billlatexcosby

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 04:31:07 GMT

More than enough said.

Sorry to be so Jay Leno-y.

Adviss

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 23:14:35 GMT

Across the street from us is the middle-school-converted-into-low-income-old-folks-home of the neighborhood. (Please review your notes on age structure from your introduction to demography class and discuss how this is significant.) Piffly lives there. Large eyebrows, perhaps 65 or so years old, lacks legs, gets around in electro-scooter daily. He's one of the more visible residents around here, as he is constantly zooming to and fro and, somehow, gets people to make conversation with him while he nary says nor expresses much. Plenty of odd stares and sparse comments from laboring lungs. Our neighbor, Sturple, said that one time a couple years ago Piffly describes Sturple's two-year old daughter as "sexy" in the course of one of these barely-a-conversations. Sturple was stunned, but not so stunned that she couldn't quickly turn around and leave. Since she told us that, it has been hard not to raise a skeptical mind-brow whenever I see Piffly zooming around the neighborhood this way and that. He seems to visit neighboring 'hoods regularly, and we have seen him motoring around miles away, at times on the fairly trafficky W-Nut St. and Mem Dr. thoroughfares. Just what the fuck does he do all day?

My worst-case-scenario thoughts are only exacerbated by my daily media diet. The local paper covers in detail any child molestation case in the tri-county area.

"The correct pronunciation of place names is the pronunciation used by the people of that particular place." --William Bunge

But anyway so the local paper is being a fine case in covering the current keruffle regarding city budgeting. You see, it has come to pass that republico-bertarian property tax reductions all over Indiana has resulted in some obscenely stressed city budgets. "Governor" Mitch Daniels was in the Bush Administration, one of the more extreme proponents of the Privatize-Everything-Possible ideology. And so decaying, depopulating Muncie is in the worst of pickles, as its tax base was eroding anyway, even without the property tax rug being totally pulled out. So now the mayor, our mini-Sarah Palin, has ordered the city animal shelter, which includes animal control, to close. (And she carries a gun!) The local pape talked to a fellow who called the shelter yesterday about a loose rottweiler. The shelter just had a smarmy message on their machine directing callers to talk to their city council members. So he calls the police who tell him, "uh, we don't have the training to deal with doggy. So, well, bye. Oh, you know that if it bites you, you can legally kill it." And the man tells the reporter that he's got a shotgun and he's going to kill the dog "real humane. I'll blow its head clean off." Ok, that's paraphrasing, but barely.

But don't stop reading yet: it gets even better! There's not even money enough to keep most of the city streetlights on! Unless some unexpected solution pops up, they are going to turn off 85% of the streetlights in the city starting January 1. Soon, I expect an announcement of a year-long city program called Take Matters Into Your Own Hands. More difficult to implement than you think!

I, for one, am tired of my tax dollars going straight into the coffers of those privileged fatcats who trap and euthanize rabid animals in order to avert public health crises. It's about time that the city trimmed the fat and addressed these corrupt pay-to-play schemes like "fire protection," "emergency service," and "public health" "programs". Why all this bad national press about laying off 32 firefighters and a crowd of police officers, closing libraries and cutting snow removal? These "services" that every resident "benefits" from exist only as harsh tax penalties against innocent, hard-non-working citizens who deserve every penny that they do or don't earn from jobs they do or don't have. I say, why should I have to pay so that somebody else's children don't get bitten by a rabies-infected bat or get mauled by the many rottweilers, German shepherds and pitbulls who are cared for irresponsibly by city residents? If YOU don't want YOUR snot-nosed kids to be killed during an easily preventable encounter with an out-of-control animal, then why don't you just fork over YOUR money and buy an aggressive dog that will attack anything that comes near your child? It's simple. It's called a market.

The solution is clear: we should all enter into a anti-social non-contract. It's called Go Ahead And Just Try To Survive, I Dare You, And If You Ask Anyone For Help, For Example An Institution In Which You Are A Stakeholder, Then You Are Motherfucking Sissy And, Oh Yeah, Sissies Are Baaaaad. We put this into effect like so: You stay out of my bank account, I'll stay out of yours. You be on the lookout on your property for animals that could tear into your or your kids' flesh, and I'll be on the lookout on my property for animals that could hospitalize me and/or my spouse for months. How does that sound? Read the fucking Constitution sometime. It doesn't say anything in there about citizens' "general welfare" now does it? This is AMERICA, not "Don't-Get-Killed-By-Dogs Land" nor "The United States of Not Having to Watch in Futility as Your House Burns Down to the Ground" now is it?!

