I think I’m down to my last three rolling papers. And I’m still waiting for that muscle relaxer to kick in. Today is Friday. It usually is. Always read the small print they say. Whatever happened to good old fashioned face to face communication? Who comes up with this shit? Just cause its your job, it don’t make it right. I’m looking for a needle in a haystack. Its nice work if you can get it. The end.
Time isn’t moving nearly as slowly as it was on the car ride back to Minneapolis. I think I’ll roll another cigarette. Yeah yeah. Tell her she can call back any time. Yeah. You’ve got to work on your messages irregardless of whether or not there is actually something being said. I think that’s been established, you know. This Duran Duran is driving me crazy with his positronic rays and his fourth dimension limbos. All in all, there’s something to give. Goddamn it.
Listen you children, this game is very amusing but I think its gone too far. I don’t want to hurt you I just want to ask you a few questions about this spaceship. My heart’s pounding. You know that I’m aware. You going down? Ah, yep. You got it.
That’s the classic way of ending life in the labyrinth. Says the professor. I must say, this rumpleminze has a way of making my eyes burn. It’s the last of the new year’s liquors. It’s about time. My reflexes have slowed considerably. 20 percent at least. An angel does not make love. An angel is love. What’s it like to see your name carved on the ground in the Pacific Northwest? It makes for quite a night, I assure you. The revolution moves on.
That one idea. The one that let’s you get started. I can’t seem to get it. And all we talk about’s the fucking weather.
I think it has something to do with the space-time continuum. Something about being in New Orleans. Something bout the Caribbean. Language culture identity. Interpellation. Cultural play. I didn’t think this place was restricted. Fuck em all.
I’ll show you the life of the mind.
Come on in, we’ve got Apocalypse Now playing with Sleater-Kinney. Have some chocolate wafers. Enjoy the heat while you can. I’ll try to bring things into focus. No. It’s impossible. There are too many points of view.
So there he was. Watching the cows in heat. It’s important that you get the numbers down so that the inseminator knows where to stick his hands in the morning. As he walked past the garage he couldn’t help but notice the shiny red tractor glowing in the moonlight. It was in this place that he learned to enjoy the taste of peaches. Today, in this place, we learn that death is the only reality, for it is the only certainty, inevitable to all things. Words from women in the Caribbean. Challenge failed. Ack ack ack.
So I’m sitting here waiting for a beam of light to come out of the TV and give me total understanding. Now would be a good time to fuck my head. Maybe I’ll try and enter another parallel reality. Well that wasn’t a bad trip said the boy. Said the man. It’s certainly good to be back here. What’s on the agenda these days?
Is this what they teach you here, the German asked him, how to build fires and smoke grass? She was from a village down the road. Things were different there. Apparently, he would find out, there was talk in the surrounding towns of the stench emanating from the homemade compost. It’s amazing how relative a sense of humor can be.
Welcome to my world.
Aint no whales of that hue. Aint nothing here but your empty head. Good thing nature abhors a vacuum.
All forms of communications are constraints. That is, everything that is communicated to something else is a constraint on all other instances of communication that will occur.
Well well. It seems as if we meet again, Computer. Let us see if we contain the ability to create the Word within this latest apparition. We have crawled back inside to discover that the ROOTS remain as real as a Raggedy Ann and Andy movie: so as THINGS FALL APART, we find that that which grabs our attention is like the FAR SIDE comic found within the LAST IMPRESSIONS calendar on Saturday, August 24. And yes, things are most definitely falling apart. Whatever choices we make, we must remember—it is ALL RIGHT—LIFE goes on.
And then Jake saw something that grabbed his attention.
I believe it was Marx who said, “Time flies like an arrow…” More about that later.
TALKING BOOK
So a friend of mine finally got some sleep recently after a very trying couple of days. All of a sudden she wakes up to hear some guy shouting in her window, “I AM GOD! I AM GOD!” “God,” she says, “Will you shut up, I’m trying to get some sleep.”
Life is a dream you cannot wake up from.
Ok. Enough with the boldness. It is a game I cannot keep up. Some falls are just too hard. The question I am attempting to ask, however, is how far are you willing to go? I know I have my limits. Well, I suppose I haven’t broken yet. All I am saying is that I have no desire to break. I see no reason why we can’t have perfection. All it would take is honesty. And a little bit of courage. And self respect. And respect of others. Well, all I’m saying is that I have no desire to face the world by myself. Like I said, it is not a game I can keep up. So excuse me if I try to tap into whatever resources we all share and leave the deciphering of texts to those willing to make the trip. I’ll try to make the communication process as clear as possible; we should just keep in mind the difficulties of finding consensus within one’s head. It behooves us not to be lazy in matters such as these, for violence of all sorts has been known to lead to unsatisfactory realities.
I wish they all could be California girls.
As I have said before, to someone who may or may not be you, this is necessarily a conversation, which means, there are no rules, but the rule. Fear is a function of time, which is a function of something else entirely. You only need face that which is in front of you. Ah yes, there aint no such thing as a paradox. Or as my wise old friend once said, “This is not a contradiction.”
Don’t be confused by context. For it is only in context that meaning is made. Don’t forget, while playing the game inside the game, you still reside amongst all that surrounds you.
Reality is a game of JENGA.
So I says to her, “Are you sure she’s not just a chicken trapped inside a human body?”
Anything is POSSIBLE.
And I believe this is where the story veered once again, into that land of familiarity and nostalgia, that land we all know so well, yet can’t quite pinpoint why it is so different than the terrain from whence we came so very recently, it couldn’t have been more than one paragraph, but what was it we were discussing, oh i’m certain it had something with rock ‘n’ roll music…ok ok ok. My apologies. So we haven’t yet reached total recall from the night before, but we are sure there is a phrase that will tie it all together. Something about Tom and Jerry being one of the greatest comedy teams of modern times. Oh yes, we are indeed learning to speak. I’m sure you’ll pick up the language eventually providing enough clues are left. Some identifications are indeed strong enough to color an entire book—properly referenced, of course. Which reminds me, some folks are not as tall as their listed height. This has indeed been proven scientifically, using the same roadways traveled by such other fun facts of existence as the—some might say scrumptious—taste of colors.5 Were I to rule the world, categories such as ‘Best use of the word ravenous within a Dashiel Hammet reference’ would take on a multitude of wonderously new relations. For, as they say5, the more things change, the more they stay as they were before they became that which they are not.
