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|Thursday, November 21st, 2013|
|end of the civil war
"No. I'll buy him one," said the girl with the Russian accent. A shot of whiskey. I was on my way out. Didn't hear her. I was listening to the gray-haired ponytail guy from New Orleans.
"You mind if we do -- we sing this? You can sing. I can tell. I'll do the high part." He sure the hell could. We sang Don't Think Twice, It's All Right.
Both Russian girls had asked me to stay by that point. He doesn't hear that well. He'd never slept over in New York before.
I was dumbass not to use tags. There is a post from 2009 to 2011, I think. One LJ user knows. She commented. It is about the lineage of Muhammad. I can't find it.
Nico DMT did a phrase or two of one song. Jim Melloan was there. He knew it. Tonight at RevJen's open mike, saintrevjen
's I sang this:
My mama done told me
When I was in knee pants
My mama done told me
A woman'll sweet talk
And give you the big eye
But when the sweet-talking is done.
A woman's a two-face,
A worrisome thing that'll lead you to sing the blues
In the night.
Thanks Jim, for knowing the song, and backing me on the keyboards.
|Wednesday, November 20th, 2013|
|look I'm credible
We are filming a movie called Werewolf Bitches From Outer Space.
I have a small scene. My co-star's name is Kristen Schall. Faceboy is also in the scene. He plays an unbalanced cop.
Don't know Kristen. Hear good things about her.
Last night at the White Horse Tavern, I got the table I like, the Dylan Thomas table. Looked up and a woman with tripod and serious camera took a bunch of pictures of me. She used a long exposure and asked me to stay still, but these were candids. If anything comes of it I'll let you know. I was eating potato and leek soup.
|Monday, November 11th, 2013|
I passed a double-A test in this skill today. Was not pleasant, but OK. I'll try now to write about it.
|Saturday, November 2nd, 2013|
|Final onstage version of Werewolf Bitchez From Hell outtake
Read this Wednesday. Killed.* * * * * * *
SCENE: We are in a BAR. It is bright in the afternoon on a Sunday. Various PATRONS are scattered around the bar: a COUPLE in their mid-30s read the Sunday Times. Two SPORTS DRUNKS argue. A DISTURBED HARMLESS ECCENTRIC stares at his beer, mumbling.
RACHEL and KAT are also seated at the bar. Both are PUNKS, with slashed jeans and ripped t-shirts. They look sexy, with too much eyeliner. RACHEL and KAT look like they just rolled out of bed. They of course are the WEREWOLVES.
The bar is occupied by a BIRTHDAY PARTY. The GIRLS travel though the bar in packs of three. The GIRLS laugh constantly and throw their arms about, spilling drinks.
A GIRL: “Oh, you’re BAD, Susannah! AHAHAHA!”
Seven GIRLS laugh as the DISTURBED HARMLESS ECCENTRIC stares. He wants to go to the men’s room.
DISTURBED LOCAL ECCENTRIC: “Uhh, ‘scuse me? Excuse me, sorry, comin’ through—“
A GIRL, beaming with enthusiasm, gestures wildly and clocks the DISTURBED HARMLESS ECCENTRIC in the HEAD. He holds both hands to his cheeks.
DISTURBED LOCAL ECCENTRIC: “Uhhhh ...OW.”
The GIRLS ignore him.
CARLOS and JULIAN take up positions at the bar with their backs to it, Sprawling across multiple chairs. The DISTURBED HARMLESS ECCENTRIC tries to continue talking to his beer CARLOS has knocked the beer over with an EXPANSIVE GESTURE. CARLOS doesn’t notice.
DISTURBED HARMLESS ECCENTRIC: “Where is she? Where’s MOTHER? We were finally TALKING!”
Bass tones: “BRO! DOPE!” High notes: “EEEEE! RULLY? EEEEE!”
KAT and RACHEL have been scowling at the room, BORED. They see the DISTURBED HARMLESS ECCENTRIC’s spilled beer and lost bathroom. KAT scowls. RACHEL smirks.
KAT: “You owe him a beer.”
JOSH (not looking at KAT, looking at the air)
: “You’re good. No worries!”( Read more...Collapse )
|Saturday, October 26th, 2013|
I forget how alone I am.
|Saturday, September 28th, 2013|
I have two pieces almost done. One's satirical and one's sentimental. Both relate some part of me, except the first one uses manners to rank on how stupid manners are, the other ignores manners and tells the truth. The former's perspective is considered acceptable.