Down with the fatcats!

signed,
Fervid J. Rockefeller

P.S. Patronize our business, please!

Millburn

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 20:36:26 GMT

The new featherface bird, an araucana, is the most skittish. But wouldn't you be skittish, too, if you were what they describe as "rumpless" and laid primary color eggs that everyone gobbled up? It would be embarrassing, and she acts embarrassed. Whitebird, that's not her real name, has been with us since March, so it was up to her to show the three new birds "the ropes." A barely-converted doghouse is the new bird sleepchamber. Did you know that chickens "are equatorial birds." They just do their damnedest to find a low branch, or equivalent, on which to perch, sleep and shit.

whooza

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 21:04:27 GMT

also, it's a surprise what agricultivation is like. Mostly, it's just killing. In fact, an extreme amount of killing. The growing is somewhat secondary to the killing. Most gardeners will tell you in words that there's always more killing to do than they have time for. And once they get a handle on it and think that they've killed enough, it won't be long until there's plenty more killing to do. In addition to the aggressive killing, there's a lot of passivity involved, too. The gardeners'll say they're "growing onions." No gardeners, of course, "grow" anything (especially onions), as there is no action to accompany this active verb. Gardeners cannot "grow vegetables" any more than parents can "grow children." Are we amoebas? Is this binary fission? Prove to me that you're budding.

More thoughtful gardeners might use the slightly more honest construction "letting the crops grow," but even this phrase purports an authority that can't exist. Gardening is arranging favorable conditions, and doing this takes a lot of killing. Most gardeners follow an extreme two-step eugenical program: 1) kill; 2) wait. So that was a lesson from this killing season.

gunks

Mon, 12 May 2008 02:51:04 GMT

I've been under the illusion for much of my adult life that fellas who shave off their facial hair often try out the ole Hitler-mustache for just a few minutes. I stated this as a near-given in conversation with several beardos, and, well, come to find out that, nope, it's pretty much just me that has done that.

It's a good recommendation to read this livejournal of a fella who's neck-deep in social work in Bolivia. There're illegal autonomy referenda organized by the oligarchs taking place and civil war looming. Oh, and he really digs Batman and Jesus.

In order to assuage a so-called child sex abuse crisis in the Aboriginal community in the Northen Territory, the Australian government recently instituted an "intervention" in the lives of Aboriginal residents. Though opposed by the Northern Territory government, the large majority of Aboriginal communities, and governmental and non-governmental human rights organizations, the intervention has proceeded. Its actions include suspending some welfare benefits, forcibly checking the community's children for STDs, abolition of important work-training programs, and acquisition of leased Aboriginal land. All of this because of an alleged "child sex abuse crisis." The Australian government is spending almost $600 million implementing this "intervention," when it sounds more like they simply are suspending social services and grabbing land from the Natives, like they have been doing for 200 years. They have even made it illegal for Aboriginal people to buy alcohol. On our flight back from Alice Springs, the second largest city in the Northern Territory, the flight attendants kindly offer us refreshing Victoria Bitter beer.

We saw these large signs that proclaim that the Aboriginal neighborhoods in front of which they are placed are to remain free of liquor and pornography.

Even liberal, otherwise forward-thinking Australians cannot seem to see this government action for what it is -- an overtly racist set of policies that furthers the impoverishment and eventual demise of Native people in the Northern Territory. Several times we heard from white liberals that Aboriginal people's ability to digest alcohol is significantly lower than white people's, and, thus, their logic goes, Aboriginal people have more of a problem with alcohol. The law must protect them and their innocent children. This is the same line we all hear about Native Americans and other indigenous populations. However, this poor ability to metabolize alcohol holds true for many Asian people as well. And so that brings us to the question, why isn't Australia restricting access of alcohol to its many Asian citizens? Now it could if it wanted to. In order to enact the alcohol ban, the Australian government had to suspend its Racial Discrimination Act 1975. And that sure makes the rest of the discriminatory policies of the intervention a little more legal.