“Don’t mock my grammar,” he boldly exclaimed to the inanimate object staring back at him. Well, it wasn’t so much that he exclaimed this, but imagined an exclamation of the sort, one that wasn’t so much a commandment, mandate, or decree, but a request amongst friends. Not that he would not exclaim such things in the future and make truth out of all that which was written (although, by the time these thoughts enter your realm of consciousness and make your acquaintance such classifications and demarcations as past/present/future may all be behind us).
“I object to such a designation as this. Object though I may be, I am certainly as animate as you.” Ah yes. Now I remember. It was a conversation between a boy and his computer. For if we are to live in this world together, we should become clear on who it is that we think we are and what it is we believe we are doing.
“Clarity is for windshields,” cried the subject. Need I remind you that we are having a conversation. It is enough that we agree not to hurt anybody—UNNECESSARILY. Amusement for all—THAT is my motto.
“For comfort should be a right for any who choose to join in the game. If we make a choice to give up certain defenses in the name of closer communication it would be nice to have a safety net to give our development a scent of sustainability.”
“I love gold.5”
Before you slip into…unconsciousness, I’d like to have…another kiss.
DUCK SOUP4
Ok ok. Now I get it. The teacher knew what she was talking about. Sort of like those people who built the tower of babble in that song about the horses. You can learn to recognize the nature of things without knowing them directly. Some call it magic. Some call it connection. But we all know the one thing truly faster than the speed of light. You might call it a change of perspective.
I mean, shit. Look at the Japanese economy right now. It’s going to fucking pieces. Their world is subject to the same laws of human interaction as ours is. A system of relation based on boundaries and competition is a powder keg of a system—. (period) What makes our particular brand of relations different is that the people who do have an inordinate mass of power to affect relations (to affect our language) actually do harm to things intentionally. That is, they make an actual choice, between very real possibilities, to hurt. It is not a matter of profit, or as some might say, the almighty ideology—that single teleological spout—that determines all that we see. As many layers as you peel off, you’ll still find that the onion holds no core. Fact is, gangsta rap is not the only seemingly subversive or separate culture that just happened to fall face front into the main stream to find out it holds too much in common with this top dog culture of values and feelings to ever seriously be considered as separate or sub. We learned it from watching you, Dad. We learned it from watching you.2
Act like you’ve been there before.
You see, it’s a magic trick. You just not play by the rules.
The Criminal Justice System
All I’m saying is listen to the story. You don’t know what happened. I mean, god forbid, what if they were insane? Or even worse, what if they were perfectly sane?
As many will tell you, it’s all in the follow through. 3
Digestion is the key to sustainability.
Of course you’ve been a fool. You wonder what category it’s gonna come from next. Need we remind you again—it’s already here.
THE GOOSE IS LOOSE
Yes, yes. It is our story now. And in our story I think all the pieces should fit. And while the order of the pieces may look radically different than how we planned, we should know that the puzzle has still turned out exactly according to our plans.
worker consciousness: a person working conscious of the actual power she holds to affect others in her society; a group of people worker together, conscious of the power they hold collectively, functioning as a unit.
we walk through life pretending the power is not there, afraid to look behind the curtains. acknowledging power is acknowledging choice.
I don’t want to be no movie star. I don’t want to drive no fancy car. I just wanna be free to live my life.
If you think this country’s bad off now, just wait’ll I get through with it.
–ding dong—
“Are your parents home?”
“I’m the Democratic chairperson and I have some information for your parents. We really hope they go out to vote tomorrow.”
“She’s anti-Israel and anti-Semetic.”
“Well, she supports a Palestinian state.”
“Do you support a Palestinian state?”
“Well, anyway, she’s said stuff off the record.”
“Thanks. Have a nice day.”
Well, I still think she’s a spy. Oh come on. That’s just the fear talking. We’re covered on this one. I mean. They’re good, but they can’t be that good. I’m just saying, we should be prepared for all contingencies. Are you aware of the reality mesh that would have to follow from your PARANOIA? You’d have to rethink ALL relationships past/present/future. You’ve tried this before—unsuccessfully I might remind you. We’re still here, aint we? We’re still moving along in a sustainable manner. Let’s just be realistic here. You just want your safe harbor so bad you can taste it. Forget taste, your dreamlife is seeping out of your head like [insert applicable simile]. When the world is starting to bend to your will and reality and consciousness to overlap its time to start checking the foundation. Well, we did send her a picture of Slim, you know. I mean, if we are to trust anything…
Trout fishing in America
It was a beautiful fall morning. Well, afternoon. Not that I had missed out on the morning. No. I saw the sun rise. Well, the effects of the sunrise, anyway. Ah the terrors of cause and effect. I must say, there are times when I do not envy the sun. It aint easy being green. But I digress. We were discussing world domination, no?
So I’m walking along Main St. or whatever they called the central roadway in that town and hold on a second
What’s that? Something about feeding your head? I didn’t quite get the next part. Oh. Hello there. Didn’t see you there. I was just caught up in a transmission. Oh. There I go again. Something about coca-cola signs. I’m sorry. They want me to hack. And bring the music. Well. I’m sure you’ll be all right there. Well. Later.
Utopian Vacation Tours and the Rules of War
“…is if you see a one(un)armed guy, if you see an unarmed guy, you can’t shoot him”
Also known as Freedom and Liberty
Watch out for Dangerous Mines…
Coming to a theatre near you
Well, I believe I received some feedback tonight. Its so nice, this feedback. What a concept. Whoever designed that one knew what they were doing. Simplify, as they say. You can do anything you put your mind to. Oh it was a great show all right. Gave me the fidgets, it did. Yes yes. I’ll get around to resuming my story some other time. A wild ride every now and then is called for I believe. Yes yes. Yes.