There is an old Latin expression: cui bono? Who benefits. The Roman Cicero said anyone who did not take every conversation as a chance to advance himself politically and get what he wanted was a fool. Cicero left himself no chance of asking why he wanted anything. You can't choose social success without conceding certain things you might say or do you know are unpopular. There's little place in the world for human experience, it's true. If you want a girl bad enough it means anything she takes up most of your thought. You say that out loud, you'll be sorry. Everyone likes fucking. Admit you like fucking out loud it drives most anyone away, most or all of them also thinking how much they like fucking in the retreat. Their reassurance to themselves you were stupid admitting the truth, they know not to be and won't suffer your consequences that reassurance, not very effective. I hate clothes. My friend said some Wednesday night women should be topless all the time. All she did was tell the truth. We are never supposed to say that, like it'd be way more fun if none of us were wearing clothes at this party it would absolutely improve it. The emotions on others' faces can be impossible not to read. Some guy walks into a bar, he's in despair, result: every person shuns him. A woman is clearly extremely nervous and not talking. No one will approach her and say what's the matter? Layoffs are barbarism. I know people they've killed, most people do. Only a minority of all the layoffs that have ever happened since the Industrial Revolution decided the survival of a firm. Any business, ten people or forty thousand if then entire workforce took a ten to fifteen percent pay cut, active immediately likely no one need lose her job. The reason Americans adopt so many damn kids abroad every year would have something to do with thousands of black children in the United States without anyone to take them in. We do not talk about that. Pro sports have detail, strong visuals and warrant some interest. Nothing is stupider than hundreds of thousands of Americans speaking to those next to them about nothing but pro sports so constantly any other topic's made obvious as frightening to them. No Democrat has ever volunteered to lose his tax privileges, job, loan interests rates or educational institution for his children to redress society's obvious unfairness to just some people but the draft of who'll just have to do with less never ends. No Republican's been so principled as to switch places with a poor Appalachian family for life. The American opportunity remains so available not one person who's benefited from it believes it's anything other than luck enough to give his successful opportunity freely to a stranger and prove he won fair the first time by repeating the process.
I am making do with society as it is to instruct myself speaking to anyone about constant pain burdens them unfairly and it is only reasonable at this time that no one is in any way involved in my experience now. Since 2008 Brooklyn's been infested by Manhattan people. Your bartender or waitress has no interest in you as a human being outside a continued revenue stream. Because there are no regulars, just clusters of homogenous millennials passing through wherever you are once, each night, social niceties like expressing interest in a visitor's experiences that day, profession, birthplace or romantic circumstance are reserved to the visitors in hopes they'll visit twice. I lost my two closest friends from college during the past three years. No incident, we'd stayed close always then overnight both were gone. No time for anyone outside work and the family now. That is some mangling you've both done to yourselves. One of them muttered as she left, not that I knew she was leaving then she'd had to lay her secretary off, new girl just 25 years with the firm. My Ph.D friend used the same tone talking about departmental politics, he's tenured. What I see is taking decisions (British usage) you know to be wrong setting you on a course known to you of silently trying to hesitate less about it the next time. Your employer makes you do something you know is wrong, because you sure the hell wouldn't volunteer to have it happen to you, in fact that's the real reason you have to do this to an innocent person, take her livelihood she earned away: so it doesn't happen to you. "Do it to Julia," said Winston Smith. Like Cicero I lost my friends because they can't tell the difference anymore between what they need and what they could need, the world irreducible they've lost that to themselves. I love both more than anything but I can't fight decided integral corruption.
"I, uh, well I should tell you I don't always return texts." Why you forget how? What do I need to know you mean, not returning a text, my guess is you text someone and don't hear back, you're confused, less sure of whee you stand with someone and it sucks for you. What are you some kind of show on TV? That's how you've described yourself. You're either too stupid to see the problem of repeating what you already hate yourself or so justified by your mood that minute I can't see why you'd ever need to communicate with anyone in the first place.