What is a government's, or an Empire's, or a Church's, or a mob's best ammunition against undesirables? Call them filthy, sexually perverted, violent, diseased and contagious, alcoholic, obsessive, primitive, animalistic, defenseless, and/or unprofitable and then, when public opinion is compelled to be concerned about the children, simply employ whatever measures that are sufficient to do away with said undesirables. These measures may include, but are not limited to, land-grabbing, kidnapping, torture, military action, forced sterilization, evangelization, forced settlement, lynching, or what have you. It is important to note that these measures hardly have to have anything to do with the stated crisis. Though possibly nervous about the pitch at which the government (or whatever other authority) implements these measures, the voting public will stand by and let it happen -- for the greater good, of course -- perhaps with a sober tear if they're particularly liberal. A generation or two later, though, they might feel bad about it and apologize for the lamentable "mistakes" made while in the pursuit of higher goals.

essay on breakfasts

Sun, 09 Mar 2008 08:39:56 GMT

Breakfast is the most amazing meal of every day. It is the original meal from which all the other meals come from. All kinds of stuff happens at breakfastime.

At breakfastime people do an assortment of things. Sometimes some people read the newspaper and find out about recent accidents and violent crimes. Sometimes some people watch the television and find out about recent accidents, violent crimes, and celebrity diets. But let's say you listen to the radio, probably National Public Radio. Oftentimes at breakfastime you'll mishear something one of the radio people says and you think to yourself or say out loud, What does THAT mean?

It is really important to know that if you ever attempt breakfast by yourself or with others, it is best to pay attention. Like for example if you make toast and sometimes your toaster burns toast, it is best to get to the toast in time so it doesn't a) blacken the toast making it inedible or very bad taste b) smell up your living quarters c) make you late.

Sometimes some people ask each other about the weather during breakfastime. Someone might say, Is it as cold as it was yesterday? to which someone might respond, I went out on the deck for a second and it was pretty chilly. At which point the other person could turn toward the window and say, It looks sunnier than yesterday. Then maybe the second person flips over the newspaper and says, It says here that the high is only going to be 28. The first person might respond to that by saying something else. Anyway, it could on and on like this.

Sometimes someone loses an important item during breakfastime like a keys or a piece of mail or a scrap of paper with a phone number on it. Frankly, it can be a chore for other people just to listen to this person looking for this lost thing, so sometimes the other people just leave the area or maybe help search for the missing thing. When people help another person look for something that isn't easily identifiable, you often hear people say things like, Is this it? or, Is it on the table by the front door? or, Where were you when you had it last? Here are some other things that happen during breakfastime: phone rings, chair feet rub against floor, drapes opened, eyes blink and crust removed, radio or television.

During the very best breakfastimes, people talk with each other in detail about the dreams they had the night before. In those breakfastimes, people often say things like, It was SO weird, or, That is SO strange, or, What a WEIRD coincidence!

Oh, sorry, I almost forgot to mention the food. Here is a list of food and food-like industrial substances that people put inside of themselves during breakfastime: carrot, gravy, piece of toast with something smeared and/or melted on it, egg, doughnut, briefcase, sausage, leftover dinner like maybe it was pizza or tacos so you can reheat what was leftover, cold plain lunchmeat directly from the package, fig, teff, baked tuna, baleen from whales, peanut butter but forgetting to put the lid back on, Hot Pocket, plant stems.

In conclusion, if you try a breakfastime yourself you have to pay attention, be careful and talk with a clear, calm voice. After all, it might be YOU in the frying pan the next morning.

standing clover, please twirl

Sat, 08 Mar 2008 12:03:13 GMT

a diablo turned up in the trash over towards Lakeview. in there also was a good deal of chocolate powder (for making hot chocolate), semi-sweet chocolate chips and even a small block of fancy bakers chocolate. do you think that the former proprietor of these items would spin the diablo and then deftly sprinkle chocolate powder on it. that would fill the air with chocolate powder, you know. some people smell that on their ways to and from work in Chicago.

they call it bribing the navy chain

Fri, 07 Mar 2008 09:43:45 GMT

He's the real thing. He sang at children, howling "It's All Right to Cry" until everyone did, and played professional football.