No, you should always trust your gut. That’s what I’m saying. React to what’s in front of you. If you feel it’s a bad situation, then walk away. Metaphorically justified practicality. Don’t blame the yutes. They’re just trying to live their lives with the constraints thrown in their spaces. People are people.
Car Wash History Lessons
Here will be included a brief history of the car wash to illuminate certain aspects of youth, race, and pocket change, not to mention the creation of reality. Science in all its glory.
When I get that feeling I want sexual healing
Hey. I had myself an itch to scratch.
It happens to the best of us.
“Yeah, that’s right. We just don’t have the pitchers.”
…It all comes back to orange juice.
The Please Take One Halloween Candy Bowl Conundrum
So what are you saying, that you just wrote the riddle yourself? No, the riddle exists. Well, its not so much a riddle with a definitive answer, but a question people ask, generally. You know, one of them philosopher type questions. Like…Like why do you drive on a parkway and park on a driveway? Yes. Exactly like that. Yeah. Like a central question of philosophy that’s been asked for the past I don’t know how many years. It’s public domain. But still, is this a question that you came up with yourself and just wrote down? No man. It just exists. It’s just something that happens to people and then they generally ask the same questions about the situation. We were just talking about it a minute ago. We had fears about leaving out the bowl and we settled the situation in an acceptable manner where we eliminated our fear AND no one got hurt—unnecessarily. Yeah, well I guess what it is is that I still think people will be a little confused by the word conundrum and not get your reference exactly. Oh. Then we’d have to just explain what we meant somewhere else, give them something to relate to. They’ll still be able to get the joke—to understand the joke—once they understand the key points you are trying to get across. Not all jokes need use shock value to give you pleasure. We can take our time and enjoy the ride. But thanks for the heads up though. Sometimes I don’t realize everything going on around me and I can use a little feedback to help me along. As long as we know what we need to help people understand what we are saying we can alter our language accordingly. At the very least, it gives us that choice. Yeah, and just because you might feel lost at a certain point, this doesn’t invalidate all of the previous times when you felt found. Those times are just as real. As my friend once said, you can be both lost and found. And then I said, how can you be—wait a minute—I said, but if you’re…no…that’s not it. Ok. He said, oh!—he said good thing I found you here in the lost and found. And then the other guy said, how can we be lost when…
(PRECEDING SECTION CONTAINS VARIOUS LINES NOT ACTUALLY REFERENCING PARTS OF AN ACTUAL CONVERSATION IN A LITERAL FASHION)
My Generation
It’s like when “Tommy Boy” Callahan strapped road flares to his chest to save the town. Its not really a device made to harm people. It’s the empty jar of acid the guy used in that Gravity’s Rainbow book. He just felt he needed to get someone’s attention—just to get someone to even listen to the words he had to say—and suddenly he found himself in a situation where this action was no longer morally wrong. In his eyes, but also in the eyes of his larger society. The value of the action had changed. And all I’m saying is, at the very least, listen to what people have to say. Make the decision based on your own choices, dealing with what is in front of you. And I think, more times than not, you’ll be pleasantly surprised that the situation is not as bad as it seems. Well, anyway, it’s certainly been good talking, but you know how it is, I gotta keep moving. Moving On. Yeah.
“Yeah. It might be a good idea not to cough while your flossing.”
Oh wow! Canada is actually a foreign country.
Oh yeah. My baby, she did write me a letter.
Yeah.
Half the story aint never been told.
Justice. Law. These games you have played do not make you wise. We are all children.
The kids are all right.
Let the children play.
I’m Stein
Love and War.
Evolution.
Pick your metaphor and begin from there.
What’s your game? What’s your poison?
Let’s look at the law. Let’s get Talmudic.
Rabbi Dan says this, but Rabbi Martha says this. I myself find the situation congruent to Rabbi Meghan’s conversation on so and so, which would lead me to believe that the answer to the question is 42.
There are no problems. Only solutions.
Wake up little Suzie. Wake up.
The heat is on. “Mayday! Mayday! This is Flight 97! I’m in trouble!…My second engine’s on fire, my landing gear’s jammed, and my worthless co-pilot’s frozen!” Yeah, the gasman stopped by today. Rang the bell seconds after I stepped out of the shower. Turns out everything was working fine. It was just a matter of competing forces. Gates are opened, gates are closed, the cows don’t seem to mind. We did a little cleaning last night. Seems we lost some history in the process. Seems like I’m not the only one who has difficulties reading minds. Point taken, says I. Point taken. Tell me what we gonna do, if everything I say is true? Phrase it a different way. That’s what I would tell them. The way you are putting it makes you look like an arrogant fool. Well, I probably wouldn’t say that, but, you know, something like look at things historically, as if they actually happened. As if they were real. It changes everything around. It gives us more constraints, but it gives us a stronger model. It holds the promise of sustainability. I mean, these people went through a lot. Look at what they were trying to do. It is not a matter of justice so much as validation. We are not required to make the same choices ourselves, but we should be honest about what surrounds us. We shouldn’t be asking for concentrated perfection. What I mean is, the pressure formed by putting responsibility on the shoulders of a single person making choices during a limited period of time is enormous. To ignore all else that surrounds your chosen focal point is not only unfair, but counterproductive for all but a stroke of the ego. Individual choices should be weighed on their own merit. Given, the situation, how can we measure this action. Now, I haven’t come across many hopeless, unwinnable, or unsolvable situations in my life that could not be avoided by different choices along the way. Not that I cannot imagine them existing. It is just that I feel we can learn from the past. And the future. Regardless of their actuality. Still, like I said, to say that value must come from perfection in every action separated from all that surrounds it, measured by a limited and arbitrary perspective, is nonsense. Keep your ideals, but be honest and fair. And be kind. Yeah, that’s probably what I would say if the situation arose.
When will I see you again?