I've had insomnia four nights in a row, tonight included. How stupid I am, making excuses for pretty much the human race over and over every single day not one of whose behavior I can even explain, let alone respect is ripping at me. Past year or so, I've tried the Cicero way of self-betterment and consideration for others. It's gained nothing for me or anyone except kissing the ass of a social structure most justified, in full security for itself when it is punishing any public behavior that admits to life being painful, lonely or so dull it makes you want to die laughing staring at it, you'd never go along with it be like rolling in shit before piling on someone until he's crushed. I hate any speech that tries to forbid speech hoping for compassion or a listener unafraid of all human realities. I'm starting to realize any society that forces people to lie and say everything's great all the time is its own cause of the butchery and total abandonment inflicted all around us all the time and never admitted to. If I refused to obey any social expectation about speech, said exactly what I felt at all times no one would have to be uncomfortable unless of course truth reminded them of cruelty they knew they were wrong to do. If I made fun of any social behavior expectation that was at someone else's expense, shunning people with bad luck would get a lot more painful to try, the rest would be stuck seeing that.
There'w better engagement with the world that carves the safe place such it is home with the people there. I worked eight hours Thursday and Friday for the state and federal governments here. Keep a record of how much work you do someone else gets paid for you're already not sure, are you? The budget --your liabilities increase government, friends and family never mind jobs should you have one this week increase work you do on yourself unless you bill it. Guess how many vendors were told there was no way to bill for it, their work after it was done answer is all of them you work a lot for no pay and sometimes it fucks you up and you try to deny that. As much as you're doing someone else's job you're explaining to yourself nothing counts all that much there is no way of knowing why she didn't answer. Work for yourself collects bills, you've had to wonder about him and what he did that cost you. That a chargeback and interest, no text message does not demand an answer that is why we send them. The male-female dynamic survives the stupidest failures at undoing it these are its desperate part: sex
and </i>fucking</i> and cunt
, jerking off
weren't clear until me none of it isn't improving while I talk about it. We say gender and privilege and power dynamics all of it stays the same thing just people will not see that. No one sends me eight texts in ten minutes who's not a woman. Compliance rate text messages male 100%. We are all girls and boys every one of us's jerked it alone sad and shut off the phone idiots want it that bad sick of them it's which happens more divides us in the right now. This second I never want a text with no answer again. No one does. If I don't piss on rules this day forward I am lying to every one of my friends. You might not get to it for days. I have an Inbox unread for almost two weeks now. If you can talk you have to return any non-insane or menacing text to anyone, outside a funeral, dead series of hamsters that is one thing you don't return my text when I send you one in two weeks you decided no to. If you get so many texts dudes need a club to the head you are expert living with no answer I hate when you try to be this bitch out to prove it you are the weakest bitch I've ever seen. You'd kick that girl's ass on sight I'm due just what they deserve sure yeah. Look at me typical next to my typical most-loved friend. Christ you pick losers. I'm persuaded women build who they are on guaranteed men just not they don't hate themselves for it adding no hope or safety to the game except for themselves. That will fail at any moment no one tortured a woman's personality with guilt and horror so it can't cohere, obtain at cross-purposes except herself no one else'd be that good at it. They are, she is my friend because in her something's wants out of that same as I do. It won't change. I text again to ask why. Turned around the one who built the prison was me.
I'm back times of late to starting college. Unpacked Country Squires with dads snapping for no reason tuition x 4 years hit them in-between the moment they had planned. Quiet like the background hiss of graduation and its attendant Hell in train, shined up to head at it Sunday before Freshman Week I knew not one person was real, could not find discerning at all or any surprise run into someone in whom I recognized anything but the draft vogue I'd been improving four years to find yes I no longer cared. Very good positioning as it turned out I ended high school popular. I was resigned after. It's back to that off and on some time now ofr I could get lucky and all this is gone back in New York writing pellagra out fucking loud, is this eight. No them is dangerous anywhere near me long. Past few weeks iteral nightmares: are they like me, to be able to blank out the way they do sometimes, vanish so I don't know where they've gone, if they'll be back or how they could do that? -- I couldn't it'd kill me. That leaves me up for grabs to the place no reasoning kind people exist at all or I'm of no real importance to the few I know. Me I don't want to date. All I have to do is remember my last three girlfriends. I hear there are entire marriages like that, you stay strangers who don't even much like each other but as a couple you're presentable and the other one is reasonably clean. Love? --forget it no one in there who wants that. Every date I've ever been on, I had to stare at that, on all the time best face forward. That's exactly what I don't want. Unless she and I admit who we are to each other, nothing less than that I'm alone for good and she's pissed off too because staying positive 24 hours a day, fuck you, happy Thorazine people Jesus you must suck in bed. I don't want to lie that's why I suck at it. Every time I lie it's a vote to forget who I am or that anyone else is either: you have been reading the outcome of fear deciding to hide that way. Then you're sure you deserve to be in pain or that others need to be so you're not. That job you win or girl you get swearing everything's great all the time, is she worth anything really? How's that different from losing yourself alone too much of the time?