In Ismailiya, Egypt we rented bicycles for what was unfortunately a big nickel after an exhausting search. They required a monstrous deposit for what were play-doh built Chinese bikes. During our afternoon, evening, morning and then afternoon again riding adventuring, these vehicles crumbled beneath us several times. But every time this occurred a kindly onlooker quickly retrieved tools (from down the street, from trunk of car) and helped us jimmy the fool thing back into mediocre operating condition. Don't you read what I'm writing and think I've issued a complaint about how things work or don't: this was fun. We skimmed down the wide highway and over a bridge over a canal of the Suez Canal, through a village replete with happy chasing children, to the shore of some backwater piece of the Canal. (Or was it another canal of the Canal?) Untold suffering has taken place at the site of the Suez. Herodotus was told that 120,000 workers perished in construction and repair of the canal back in 600 BC. Six hundred BC! In the 19th Century, the re-repair of it employed the use of tens of thousands of slaves. Of course it was the European colonial powers who financed the construction. Sure, it appears to be a worm-shaped length of water with lots of impressive boats in it and a pleasant vista, but it's really a blood-soaked monument built to the ruling classes of Europe and their clients in Asia. We went to the beach. Trash strewn, warm still water, and friendly families. In Egypt (and throughout the Muslim world) the ladies swim fully clothed. Their robes and veil create a cloud of clothes around them in the water, so that they appear as a softly flowing Rorschach test. Even an Egyptian man will typically swim in garb no less substantial than an a-shirt. We were a surprise for the other beachgoers. L was frittered away by the younger women for mutual broken English and Arabic lessons. I only recall counting with children, explaining in broad strokes the relationship between L and I to their grandparents, and barking like a dog to be funny. We make it back to our criminally pink and filthy hotel room after dark and gaze at the poster on the wall that shows white children frolicking in the grass.

rumor has

Fri, 30 Nov 2007 06:11:16 GMT

has it that these brilliant videos were made by a Finn. Is there anything they can't do?

Do you all know all about the S 1959 bill in the Senate? Theys want to create a commission whose job it is to investigate the roots causes of homegrown terrorism, extremism, and radicalization. Their words, not mine. Go ahead and conflate freethinking political views with explosions that explode a whole bunch of people. Go ahead and conflate away, dumb commission. Don't academics already study this stuff and already come back with the answer: pissed people! And what about this term 'terrorism' anyway? The US State Dept report ties Venezuela with terrorism on account of its government being "unhelpful" in "the diplomatic arena." Last time I checked, though, the US has the market near-cornered on making huge explosions that kill people all the time.

Ever know about the Normans? These two Norman are interesting cases:
Norman Morrison set himself afire in front of the Pentagon in 1965.
Norman Mayer threatened to blow up the Washington Monument in 1982. The US Park Police shot him dead. It was a hoax, though, for he was simply trying to get people to think more about nuclear weapons proliferation.

That's just how Normans are. Some have longish noses, some probably walk speedily and unsexily.

Foley artist at the base of Mount St. Helens

Sat, 18 Feb 2006 10:20:45 GMT

One way to curry flavors is by way of the delivery of the humble onion. One reason to curry favor is thumb-like scallions, grown and tumbled with care into the back of a friend's pack. They're there for comfort, like when the topical oatmeal doesn't bestill knee aches.

It's true: the hippopotamous is nothing but a big, soggy pig. Hippos are just soggier that pigs. All beasts can be put on a list, from most soggy to least soggy. Taxomony is simply a question of ordering sogginess. Is the earthworm more soggy or less soggy than the box turtle? Ok, the earthworm is soggier. Now, is the pelican more soggy or less soggy than the box turtle? The pelican is soggier also. And so, we ask, is the pelcian more soggy or less soggy than the earthworm? Less soggy. Therefore, from most soggy to least soggy we have: earthworm, pelican, box turtle. Thusly, we can order all creatures and come to a better understanding of the forces of nature. Friends, it's time that we get to work and to play on understanding the vital essences that shape our universe, and the universes of those who live on the other side of the world.

On the other sides of the world, children with scabs do the work on which our Valentine's Day traditions depend. Don't pretend, friend, that you're not a farmer yourself, a farmer of misery, when you patronize the prime merchants of chocolate, diamonds and cut flowers. (Before farming, there was no constipation.) There're also very small things and very plastic things, trivial whatnots that wiggle in cereal boxes, that oodles of local economies depend on. But the whatnots are discarded after a child's stomp, a stomp that reverberates back to the children with scabs and demands a replacement whatnot. It's production-disposal that'll tsunami us before long, a History made linear, narratable and terminable by the Global Constipated System. Soon the snake will finish eating its own tail, eat up its torso and have nothing left to eat, shit, eat with or shit out of. That's the End of Constipation, but not before the expanding large intestine of suffering bursts.

Realize, too, that one enthusiastic foot solider in the Pro-Constipation Brigade is modern networked computing. Communication channels blink and toot, offer lifetimes of diversions and promises of convenience and intercourse. But the Final Internet Testimony is a litany of abuses against human happiness: sexual impotence (all genders), shifty eyeballs, curtailed oratory, thumbwear, dessication (reduction of our natural sogginess), rotting onion, "my" "space", numbhead, fiction of "the Self", infinite data regression, impersonal global commerce, etc., not to mention constipation.