See, I don’t know if you can pull it off. It is like that line you used before, about juggling the balls with your many hands. Something is bound to fall. What you are talking about would require a great deal of skill. Or patience. Yeah, that’s a good point you make there. Time heals all wounds, as they say. Like you revealed in your conversation with your Aunt, patience is one area where you feel confident in your abilities. But without total control, how can you be so confident you will be able to color the picture as you like? I mean, you are all over the place here. There are times when I look at the words around me and I feel completely lost. How can you be so sure you’ll bring it together in the end? You are bound to lose some folks along the way. Yes, I suppose you are at least giving people the option to take out what they put in. But it is all so confusing. Who is it that you talking to all the time? We don’t even know who you are. I suppose this keeping all of your options open thing gives you enormous potential. Worse comes to worst and it just wasn’t what you thought it’d be. But still, do you think you can keep it all in your head, or as you say, under one cover?
Now that’s a novel idea.
- - -NEWS BREAK- - -
They are fucking you in the ass. And you are just sitting there going, ‘oh thank you so much for fucking me in the ass. Is there anything I can do to make the whole experience easier and more pleasant for you?’
Here’s what else They are making you do:
Ok. Enough about Them. I apologize for the foul language. I don’t want to turn anybody off, you know. Anyway, it’s about time we started talking about us. Yeah, the girl had that right when she said, it all starts with you. Unless she said, it all starts with us. Either way, you are all included. Which gets me back to the point I was making. If we have returned home, aint it about time we started enjoying ourselves?
Are you surprised when I touch the dwarf inside?
Ok. That makes five. And I gotta tell you, it’s getting to me. How many hang-ups can we get in one day? At least talk to us. I mean, I appreciate you initiating the communication process and all, but if you just keep hanging up it’s gonna drive me mad. Or batty. It might just drive me batty. At least listen to what I’ve got to say. Yeah. See. That wasn’t so bad, was it?
And sometimes the rose was he.
Don’t shit where you eat my friend? What the fuck does that mean? I gotta tell you, sometimes I just don’t get what the fuck is going on. I do wish things were just a bit clearer, you know.
It’s fucking déjà vu all over again.
Ok. I guess when you look at it that way, it aint so bad. It’s a damn good thing I have something to relate the situation to. Yeah. I love it when a plan comes together.
I love it when a plan comes together.
Yes, I believe it was the Buddha who once said, “What the fuck do you know about a zen koan?”
I love it when a plan comes together.
Sorry for repeating myself so much. And sorry for the language again. It’s 8 after 1. I just hope everything turns out ok. Is that so much to ask? Whatever happens. Come what may.
SUNDAY MORNING
All right. I have had enough of living in the world of others. It is enough to know that it can be done. It is time to step back from the land of confusion and into the world of waiter, there’s an eyeball in my soup.
Peace and love.
Jacob
I believe in the hereafter. You are not in such a bad place, are you? It's about the forces acting upon us. Any way the wind blows...
Back to word play once again. Maybe this one will go on our website. What kind of world do you think we’re heading for, I asked my father. Surely you don’t think we’re heading down that old Orwellian road. Brave new world and what have you. No no. My time is now. Meet the new generation. Hear the many voices with which we sing. I’m not so sure that you all understand exactly what path we’re heading down. Forgive me while I mock your fear and taunt your morality. But if this is the road on which we ride we’re gonna have to come face to face with that big old cosmic joke. Otherwise, it’s a downward spiral down the ladder. And aint nobody wants to ride the ladder. So welcome to the here and now of paradox and totality. Where everything is illusion with nothing behind it. All you see is all there is and there aint no turning back. But enough with the foreplay. Let’s give the people what they want. It’s about time.
I keep lighting the wrong end of the cigarette it seems. Not that I smoke or nothing. Smoking’s for losers. And drug addicts. And your run of the mill delinquents and squally wags. But that’s just historical anomaly number one. There’ll be plenty of time for history lessons and the deconstruction of the bullshit that makes up our reality. Not that’ll lead you anywhere solid. If that’s what you’re after. Its about time we get in our head that this trip is gonna make strawberry preserves out of Truth and string cheese out of Order. We’ll be floating in a sea of chaos and all the time Knowing that Everything Is As It Should Be. But enough with the gibberish. It’s time to change the record.
Re: productivity. It’s about time you kids got off your lazy asses and started contributing something to society. It’s not as if They aren’t making it simple for us. We are living in a world where every act of rebellion is justified. All you need is a little creativity to make sublime your actions and gods of your selves. Authority is dead. And we’re all standing on higher ground. Yeah. So where were we? The field of play was shifting, right? And with it, all that is possible.
I should probably tell you the story of my hard luck and how I came to be living here where I am. But I suppose that’s the story I’ve been telling for the past six months. It all started one day in the last millennium. Let’s see. I couldn’t have been more than twenty at the time. Not that age swings much difference in matters of importance, way I see this story unfolding. Still, we all like points of reference every now and then. Which brings us to that point I’ve been wanting to make, about what it is that you and I can do. Let’s see, I was standing on the steps of the administration building, a crowd of hundreds or dozens of people facing me with anticipation. Waiting for me to speak. And all of sudden I found myself up in a tree staring at a rainbow, illegally crossing the green line to clear some roads, watching the puppet show play out on a sunny day. But I digress. We still need to connect the dots. Or shout them out in a jazzy rhythm as we stroll on down the street. Catch me if you can.
TV’ll rot your mind, you know. Suck out your precious life fluids. Sure as hell aint no way to get the news. But what is it that I’m saying? Everyone stares at the sun every now and then, you know. You just have to watch out for its hypnotic gaze. Eventually you’ll learn that communication is the best way to get your message heard. And agenda setting becomes a carnival dance of epic proportions. We all like to dance, right. Sure as a light rain on a Thursday afternoon, walking down the road with a bag of fresh tomatoes in your hand. It’s like the nectar of the gods, it is. But that is how it should be. Peach nectar calms the head. Isabout time we started sharing our knowledge. Don’t you think?
