeating the same mistakes but I keep on keeping on. My wife (new wife) feels abandoned and alone, victime of cruelty and wicked self-indulgence on my part. My seven-year-old daughter talks to me of suicide. My father talks to me of new computers and long-dead poets and excuses for why he never follwed his dream. My brother is silent, suffering in his own world.

My dog is dead, killed by me at animal control, and I didn't even have the courage to be with him at the last.

Anything I thought I was is a lie, and what I am left with is less than I would desire. Dreams have died hard in me, but I've not been willing to work for them, prefering divine intervention.

This sounds like a suicide note, but I have no intention of killing myself. I do not believe in anything except eternal defeat (and, oddly, reincarnation). I also believe in the redemptive power of art. I do not believe in nobility, humanity, altruism, holiness, rightousness or any ultimate good. I do not believe in any definition of God as such (except as regards to capitalization). I don't believe in purpose except as a rationalization after the fact.

I am empty, deceived. I am useless. I have failed and am not even rich to compenate myself for such emptiness. I have shed no truth burt have squandered my gifts minute by minute on the most trivial of pursuits. I have no protoge or legacy, nor do I believe that they would have value had I developed them. I admire those such as Czelaw Milosz who continue to struggle even as old men, but I do not believe they have any ultimate good effect on humanity. Except for immediate self-serving purpose, I believe that high art is is sham, a cowards game. Homer wrote the only war story and it is always the same however well told.

Why I am even trying to emote this in this venue is a mystery to me. The optimist in me would say that this is evidence that I do indeed believe in something.

Nihilism, true nihilism, can only be arrived at and never espoused. Belief in nothing is no belief at all. The most torturous state I've seen so far is quasi-nihilism. I cannot truly believe in nothing because I cannot release my idea of myself, my dreams and my ambitions. Everything must fit into the mold I have cast. I am 36 and act as though I have all the time in the world.
TheTao says there is freedom in nothingness. Show me this.

Show me this.