We live where Time, Temperature and Metabolism integrate with, and fracture with, any system. Keep in mind that computers cook you, like in a broiler, so you dry out and become less soggy.

apnea in an igloo

Sun, 25 Dec 2005 18:40:35 GMT

Is there a correlation between bedwetting and reading science fiction? If there is, what lurking variable explains both of these phenomena? How many female bedwetters do you know? I would say 30,000, more or less.

I miss Gretchen and Andy. Why did they leave without saying goodbye? I think that they may have moved to Amsterdam. Others think that they broke up and went their separate ways. I don't even know if they finished their degrees before they left. They've left behind a pile of evidence to be forensicked, a douche-bag, and 30,000, more or less, corollary mysteries. Any visitors to the new yellowhaus across the street from the swimming pool just blocks away from that restaurant run by Sri Chinmoy followers will have a chance to try their hand at cracking the Gretchen and Andy code. Do!

crumbs off course

Mon, 28 Nov 2005 07:24:22 GMT

Unbroken coils of pumpkin rope. We're living in neighborhoods controlled by green string. Wake up to the truth! Walk up to the trash!

I have NEVER heard a sneeze like that before. It sets all within earshot into panic mode. The first time I heard it, I thought my co-worker had been attacked or had combusted, and I could feel my adrenaline surge. This is a habitual sneeze. She can't mitigate its awesome, unpredictable power. Upon hearing the sneeze, three visitors whirled around, scared and concerned. One man clearly displayed his ready-for-danger face. All she can do is apologize, and she does so with some dignity. And the acoustics . . .

I found a copy of this movie

in my neighbor's trash. I saw that movie when I was still a pretty much youngster. Some weeks earlier, further down the street I happened upon a copy of Synchronicity by Carl Jung, a book which I had thought about a lot recently. A couple days after my bike was stolen I happened upon a sturdy one in the trash. The day after I cut the shit out of my hand I found a helpful first aid kit. You can draw your own conclusions.

And by "conclusions" we mean "corn collisions". This region of this era will be known as the Time of the Corn Syrup. Tim runs things down here, the fundraisers, the biochips for dogs, the pillbox schedule. And still he has time to draw pictures of rodents with human genitalia. Not the anthropomorphized sci-fi kind either. More like Watership down with penises. They live in the corn, Tim's rodentia, and they eat corn with their penises. On Thanksgiving their urethras expand so much that it makes them drowsy and incontinent. You see, the collisions we're talking about are not just between corn. And that was how the turtle got its shell.

Light a candle for frogs, turtles, and steelworkers.

as we speak

Sun, 28 Aug 2005 22:45:37 GMT

Do you ever search for your favorite vocabularies on google.com? Can you imagine all the loaves and the loaves and the loaves and the loaves and the loaves and the loaves and the loaves? In public people quiver at thoughts like, yes, I'm just an individual yet I do determine the spread of cracks on the pavement. And you just know it's true. Heat deficient. Do you ever get the idea that Richard Daley is in on it but you aren't? Freezing and thawing over a short period of time makes a lot of cracks. His one eye pointed at the pavement and at the crowd then at the search engine. It's the temperature extremes; oh, like it is with people. You can smell it. Livejournal is a stale cracker that has absorbed moisture and particles from its surrounding environment. The online journal experience is always enshrouded with alienation -- the commodity, the missed connection, the impossible "emoticon". You can taste Richard Daley in it. We all know it's a con.

I'm tired of reviewing records for a living. Anybody want my job? There's only so many times that someone can employ the phrase "clattering bestiality" in a record review before someone chokes. It's better this way. I choked, I'm deificient. (Yes, I spelled that right, Latin root "deus". Deificient has at three meanings: 1. streamlined God; 2. without God; 3. without deification.) I've been reviewing birth records and lawyer's files. Richard Daleys feature prominently.
Richard M Daley
Richard F Daley
Richard D Daley (lesser known)
Richard "D Day" Daley
Richard "D Day" Lee
Richar Dayley
Ricard Day Lee
Ripshard Die Lie
Notice that the first 3 names' middle initials spell out the initialism MFD. That stands for Mother Fucking Daley. The alternate is More Fucking Deadly. Richard Daleys should be in jails and in jails and in jails and in jails and in jails and in jails and in jails and in jails and in jails.