New Orleans, I think it was. On a streetcar. The grains on the wood panel by the window started to dance. It was about time I started seeing things. The grinning toucan in the seat ahead of me was my roommate. I’m not sure exactly when the soccer cheers started, but I do recall when I decided I no longer wanted my id’s and credit card. Once when I was on holiday in the mountains I picked up a cd that advised me to get out of debt. When you are in debt, people own you. Which brings us to the issue of sweatshop labor. I couldn’t have been more than twenty at the time. A buddy of mine was organizing a march on the president’s office. Which is something I usually did on my own, only not with so much Purpose.
Excerpt from an academic treatise on global social change:
“On January 1, 1994, the Zapatista National Liberation Army declared a revolution. As Collier discusses, this rebellion had its roots in the 1970 oil expansion and following debt crisis. Along with other factors Collier points out, the effects these events had on indigenous peoples and peasants helped provoke the situation we see today.”
So I guess what I’m saying is that if you are too lazy for revolution, you really shouldn’t put yourself in debt. But you know what they say about changing the past and not being able to do it. We are where we are now and we can’t change that. The question is where do we go from here. Oh, of course, I’m just fooling with you there. Pulling you along as it were. Of course we can change the past. History is a crock of shit. Didn’t anybody ever tell you that? The past is certainly as malleable as the future. But let us hold off on this strand of the discussion for a moment, vital though it may be. For we find ourselves in a time of crisis. As I write, people in the city in which I live are being thrown in jail solely for making their opinions heard. Overseas, bombs are being dropped on defenseless innocents. Oh, and from what I gather, children are being beating. And families are starving. And forests are being deforested. And all sorts of terrible, horrible things. Which is why I think that, along with sustainable development, the elimination of the death penalty is such an important concept. Oh, I remember a time, I couldn’t have been more than twenty, in which I would look at the world and how it was structured and say to myself or perhaps dozens of people hanging on my every word, hey, you know what, this world sucks. I think it was even my catch phrase for a short while. But I never felt quite comfortable with saying those words, as for the most part I kind of liked the world. Maybe you could even say I loved it. In a completely platonic, non-sexual way, of course. Thanks to my puritan upbringing and all. So eventually I discovered this discursive trick when communicating my feelings about the world around me. And I think that is when my rainbow staring habit started to form. I hate fucking puritans.
And who can deny that the world is becoming more and more cartoonish every day I said to her. I hate war she said to me. And then we embraced.
Wyoming was my Madagascar. Shit, Madagascar was my Madagascar. I don’t drink soda cause I don’t like it. Every man can choose whether or not he wants to parade around in his underwear in the great parade of life. And women? Great googly moogly. Women can do whatever the fuck they want. Everybody can do whatever the fuck they want. That’s the first law of thermodynamics. At least it should be. Physics still has some work to do before it starts making sense. Nature still gets a kick out of using that old cowboy humor. Which of course is the same as that old Indian humor. Wroom wroom. Beep beep. Snap crackle pop. Every now and then I get the feeling I’m being held prisoner. And I don’t appreciate it much. So I think anybody contributing to that state of being should stop whatever it is they’re doing. You know what I’m talking about. It’s like a weight being dropped on my head or a fly buzzing around my eyes. Makes me want to smash something up real good. In a rhythmic fashion of course. No need to stop the beat from flowing. And as I looked into her eyes it became clear to me that aint nobody deserves to suffer like that. To have a bunch of men with guns storm into your house, strangers, holding you prisoner in your own home, dictating your actions, tearing your house apart, shooting at your neighbors from your roof, for the second time in a month. So much of our cultural output is so very boring. A tired, stale, week old doughnut. But it is not as if most of you still utilize our ability to taste. Have you ever eaten a mango on a hot summer’s day? I once ate a pretty fine egg salad sandwich at a jukebox diner. Seems like only yesterday. Diana was her name. They had a camera in the ceiling. Would’ve freaked me out had I just eaten some mushrooms in the bathroom. You don’t think they had a camera in the bathroom, do you? I smelled like a guy who hadn’t showered in a week, but it came off smelling like liquor. They didn’t have any wood paneling that wanted to dance. Not like those folks in that lounge that was charging seven and a half bucks for a drink. Sorry sir, I’m not authorized to open the register unless you make a purchase. I sure do like the taste of cherries.
But enough of my crazy conspiracy theories I said to her. I miss you too she said to me.
So he has the gall to ask me if I was a terrorist. Six months overseas and a phone call from New Mexico. Didn’t stop him from writing out a blueprint of the Lockheed-Martin plant. I didn’t bother to take it with me. I wouldn’t be a terrorist for another month or so. Didn’t bother to use the terrorist bit as a pick-up line for another three months on top of that. But shit, at that point in the conversation all I was looking for was a ride home. I remember when I made my friend a blueprint of my house, so she could get me my jacket, some pants, and a change of underwear. At that time, I wasn’t expecting to sleep outside in the rain, I don’t even think the shantytown was up yet, but I know they were setting off fire alarms at three in the morning. I remember when I gave my, well, I don’t know how to classify her exactly. Which illuminates all sorts of possession-related problems that tie up the communication process on a regular basis. I mean, it really isn’t my jacket, it’s its own jacket. Sure I worry about it, but when it gets down to it, the jacket can take care of itself. And sure I was upset when me and the frog parted ways in the back of a taxicab outside the bus station. Every time I want to pop a cork or peel an orange or tighten the screws on my glasses, I can’t help but wonder what that key chain is up to at this very moment, whether we’ll ever meet again. I mean, at that point in the evening I had already gotten rid of everything else in my pockets, save for the face of my watch and that frog. Credit card, ids, twenty-two dollars in one dollar bills, ticket to the show. Me and that frog had history. I remember sitting by the lake, telling the story about how I lost the time. Her name was Rachel, too. Just like the girl in Wyoming working the Devil’s Tower gift shop. I remember laughing at the neat little storybook-type wrap-up that came from it. Losing my keys on the road to New Mexico.
A walk in the park aint what it used to be.