I'll pull together with my friends, they know who they are. Hell I need an existential hot tub with them yesterday. Unless there's a real place. That'd do it. We're all skittish and uneasy. We need each other. I know admitting the truth to my closest friends will cost me. I refuse to accept that. It may be unless I lie to every single other person that the procedure worked perfectly, I feel great I'll never work again but I love these two more than the whole world, I'm selling them short. They're scared of being abandoned too and I will never abandon them.
|Wednesday, September 25th, 2013|
Every board was slashed and in the scratches it looked like blood. I should go,
she thought. She heard her own voice screaming and didn't like it. Wronged and robbed. Who gave a fuck? --ROBBED. A woman wronged.
That's what people say who never GET ANY, they talk about other people, other women. Men, no one talks about them they're not that interesting. He robbed me,
she thought, fuck him. That was mine and now it's over.
Like a dog you kick, he should die like a dog.
Like a rope around her throat. She loved the handles, just the certainty of it, had fun herself that way .
There was a bird. She walked and there it was again. She kept walking and flat and dead, every one the same bird, on the grass the yellow fur had the identical black smudge on the left side of its crop. Each time dead yellow birds in their crud burned to death and fell spaced identically apart she looked to the horizon: I missed the fountain of them.
There were dead birds as far as she could see burned dead no loss. They were just lines, the sounds they made were lines, a cloud of dark lines. Color came and went but lines stayed. Because she'd looked once, kept on the grass because it would have to end at some point maybe tomorrow, then it DID END all in white nothing. It ate the color from her skin and she scrabbled back before she fell in the only dress she ever remembered she ever had. She was always walking or waiting on a line and accomplishing nothing. Just like last night,
she thought, that bastard I went nowhere and got nothing.
She had dead birds but nothing sweet, if there was a God like that it handed out dead birds.
There were no parents, no fucking parents, nothing but mailboxes, dykes, lunch, piano bar and no sound. My preschool for an eraser.I'll show him what he wants. Never shuts up, so sure he's a great fanatic no my sweet I believe you. My sweet. What if he kissed me --I could've tasted that. You're always dragging something and I thought you were dragging me, like I'd surround you and keep you warm. Your sister told me you were shivering, GOOD. She looks just like you except more masculine.
She walked to her bedroom window. You could've had ME, my treat! Should I let you see? It's all over, sweetie, I want you to know what *I* missed. I want you to hate me. You want some'a THIS huh?
she ran her hands down her chest, down her thighs racing you're not getting ANY OF IT.
It was exciting and she kept at it too. His house was the exact same as hers, he could've been next door or in Ipanema he asked about that once Ipanema. Walking or sitting with him, that was stupid!, wasn't SHE amazing?, one hand two hands she got herself off the same way. He saw or not, but Sally screamed and came. I've never used a comb.Mrs Brown, you've got a naked daughter
she sang without a word, holding fire at the mailbox after she shoved him under the schoolbus, every seat with one kid alone in a one-kid world and it greased van Pelt for days after Halloween.
|Wednesday, September 18th, 2013|
"What happened to your door?"
"Guess I've been away awhile."
"Last time, it was a cinderblock."
"I'm sorry ... I was hoping it was nothing."
"Sign of the times, I guess."
"Even when I was underage ... never got that mad at a liquor store."
|Monday, September 9th, 2013|
I want to talk about this fat kid Billy. His parents owned this unfortunate oil portrait of Billy age 9. It had this creepy, Vermeer lighting that might've glorified a normal child but with Billy looked like evidence. The portrait was no help hiding Billy's greasy pale skin, unnaturally white like the paper wrapping a roast beef sub from George's Pizza and tiny, feral eyes buried in pre-adolescent chub. Even in the oil painting they darted side-to-side either lying or planning to do so. Greasy black hair, ovoid face and the repulsive quality found in close-ups of African spiders, Billy's parents spent a great deal of money depicting their horror child accurately, then kept it in prominent view when it belonged in the Dark Shadows
Billy burned down an entire field, never got caught then the charred remains were paved over into a bank parking lot, so he told the story a lot. Billy was a neighbor kid. Dad said yeah, sure, ride the Go-Kart, Billy crashed it 22 seconds after launch into a mass of scrub then ran away. "BILLY McCarthy!," Mrs. Steegstra shrieked, "I've just received a call and BILLY McCarthy apparently bought BEER and some of you have been drinking it!" We were cool. We were guests at Michelle's birthday party, she turned 15 three days after me think I bought her a Playgirl. Later we left the party, which was dull, with Michele, who agreed, broke into the house next door and got baked. There may have been urinating in the house, a summer house, at the time by both sexes but I regret that. Urinating on the floor. Because we could. Billy continued to lurk about the edges of the party, the source of most of the fun, fake ID he got from the Combat Zone adult entertainment zone of Boston, as it said on the Welcome To Boston's Adult Entertainment Zone!