exactly the same instant

Sun, 03 Jul 2005 01:37:30 GMT

greasy - more of an animal fat kinda texture and scent; solid at room temperature but never far from liquid; connotes obnoxious, unreciprocated male heterosexual desire
"that was certainly a ~ thing to say"

oily - heavy and slippery like fat but plant-based; liquid at room temperature and usually unscented in natural form; connotes uncleanliness and foreignness
"it was one of the more ~ board meetings of the year"

slimy - tends to be water-based, degenerates into stickiness as water evaporates; results from unrestrained microbiotic growth; describes something that people would rather not touch
"every morning this lichen seems more ~ . Help me, I can't feel my arms."

sleazy - normally hostile to displays of sensitivity; consistent in behavior but unreliable in character; connotes squinty-eyedness and -brainededness
"~ as a fusion drummer"

Mon, 13 Jun 2005 23:42:43 GMT

sometimes i feel like i'm a limp penis living in a world of firm penises

hatchet induhwind

Thu, 12 May 2005 13:52:55 GMT

I was minding my dinosaur business. On the street at the south end of Logan "Square," riding wrong way round, next to grassy boulevard that divides Kedzie. Two o'clock ay-em: four shots are fired from west-northwest area of the "Square." Initial non-recognition, then confusion and the Oh ok in quick succession. i think intently for milliseconds about the ping i hear off one of the metal utility poles behind me (the one to the southeast? the one to the southwest?); i think briefly about the microcassette tape i had listened to two days earlier -- the one i garbage picked from some old files behind a law firm's office, the one that documented an interview between a private investigator and a 17-year old eyewitness to the gunshot murder of one of his friends; decide to drop bike and me to the pavement (the eyewitness fellow on the tape said that he got on the ground when he heard shots fired); there's a wee panic in the air. i had spied someone running, maybe to the north, from the direction of the shooting noise. which way is best for me? um um um south? west? north? how about east, i guessed, there's no suspicious conversion van and close following car that way. (but actually, said car and van went south, then circled back around to head north up boulevard lane into roundabout, passing me, staring at me in the process.) i heartbeatingly make my way the three blocks to my apartment. at the north end of the "Square" were a few people seemingly at some stages of confusion but apparently not shot.

on my way for those three paranoid blocks i illogically check my body for unnoticed wounds. i was afraid of who i was; that is, i was afraid that the red stuff might've been getting outside of me; i mean to say that part of who i am is the red stuff. i was checking my body for an identity crisis. i don't want much of the red stuff to get outside of the skin that covers my body. there are some things, though, that are inside that i would like to get out (certain yellowish or brownish things). however, you'll probably agree that it is hard to define identity based on what is outside and what is inside skin. is consciousness inside skin? i can tell you from my experience that my consciousness is not totally outside nor is it totally inside my skin. it is a sentience that hovers around my skin and regularly makes linkages with similar (though not the same) sentiences. quite often, these linkages bond; if the sentiences each had a membrane, then the bonding would result in the colluding of two membranes into one. at this point, the question as to whether there are two sentiences or there is just one becomes obtuse. and since at any one time, each so-called individual sentience has multiple collusions with others, there exists a continuous web of consciousness -- a unified field. it is a dynamic field: the arrangement of collusions changes over time. thus, it difficult to even speak of "individuals." it's a lie to say "i" and mean it. but still, i'm worried about the red stuff getting out; if that were to happen, then the unified field of consciousness would be a little less unified. the locus of sentience would dissipate and there would result a blank spot where there was once a set of collusions.

Tue, 10 May 2005 07:40:16 GMT

i overheard this conversation between a mother and daughter last thursday while i was at a bus stop. the daughter was halfway down the porch steps in front of their brownstone. the mother, who stood in the doorway, had a nest of greying hair and had on reading glasses. the daughter was maybe 15 or so.

daughter: "oh, the dinosaur's coming later with the cream"
mother: "that's dinosaur cream"
"i'm going out for some cream"
"bye cream, dinosaur heaven"
"out with creamy dinosaur five steps"
"cream the dinosaur, cream and cream the dinosaur"
"but there wasn't supposed to be so much cream"
"what on earth is the creaming dinosaurs service?"
"i can't feel my cream"
"tell me where you found that cream"
"dinosaur, you're finished, pass the cream"
"what are your true feelings about dinosaurs?"
"well what are your true feelings about cream?"
"someone has committed a crime with cream"
"the case of the creaming dinosaur"
"i prefer my cream creamy"
"don't get mean about dinosaur cream"
"i mean cream crime"
"creamosaurus committed the dinosaur crime"
"oh, time to find the cream dinosaur"

and then the bus pulled up and obscured their words. i only assume that it went on like that.