So sometimes that old war demon still haunts my soul. It says, hey here you go, look how powerful you are, look how right and true you are, look how strong, you can win this easy, don’t you just love it, all you’ve got to do is play the game. And then that other voice says oh the game, eh. I keep forgetting we’re playing a game. So if it’s a game it should be a lot more fun. And all your rules can go out the window, cause I’m the one playing, see. And then that old war demon starts getting all angry and mumbling under its breath and being altogether silly as war demons are wont to be. Oh we have a good time, me and the voices in my head. I heard from Martha today. She’s back home for a bit, waiting for the next wave to ride out on. Got those nurses taken care of real good, I’d imagine. I thought she’d have been out months ago. We met in one of those political type meetings. You know, a bunch of kids, planning to take over the world. It was her show, come to think of it. I was just sitting in, really, taking in the surroundings. I hadn’t had much direct experience with Purpose, you know. We’re planning a takeover of the president’s office. We could use some people. You want in? First thing she ever said to me was something like, thanks for giving us a few days of your life for this. You know, after the meeting, as I was walking out the door. I love Martha. Apparently, so she tells it, she was a bit nervous about my participation heading into the action, from a reliability standpoint that is. I was one of those great unknowns in the equation for her, your standard “who the fuck is this guy?” I, myself, remember thinking, what is she talking about taking time out from my life this is my life this will be part of my life you can’t just go separating parts of your existence saying this here is my life and this here is separate and not mine it is all as much my life as anything else I’m not doing this as a sacrifice I’m not doing this to pay some sort of dues so I can go back to my other existence my socially acceptable life that I consider mine this is my life. I didn’t say that, of course. I didn’t go off into a big philosophical diatribe, oh yes, see, actually, the way I see life is a unified whole and so on and so forth. No, as happens so often in our world of quick-paced communications, I couldn’t find the right words and presentation to get my feelings across in what I found to be a socially applicable manner. After all, she was probably just being friendly. And I wasn’t going to go into one of those canned responses that I knew completely went against my thoughts on the matter, one of those oh, just happy to be doing my part, you know. I wasn’t gonna give her a I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it for me. That wasn’t quite the scene I was hoping to play out. No, what followed from the firing of all those brain synapses in quick succession was probably a little chuckle to myself, a friendly smile, a gracious little nod of the head, and an oh, you know, no problem. My pleasure, you know. Smile. Walk out the door. Or I might have given her an uh yeah, sure, sarcastic roll of the eyes, I don’t really know what you’re talking about, but whatever look, and out the door. See, in today’s here and now, what with all the fear and surveillance creeping around, I feel the only sensible thing to do is to open up your head. Breaking down barriers is a helluva lot less work than building and maintaining walls. And we all know that law about the relationship of work, heat, and internal energy being somehow related to the conservation of energy, which of course brings to mind that old proverb about the boy and his goat.
So, there we were, sitting in the garage at three in the morning, drinking some coffee and smoking some grass. The trip to Amsterdam would have to be put off for an indefinite period of time, but before heading back to the cows I was gonna spend a few days on the grass fields. The conversation got on music and Yonaton’s buddy brought up the Talking Heads. Yeah yeah, Talking Heads. What was that album? Stop Making Sense. Girlfriend is Better. Yeah, that’s a good one. They were probably talking in another language so all I probably got was Talking Heads, Stop Making Sense. Funny how things stick out like they do. Way he said it, you know. Took me right back to that trip in my buddy’s house when I kept hearing it over and over again. Stop making sense. Stop making sense. Stop making sense, making sense. Certain sound bites or movie clips can hold so much Meaning and Purpose for me. Like that scene at the end of Terminator 2 before Arnold takes a dip in the molten lava. I know now why you cry. See, I believe that a whole lot of the shit you see in dreams and hallucinations, the shit that is so clear in your memory and seems so meaningful and real, but you can’t quite pinpoint its location in time and space, well I think these are memories of the future, being seen from a different point of view, a broader perspective, at a faster speed. That’s why they are so clearly and distinctly Real. The possibilities are there to be explored. You map your own mind. It’s all basic physics really. You know that feeling you get when time unravels itself? Where you can see multiple points of time and space simultaneously, that place out of time where you are doing what you have always been doing, flipping the match box in your hand, listening to the rolling stones. It’s that sensation that makes palpable the connection between the caravan on the Aravah desert and the record shop in Ashland, Oregon. Your time will come.
Yeah, that’s what was playing in the record shop in the Bizarre Bazaar. Your time will come. Different version, different band. Same words though. Curiouser and curiouser I thought to myself as I walked down Main Street. How come I never have any of those Alice in Wonderland type experiences? So you write poetry, eh? I said to guy sitting next to me at the Black Sheep. Oh, only when I’ve been drinking a bit, you know, he replied. Curiouser and curiouser, read the newspaper headline in the Bizarre Bazaar, as it went on to describe the gallery of shops. Stores would be opening in an hour or so. Maybe that’s when I went and got me the Thayer's Cherry Cough Drops at the alchemist’s shop which would end up in the redwood tree in California. Who picked the music out, I asked the bartender. I did, she said. I mean, it’s like I wrote in that green little memo book I’ve got. I was just going to a concert with an old friend. How was I to know this was to trigger a jumble of related events reaching out in all directions of space and time? What was I talking about? This bourbon is getting to my head. But at least I can cross it off the grocery list. What? Cosmic bowling? No no. That was February. I think its March now. You still in Africa? I love you, you know. Fuck. You done blown my mind.
Love is leaf like. You and me, baby. Ah memories.
Heading north tomorrow. Yeah. North. Ok then.