installed by the city, somehow by the time Billy returned home, his father had received a call from Mrs. Steegstra and become upset. Upset enough to shred all Billy's treasured Third Eye Marvel Comics psychedelic black light posters, or that may have been the time he smashed in the windshield of the former McCarthy family car he drove briefly before running a stopsign, getting sideswiped immediately then screaming at my friend Jeff, seated next to him he had to say he'd been driving or Billy would never be allowed to drive the car again. He was not, so one of us did from then on. A station wagon, Mercedes or not with its shocks all gone will drive but swim as it moves like a diffident whale dying from old age.
Every local parent hated Billy within a short time, sometimes on sight. His lying did not improve, ever, trying to talk past a cop age 19 Billy looked like a wiener caught with matches age 7. It may have been heredity: Billy's father wrote angry letters to the local newspaper denouncing the ready availability of pornography like Playboy
to children at every newsstand and convenience store in town. Billy's father's bedroom held a much more extensive collection of pornography including hardcore 8mm reels, or so it looked as we desperately held single frames up to the light in despair. Of course there was a projector. Billy had destroyed it. In attempting to operate the device, Billy ended any possibility of us ever seeing these films as intended thereby incurring additional wrath from his Dad and hatred from us. Only an earlier abandoned habit of filming anything in the household, including me with a film camera justifying the existence of the projector saved Billy from father-son bonding of the worst sort.(cont'd)
|Saturday, September 7th, 2013|
|Wednesday, September 4th, 2013|
Some day a sunset, the gold on the water, your hand in mine. I thought I knew September. It has your eyes. I want the stars for us. Walk with me a while.
|Monday, September 2nd, 2013|
|show me in reverse
I leaned on my elbows and threw a pen. It landed straight up. "Did you SEE that?" She saw. It was just standing.
I have strange things happen. This kind comes in streaks. I don't see my brother much, last week we were both on the Cape but I was sick in bed a couple days. Then we watched TV. 1 and 2, lost them that's how I knew to watch for 3.
3. The Odd Couple. "I had no idea there were TV shows in the 1970s where a gay man and a straight man were roommates," my sister-in-law said, neither did we. Man is Felix gay. Most gay guys I know aren't half that gay, he's better at it. They were in a crappy restaurant with banquettes. "That carpet's so red. It hurts your head ... wait. Vegas. Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas,
Johnny Depp, ever see it? That carpet." Ten minutes later, Family Guy. Hunter S. Thompson, cigarette holder driving in the desert with his attorney.
4. "She's 28." Doddering Brits, own a tobacco plantation in Borneo they get a visitor. It rains 24 hours a day. He's a younger fellow. In Brit that means 40 and worn from drink. Except Brit's wife is hot. Golden blonde curls on her shoulders, she adores him, damn she's hot, yeah no wonder, The Girl With The Hungry Eyes. Cautionary tale about hot models and their egos, another Night Gallery episode. Bitchy accountant perks up at once. "Married to him? -----you're only 28." Two minutes after.
5. The first four, that happens all the time. You say something, someone else repeats you right after. Could be on TV, but four nights in a row? This is number 5. It comes in waves.
I'll set it up.
William Windom, gray-haired man in his late 40s beaten down by life. This guy is a closet alcoholic or you hope so, he needs it. He's in a cell. There's a nice table and chair, he's pouring tea and talking to someone who isn't there. The cell's inside some military installation. They want something from him. We don't know what.
Why does he need his twelve-year-old daughter, why does he need her to talk to? Why?
"(What you wanted) I left it on top of the drawer. Thank you for helping me."