para estudiar la psicologia del hijo ultimo

Mon, 09 May 2005 16:51:32 GMT

I dreamt that I was at The Field Museum in Chicago. I was pushing an extremely tall and light object down a large hallway that had a brown lacquered cement floor like in a school. The object I was pushing was sort of plush like a cushion, maybe 30 feet tall, but it was light enough so that I was just sliding it along the floor. It was a task I was performing in my capacity as volunteer. The tall plush thing began teetering awkwardly and it fell over in the hall. I was embarrassed in front of two other volunteers that show up, but it's really not a big deal that it fell over; nothing was damaged. The two other volunteers and I walk into a sort of laboratory and we talk about the museum's policy against volunteers having pets. We find it really ironic that the Field Museum, which holds a vast store of knowledge about animal life, would have a policy against pet-owning. In the laboratory I notice a drawer labeled "vampyres." My former partner Amie comes into the room, as we were to meet at the museum today so that I can give her an idea of what I do there. She and the other volunteers soon get to talking about the no pets policy. She is as surprised by the policy as we were; she starts to exclaim, "Geez, I can't beLIEVE that they won't let you have -- " but I cut her off at this point and I say "Vampires!" Within the dream, I find my little interruption so funny that I fall on the floor laughing and holding my sides. Amie chuckles at first but soon starts to express annoyance at the fact that I am laughing uncontrollably.

rip snort chomp, The Frightful Triangle

Wed, 29 Dec 2004 07:19:45 GMT

> israel is one of the most
> forward countries in the world.... you cant even
> begin to imagine how much
> israeli people have given to the world comminity...
> all your intel chips are
> engineered here... all your software... all your
> medicines.... so drink your
> dirty arab oil up your fucking nose asshole... i
> hope you shit oil you
> fucking moron... who are you to call israel
> racist.????!!! have you ever
> been here... do you read arab press? do you read
> hebrew press? so stop
> reading bullshit edward said in english and face
> reality... but not through
> your fucking computer in some little shithole
> town....

Do all strident arguments reduce to "if you'd've been through what i've damn been through then you wouldn't think like you do"? And to that, the best response is "if you'd've been through what i've been damn through then you wouldn't think like you do." In social psychology textbooks they've got a thing they call "naive realism." Naive realists believe that they view the world objectively, that any folks who don't share this view are biased and self-centered and "that the failure of others to see things similarly reflects a lack of information" (Reeder, et al 2003). Yeah, but isn't that last bit often true up your fucking nose asshole!? If not, why attempt to convince a body?

Feel Like Iraq

Wed, 29 Dec 2004 06:55:58 GMT

"There's a War Crimes Act in the United States passed by a Republican Congress in 1996, which says that grave breaches of the Geneva Convention are subject to the death penalty. And that doesn't mean the soldier that committed them, that means the commanders. They weren't thinking about the United States of course, but take it literally, that's what it means."
http://www.zmag.org/content/showarticle.cfm?SectionID=11&ItemID=6925

Forget the blackboxvoting suits! With enough capital, we could capitalize on capital punishment in the Capital. "What a capital idea," said Cap Itale at the Capitol in Capital, California, the tall cap capital.

Phil

Thu, 23 Dec 2004 06:26:01 GMT

This is an allegory for the sniff of waterfall mist at the craven end of a mired day. Roland was a droplet of water vapor. He couldn't pinch an inch! (For those of you who are metric, that means "centimeter.") But this was no ordinary droplet of water vapor--Roland existed in the shape of a lion. I'm not going to be coy, I'm going to say "he," but retain full knowledge that this is a fraudulent gender specification and keep in mind that the English language quite often characterizes false taxonomies. He looked like a lion with two fractured ribs and scratches and bruises about his midsection as if he had been kicked by a brickfooted ankylosaurus; the lion face looks like it's undergoing prolonged and indescribable anguish--rigid mouth, distant stare, pinched laugh, bad cervical vertebral posture, desperate eyebrows. You'd probably call it "post-traumatic stress disorder" but the true fact sneaks up on you when you're asleep--it's not "disorder" but a terribly ORDered affectation, you become a prisoner of conscience behind your own frozen character. Roland the droplet of water vapor, he looked like a lion, dwelled in a dogwood tree with lilac leaves. It happens every year, the winds blow, the grasses get brittle, diameters contract. And every year Roland forgets what's happening because to him the present seems new compared to the past. Add bears and hares--that's the allegory; it has to do with illegal interrogations funded by trade in taxpayer fingernails.