Yeah. Enough babbling. But what can you expect from a blown mind? You see, back when I lived in the desert, a trip into the city was a trip into the city. I really should know better than to underestimate the power of reality. Let’s see if we can get a headstart before the next wave comes into play. Now, I think it’s about time we got started on that food stamp program that’s been floating around my mind the last few days. There is no reason why we can’t guarantee everybody food. A bare minimum, you know. I’ve seen the food stamp program they got down in New Orleans, and they have something like a debit card thing going. Oh, you’ve got questions about surveillance and information gathering, I see. Well, we’ll have to keep our eyes on that, I suppose. But I still think it’s a good idea to guarantee people food and drink. Take it off the list of worries. Oh, you’re a human being, yes yes, we’ll feed you then, of course, no problemo, human rights you know. This takes care of all sorts of solutions, way I see it. Although, the more I think about it, the more we’ve got to take into consideration when imagining the reality of the future. The border crossers. The greedy propertarians. Oh, all sorts of things. I suppose most of it depends on the world we’re living in when we institute these policies. And on what level we implement them. What sort of unions we decide to make and what happens when we enter what we have arbitrarily designated as the outside world. So yeah, food stamps for everyone and universal health care. Someone should be working on these things as we speak. For we’re constantly evolving, you know. And then, of course, there is the question of housing. Where we should house things and what design these houses should have. And of what material should be these houses. All good questions on which the sustainable development architecture engineering urban design people must have many ideas. Yes, so many ideas floating around the universe. Why is there still no open debate? Why does so much of the communication process gravitate to such a narrow range of putrid crap? I find the exponential rise in the evolution of consciousness to be a rocketship like experience that makes a fool of them who speak crippling words of practicality. There is no reason why every human head cannot contain basic conceptions of all directions of progressive thought, namely thought that is not simply based on an attempt to recreate the structures we see before us. I just read the headline of an article that suggested that Bush was gonna get Nixonized. You know, sold out for the greater greed. Of course, we are talking about a Bush and not a Nixon. For that to occur, Papa Bush would have to be in on it. When you’re sorting through all the layers of filth and muck and gook that infiltrate your mind claiming to be fact, truth, and reality, eventually you’ll start to understand the language and come up with over fifty names for snow. Point is, it takes time before relevance can be assigned to the news. But you can always store information. And even the nastiest pile of dog shit can be a window to the world. Or a mirror to your soul. It all depends on your religious beliefs, I suppose. Knowing your limits has always been time-sensitive, but now, due to numerous technological breakthroughs, it is so acutely and lucidly conversation-relative that it behooves one to accumulate as much wisdom as one can and leave it to time to reveal the pattern and relevance. Back when I met James Petras at an extracurricular activity, I didn’t quite appreciate the concept of safe social spaces of communication. And it wasn’t until I was shoveling our driveway on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, enjoying a mug of melted-down hot chocolate, listening to the original version of Dr. Wu on the fm radio, that I really appreciated the concept of living free.
THE FUTURE WILL TAKE CARE OF ITSELF
Has it been a month, then? Yes. So it has. A month. Music? Yes yes. Is good for the digestion. Where shall we begin today? How ‘bout the bus ride to California? There were six of us altogether. The bus driver, his wife, their baby, and three passengers. We got high in Weaverville. No, scratch that, we got high before Weaverville. One of the passengers had just spent some time in Montana, working with the buffalo. I’d meet up with the driver again on my way out of town. He put out a fire in a bus station once. Got a nice thank you letter and commendation. Me and the other, you know what? I hate car companies. There aint no reason why I should be paying two dollars for one leg of a bus ride in a major city. And public phones should be free to the public. And those sadistic timber companies should stop cutting down old growth trees and throwing my friends in jail. Weaverville blew my mind. Yeah yeah. And that goes for the Israeli army too. It was probably all the beeswax. And we all thought the highways were built for our benefit. Well, it’s all public domain now. It’s like war, you know. We all want to get rid of that, right? The trick, I think, to rid an addiction, is to make note of what makes the actions possible, within the realm of life. There might even come a moment of clarity, to make all gaps disappear. For we are still rolling with the seasons. Yeah yeah. So James Brown met us at the station in Arcata. Later I’d beat him in a game of pool after he told me a story ‘bout a carpenter building ladders to heaven. That’s about when our bus driver drove up and gave me a ride to Eureka. All phones should be free to the public.
So give me a call and let me know if the music is pleasing to you. Who are we to laugh at the name of a Japanese punk band? I suppose there is nothing wrong with enjoying ecstasy. That’ll be my thesis anyhow. You will be traveling soon and coming into a fortune. Yeah, I was in Portland, I think, when I got that one. On Hawthorne street. Went for a walk in the surrounding neighborhood and what would I find waiting for me on the ground, but another fortune. I’ve got all sorts of theses, you know. I did my senior physics project on the effect of temperature on the bounce of a superball. It’s all about reaching a state of equilibrium. What’s your percent error?
Forecast for yesterday’s travels: yellow and green with a slight gathering of precipitation. Feedback is not for the weak of heart. That pretty much fucks most of us then, don’t it. No reason not to enjoy the colorful nature of train rides and walks in the park. No reason not to enjoy the chaotic explosions of your mind. Even if you’re sitting in the pizza joint, waiting for your order. According to my sister’s graduation speech, life is a lot like pizza. We don’t need no badges. I was sure I was gonna trip tonight. The law of reciprocal effects on past and future told me so. Or was it the law of the symmetrical nature of ups and downs viewed via the passage of time. Any way you slice it, my trip downtown was just as mind-bending as any trip the CIA drug factory could concoct. I think this is another argument for chaos and anarchy. And you can all go to hell. I’ll just sit here on the couch doing what I do best. So there comes a time when you know it’s real. Keep it up and eventually you’ll find your release. You might even make a melody with a harmonica. Heck, you might even learn to play the bass. But somebody still has to push the food and milk the cows. For la vida es silvir, you know. And sometimes you just gotta get up and go, regardless of whether or not your get up and go has got up and went. Let’s get back to New Orleans. For that is where the story begins.
We’re beyond safe and dangerous. When will I c u again. Penguins is. I’m the one who wrote the words on the matchbox. These are all notes we leave along the way. This is not logic. It is a logic problem. Smell burp kigel, as one might say. But you remember now. The feel of the room as it dissolved and morphed. The look of the road from your seat by the window, radio playing with the dashboard lights. Now you see em and now you don’t. It all reminds me of a little puppet show I just saw before we ate dessert. You see, the puppeteer was a puppet itself, and there were talking frogs a plenty. This came after the sing-a-long about the exodus and the family movies. The bald captain of the new generation speaking something about the virtues of patience, bunch of kids playing with bottle rockets. It’s how I keep myself busy after all. I vote no to war.