It could only end one way. I just gave you all the clues -- do you see it? Scary as hell.
|Thursday, August 29th, 2013|
|Time then time
A long time ago, saintrevjen
and I were talking about time. "I don't think you can move backwards or forwards in time," I said. "But I think --maybe you can move sideways
Five strange things happened in the past week. I was able to capture three of them. I'll finish this post when I get home, have to leave the house, usual family crap. It's manageable. FWIW, when the question is "could time be speeding up or slowing down?," my answer is "yeah." This past week covered something over four years. Today happened too fast. Today didn't take as long as one day's supposed to, like it skipped material.
I'm referring here to the subjective experience of time, which everyone's experienced. That day you were a kid, you were out away from the grownups in the woods all day, you hiked around, went swimming, ran fast enough Stacy said "wow you're fast!," went on the rope swing off the big rock -- you got home and it was like you'd lived a book. Couple weeks ago, there I was, back in All Moment. Was just the same way it'd been the whole time, I just wasn't there. All Moment, last time was dancing in a tie-dyed Deadhead shirt in the Blue Room of our coed fraternity to Lost Time (just a coincidence), our house jam band somehow finding All Along The Watchtower from a Bob Marley cover, I think the bass changed so slowly it was like evolution, my roommate yelled "they're doing it!" which you can hear on the tape and two hundred girls in swirly skirts, Lord of the Rings flowing blouses, like one piece of jewelry and nothing more than that, peacock feather earrings maybe and dudes in awe, so that any stupidity from scruffy beards or lacking social skills all fell away, every one of us was already dancing, so (do you recognize the bassline now?) as the shikk shikk shikk shikk shikk shikkk shikk shikk
Mary Glaser on percussion (hear where he's going? Geylich. on the sax ...!) we started to realize all of us were gone, we were no way here, one dance rhythm, like somehow we were getting closer and closer to matching God's Fifth, sometimes called the music of the spheres, this was prepared for us we were this way for a reason and I looked at my beautiful gypsy girl friends, and all my dude friends we were all there (right there beside me, we were close together) and we no longer had to do anything to communicate, we all already knew. See I love this moment so much, I've never left, what happens is sometimes I remember I've been there the whole time. Jen's book party, Celt madness, Sing Sing Sing
by Benny Goodman on screaming distorted slide guitar, Brer Brian invoking gods well know to us all, each of us seized by delight well there I was. Something like a postcard, from me in college, to me. How kind of him! At the book party I got free of ego and the bastard's smart, smarter than me. I feel warm now, happy, the water tomorrow, and later -- the past four years, last Thursday to today I found out what the mystery injury is, good chance they can fix it, so upending though. Found out for three years as of Tuesday, I've been walking around with -- more on that later but so laid up, all week, so much pain basic brain functions just stopped working, like what's the capital of Delaware? where are we in the cycle of Hs and Ls that I'll bet anyone twenty bucks we will experience another storm like Sandy at almost the exact same date, I recognize the pattern, I live off instant access to thoughts like that & had to go without it. Then this ... other ... system took over. I have no control over it. Think I am afraid of it. It started realizing things, five times and that's what I'll return to once I get back. I gotta eat.
If time did speed up or slow down, say, what if that's not even interesting? What if inconstancies in time, allow what's you
to start doing things it shouldn't be able to do? How the hell much fun is planning, anyway. Let's not. We're already at the beach, that's exactly not what I mean, we're there now. I feel it. It's wonderful and I think we're all about to get in the water. I mean planning like PowerPoint and that helpful asshole who never isn't there, every time there's a traffic jam from another dimension, plan for that? that shouldn't even be there, there's NEVER traffic now! he's right there "well you should have left earlier." Not one human being in all history has ever wanted to hear from this asshole, what he says does no one any good at all but he cannot go without saying "you should have planned, so you'd be omniscient and nothing randomly bad or delaying could ever happen to you." There's an element of time I'd like to sideways into a gag order.(cont'd)
I'll tell you the three of five points in time that rewrote the rules of time so they moved, like a song. What is it, then, with Ron Moore and myself? did he hear it too? because of course it was that song. Twenty-five years later, the giant space epic ends where, exactly?, twenty feet from my office for fourteen years. All Earth's colonies throughout the zodiac and it all ends twenty feet from my own office. The lyrics to All Along the Watchtower. All right I'll go middlebrow: Jung. Those lyrics. Don't they ... it's like a summary of ten minutes ago. Or Nubia. Or all your life you remember, and likely the rest ... the song describes the frozen moment in time that is the subject of all literature, every painting. Like try calling All Along the Watchtower "socialist." Is it Democrat or Republican? That is true about women, what it says, but only if I look back. Every one of them. They came and went. That's what women do. Two riders are approaching.
|Monday, August 19th, 2013|
|Monday, August 5th, 2013|
|You own you.