We all hide state secrets in the impatient glances we make at one another, the litany of humiliations written on our brows, in our stone-like expressions, in the shame that's packed and dried in layers over our noses and cheeks. But it's better to conceal valuable information beneath tongues, nestled in our snot runways under false mustaches, in condoms up our asses.

qack

Sat, 11 Dec 2004 22:43:40 GMT

Fascism makes politics into aesthetics, that's what Benjamin said. That means that whatever or whoever is the most stylin' becomes the most powerful. It follows that in the Fascist milieu that there is no difference between a public relations mastermind, like say Karl Rove, and a prime powerbroker, like say Karl Rove. And so a photographer takes a picture of the campaigning president in Ohio hugging an eleven-year-old girl, the president's deep compassioned wrinkles carved in black and white, his eterneral sorrow for the victims of 9-11 etching melodrama onto the hearts of the onlookers. The picture's been reprinted in millions of newspapers and popular magazines. Only thusly can he inspire the allegiance of image consumers to his deeply uncompassionate realpolitick. But to what else can electoral politics aspire in a media environment that aestheticizes reality into hollywood storyline fantasies.

These colors do not run the world!

Thu, 04 Nov 2004 20:24:20 GMT

Albert sez:

If you were in the 4% of voters who thought the most important issue was education you voted Kerry 75%. If you were in the 20% who thought the economy and jobs were most important you voted Kerry 80%. If you were in the 8% who thought it was Health care, you voted Kerry 78%. If you were in the 15% of voters who thought Iraq was most important you voted Kerry 75%.

But if you were in the 19% who thought the most important issue was terrorism, you voted Bush 86%. If you were in the 22% who thought "moral values" was most important you voted Bush 79%. If you were in the 5% who thought taxes most important you voted Bush 56%.

http://www.zmag.org/content/showarticle.cfm?SectionID=41&ItemID=6571

-----

In conclusion:
In conclusion, George Bush Junior won because 22% of voters are most concerned with "moral values" [code for brown people, immigrants and queers] and also because 19% of voters are scaredt of terrorist's personal odors.

Cull two alarms:
Drop that honey jar, consider how you can intervene in this continuing neurocide, develop reasoned strategies of wig farming, mull over the manifest harm of your own past tv and internet habits, develop mental (and maybe metal) weaponry for immediate environmental improvement, contract out your psycho-technologies to the mistaken 'phobes.

Thu, 04 Nov 2004 00:03:49 GMT

It's a studio apartament pretty close Logan Square. On Logan Square, which is actually a European-style roundabout, there is a statue of Kenneth Logan on a pony. Logan was a Chicagoan who made his name in the Civil War as a sergeant in Grant's 46th regiment, a group of soldiers known for their maniacal taunting of Confederate forces on the battlefield. Logan was particularly noted for his unrestrained hectoring of wounded, dying confederates. He is said to have coined the now obsolete pejorative term "goober worm" while doing a jig around a suffering rebel that he had shot. He himself was later shot in the eye but spent much of the rest of his life as an inventor, gaining many patents in the fields of apron and smock technology. Kenneth Logan is a true Chicago hero even though he's not Polish.

rather be a roper than a poper

Wed, 03 Nov 2004 10:06:01 GMT

Most estadounidenses live in a plain room with a comfortable chair in which to sit, a short table on which to set a drink, a television at which to stare and a diseased dog or cat or fish with which to argue sometimes. The amount of natural or spiritual information to reach those plain rooms is small. The people in the plain rooms know their predicament; they can feel it because it permeates their existence, but they talk themselves out of getting some sun every once in a while (because, your cat [which is a corporate proxy] maintains, you need a reason to go outside). It makes them frustrated people, and doughy to boot.

I could be cynical and say I'm not surprised, but I won't say that because I'm actually really surprised. I didn't know. Now we'll never know if Kerry's wars could out-brutalize Bush's wars. But in the coming years we'll learn about pregnant women seeking abortions getting detained and investigated at the Canadian border. It's clear that democracy doesn't work on the mass scale, is it not? Chalk up yet another case study in support of that conclusion. Otherwise reasonable, thoughtful persons neglect to vote out of their own self-interest, they vote out of emotional reaction. It's a comfort vote, attractive because their parents never provided them with enough comfort when they were little. Their parents never told them anything, and their parents before them, but their parents were part of a large, cohesive rural family that sang together a lot. There's nothing to fear but the fear of fear itself.

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/evil/interviews/gourevitch.html