The FB group two people asked me for help in joining, because the Admin wasn't responding ... seems I am an Admin. It's a coin toss as to whether I set that group up, or someone made me an Admin and never told me. I bowed out of this small charity thing I did January 1, 2011, got an honorarium and applause, OK swell the end. Gave one more speech after that, for fifty bucks (honorarium
means money you eat with).
The line between Facebook and work/charity stuff gets closer to erased every day. I have things walled off so anything I do there is unknown to the world outside 280 or so friends. However Facebook constantly tears down our privacy walls without asking us in invidious ways. It seems now that any photo you post, should you tag anyone in it, there is a risk that photo could be seen by the entire world. Worse, if a friend tags you in a photo, I had it set up so that photo could not display anywhere with my name on it unless I said so. What I didn't realize is stupid friends could post pictures of you on their timeline, and all their friends see that whether you gave permission or not. It is not a big deal, in this case but in my view the rules go like this. Any photographer, owns her work, including photos of any persons by the nature of photography. However, should said photographer be then requested to remove the photo from public display and refuse, she is liable to legal action including damages. Unless before she took the photo, she obtained a signed release from the person photographed that she may use it, possibly subject to certain conditions blah blah blah.
My friend, a photographer was smart about this early on. All her photos that have ever appeared on the Net that I ever saw had her name and copyright on them. As I said many years ago, I claim the legal right to copyright MYSELF. You want to help the economy, drag control of social media back to the authors of its content, who in fact own every social media platform every built, or not? You tell me how much money one blank page reading FACEBOOK would ever earn anyone. Yes, their coders continue to provide us functions we don't want, diagonal relationships intended to maximize profit to advertisers and these people should be compensated for their work. But us users, who created the content and human networks Facebook is determined to so wring every imaginable cent of marketing leverage from as to force all information about individual human beings to be shared with business interests, especially their Web behavior, us users ARE Facebook. I love the trend toward less and less personal content there, made up for by advertising. I hope they become so impersonal they never notice they're destroying the equity of their market reach, because that's all it is, with every platform change.
Google's no better. "We own and are free to read any content created using our services." Oh yeah? I OWN EVERY SINGLE THING I EVER SAY OR DO SINCE MARCH 16, 1962 the day I was born. If YOU did, Google owners, or YOU did, Facebook owners, owned out loud everything you'll ever say or do, no excuses, no made-up servile semantic constructions, just you, one lone person, standing before the Law, whatever it could be, knowing the Law, not held in snarling check, will kill us all -- it's name is Leviathan -- you'd be incapable of the crap you're pulling. There is one law that governs us all. It is indifferent, permanently, to any human behavior except one: admission.
You cannot take from any human being ownership of himself, his conduct or his ideas. You may try and negotiate arrangements for the exchange among human beings of these things, but they are voluntary for all time. Copyright, intellectual property ... what is the one rule, that ensures these exchanges (a) operate from a mutually acknowledged common interest, (b) are incapable of denying all men and women are created equal in the image of God, with unalienable rights? -- I just said it. First sentence of this paragraph.
Thought we settled this matter for all time 150 years ago and on American soil too. Either you have integrity in everything you say and do, or you're a liar, nothing. Integrity means you are bound voluntarily, by the same Law by which each of us is bound. It means you do what you are, and are what you know to be true. No such thing as different rules at different times for different persons is possible.
|Friday, June 28th, 2013|
|What I read Wednesday night onstage. The panties got thrown later.
Don't Lose Clark
I never liked Superman much until this new guy. Superman age 58. Alternate universe, all that shit, same guy. He's lost Lois. The Joker killed her, crushed her skull with a fire extinguisher.
He's one of those guys who looks down when he talks. If someone says his name he always looks up surprised. He's very kind. Strongest he's ever been, immune to Kryptonite. If he thinks someone might die, because he wasn't fast enough, there's the danger he might accidentally hit someone so hard he kills him.
What you've heard about Superman is not the guy two Jewish kids invented. He did show up in a rocket ship as a baby, yeah. He was raised by the Kents, but they were elderly. His powers don't come from Earth's yellow sun: on Krypton, everyone was Superman. Krypton was this massive planet ten times larger than the Earth. The gravity was so strong almost nothing survived. The only people
who survived were the strongest. The result was a planet of Fascists. They worshipped Science. You might remember, Jor-L can't convince the Science Council, the rulers Krypton will explode. They laugh at him. He's soft
, which is just how stupid he is. Krypton is fine, the wife and kid are fine, everything's fine because Science is always right. Stupid is being afraid of the obvious.
Jor-L and Lora don't just shoot the kid into space, they look for a place he'll be safe. Lora decides. His mother. She likes Earth because people are simple, straightforward but she worries for her son. So does his dad. The Kents try to dump the kid on an orphanage but they have to turn back. They want a baby. They want a son.
Clark's dad is smart and he sees the same problem Lora did. "Son, you've got to hide this great strength of yours or people will be afraid of you." Super Guy will never have any friends. He can't get married. He looks just like a human being, he'll want to think he's a human being can't happen. A guy who flies, lifts up ice trucks that's not human. Imagine Superman dumped by a girl and drunk. Now imagine Clark. Yeah. Shit happens.
Last summer I bought some comic books. Action Comics 900: Luthor is God. Bald loser guy, swipes all the power from the Phantom Zone's God, who's a baby. Luthor hates Superman. No matter what Luthor does, humans are lazy and stupid. Humans are pathetic. So as God, all Luthor wants is for Superman to suffer like a human. Tries to beat him to death. Suffocate him. Finally Luthor looks in Superman's mind for the worst pain he's ever felt. "Death of a galaxy," he laughs. "Went back in time to watch Krypton explode." What he finds, Luthor breaks down screaming.
A man's on the ground next to a tractor. His wife's bent over him. Big guy, farmhand, holding her, crying. He couldn't save his Dad. All that power. He couldn't save his Dad. People die.Don't lose Clark.
. Superman gets there five minutes too late to save Lois. She's dying.
"Thank you ... for loving me."
"Lois I will GET him, I will HURT him--"
"Don't ... don't lose Clark." And then she dies. He's bent over again. Crying.
Don't lose Clark. There's almost nothing we can't do, anyone here. Couple people, if you're lucky, couple people know KNOW you're an asshole. They love you anyway.
Diana feels sorry for Clark with Lois gone. Wonder Woman. Gives him something "to help you see." Pair of glasses. First time you recognize the guy.
|Wednesday, June 26th, 2013|
|Re: Boombox Man and the Anti-Slam open mike tonight
Jim's my brother.
Jim - That song (You'll Never Find, by Lou Rawls, BBM performs it, see link on my FB page)
is a favorite of mine and I applaud Brad's vocal chutzpah in taking on a classic Lou Rawls number. You gotta have some considerable range there to get all those notes with equal facility & conviction, and although he botches a few of 'em I respect that one's reach should exceed one's grasp. It might be interesting to hear his take on a Teddy Pendergrass vocal from one of those great Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes songs. What was the song that the crowd demanded of SBB?
23 hours ago · Unlike · 1
John - Ave Maria
16 hours ago · Like
Jim - Well that's certainly another very beautiful song which also requires a degree of vocal finesse
8 hours ago · Like
John - A degree?!? Try singing it sometime! I know of people with a 4-octave range. Brad has 4.5, maybe. You are right, he missed a couple notes on the video. Sometimes I wonder if that subtle, most people can't hear it.
7 hours ago · Like
Jim - I could never even come close to doing a respectable job on "Ave Maria" - when done well it can be a cold-shivers-inducing melody
6 hours ago · Edited · Unlike · 1
John - You are revealed that way. You are in tears, who you really are overtakes you and everyone sees. They, we, I wanted that. These the conceited liars, fakers, climber scum of New York. "Ave Maria! Ave MARIA!" I don't have words. I owe them the best I have.
|Friday, May 31st, 2013|
|Normal to looney tunes in 45 minutes. It's that fast.
There is a 24-48 hour stomach flu around that's the worst I ever had. I'm just coming out of it.
If you think of it, at the supermarket buy some tea and honey. Camomile's good.
This Turkish apple tea with local honey was all I could keep down. My job's in public health, the reason this is important, why I'm posting it is once you're "going from all ends," after 24 hours you've got to keep something down or head to the ER NOW. They'll IV you with glucose. Fighting infection, your troops will commandeer every bit of sugar they can grab and no sugar, linear thought and perspective are first to go. You forget WHY to go to the ER!
Addendum: wrong, not over it.
|Saturday, May 4th, 2013|