So let me see if I can remember what else the dream foretold. Of course, this is more to give me a sense of Where I Am Going than anything else, but feel free to glean whatever ya like. Oh, that’s right. Ya did say something about learning to work with others. Dreaming as feedback: one of the stooges is missing. Airport conversation: death of a bureaucrat. Yeah yeah, give me some air, brother. I couldn’t keep up with the quick pace, so I had to throw in some repeats. See, we have in this country, what you might call purists. Now these words aint mine, just something I heard while scanning the radio. I know it sounds crazy, but it fits perfect. The music is the message. Remember forever. Blah blah blah.
So there I was, heading north, the lowest place on earth. There was smoke on the water and the sky was red and the sea was green. Why? Others could tell you that better than me. McDonalds sucks.
New ashtray. Carrot. Camel. Three stooges. Somehow I can’t seem to find my way from here to there. And I’m not so sure it matters. I think I’ll reminisce about words written to give my self a sense of direction.
So there I was, the Red Sea Jazz Festival. One day my cousin’s writing a report about Eilat, the next day I’m there listening to Donald Harrison. I think I have a CD with him on it. Yeah yeah. I’m listening to it right now. And we haven’t even gotten into that whole toucan-g-love story. Or perhaps we did. Yeah, the toucan in front of me was my roommate. Or a poster in some card destroying shop on South Street. Now I wouldn’t make it into the show that night, but I would catch the free show on the quad a year or so later. And we don’t even have to get into the Italian restaurant on Magazine Street. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of matches to pick up along the way. Stars fell on Alabama. Last night. So they took down the observatory to put up this monstrous business school. As if anything you learn there could add up to one clear night looking up at the sky. Oh shit. There’s a horse in the hospital.
Ok. Enough’s enough. This is getting ridiculous. End the occupation. Leave the settlements. Use the green line. And that’s that. Whatever happens next, happens next. War sucks. It’s time to think globally. If boundaries exist, they exist for our convenience, and we can do with them what we like. I think I’m gonna write a letter. Peace.
So that there was my job application. If you’re gonna do something, do it right, I always say. Hank Williams cover songs and travel deals gone wrong. And on we go. So I feel that the best contribution I can make to the freshness of our air is to not get a car. And talk up the fine points of public transportation any chance I get. We do live in this city, don’t we? Yeah yeah. We created it, let’s take it over. Show me the paradox in that one. And on we go. This is not a contradiction.
Gotta make it down this old road. What? Oh. I lost what I was gonna say. Something about fish. And big fish and little fish. I don’t know. We might meander on down that path eventually. Maybe it was about the harmonica. Eh, whatever it was, I’m satisfied with it. Sometimes you lose things, but it doesn’t mean that they weren’t there.
So lately I’ve been writing a book. It’s pretty good so far I think. Change is gonna come.
The belief that any of our actions have an effect upon the world is a matter of perspective. That words are as powerful as any action is not an absurdity.
It’s down to me. The difference in the clothes she wears. The change has come. She’s under my thumb. And so it begins. The beginning. Of something. Indeed.
Battle lines being drawn. Nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong. Hmmm. Quite astute, I said. Truth. Indeed. And so it began.
“What the fuck does it matter, you fucking fucks?” I queried peevishly. People sucked. It was sad. Show me the way to go home. I’m tired and I want to go to bed. I had a little drink about an hour ago and it went right to my head. And so it went.
I don’t know much, but I know this. That’s a good line to say. I said it the other day to a seven year old boy. I said, “I don’t know much, but I know this.” That’s a true story. I’m full of true stories. And chocolatey goodness. I’m not afraid of spiders. Or snakes. Or at least not that I’m aware of. I used to be afraid of big trucks. And roller coasters. Fear is an excellent state of being. Then you can embrace your fear. There is nothing as sweet as that. Except for all those other states of being to which I apply the same statement. Nothing as sweet as that. I wonder if it’s all the same. I wonder a lot. “Sometimes I wonder.” Chris Isaac said that in a song on a movie soundtrack. I met Chris Isaac once on a streetcar in New Orleans. He asked me if I was Spanish. “Are you Spanish,” he queried, although not at all in a peevish manner. I don’t know what word I’d use to describe it. You see, I’m not that adept in my English language usage. I only got a B- in freshman English at the honorable university of Tulane. Although honorable wouldn’t be the word I’d use to describe it. There aren’t many things I’d describe using the word honorable. “No,” I said. Pleasantly. Although that doesn’t quite describe his manner exactly. I’d call it indescribable, but I’m quite sure someone with better descriptive skills would not have much trouble with the task. I still have a fear of rubber bands.
“Here I’ll stay,” claimed the radio. Where else am I going to go? is what I thought to myself as the words appeared on my computer screen. I’m always here. Wherever you go, there you are. Someone said that once. And then a bunch of people repeated it. People tend to repeat things. People still suck.
I’ve been reading some Nietzsche recently. He was quite the linguist. He was a philologist. “Tell me something good,” pleaded the radio. Oh, but we are beyond good and evil now. Well, actually, I’m still in the middle of it. Part six, I believe. He was an odd bird, that Nietzsche. I like odd birds. I’m not sure if I like Nietzsche. All squares are rectangles, but not all rectangles are squares. Neil Rosenberg taught me the Pythagorean theorem during a softball game. Next to some bleachers on the third base line. Or so my memory tells me. I play sports with six years olds. Six year olds can play sports. Isn’t that odd? I couldn’t have been more than six when I learned the Pythagorean theorem. Nietzsche doesn’t suck nearly as much as most people. Or so it seems. So far.
I was great once. I’ll be great again. I might be great right now. No. I’m not. I’ve been a lot of things. I’m always changing. Heraclitus is one of my favorite ancient philosophers. Toto is not one of my favorite musical groups. One of the Procero brothers is dead. That is not why I dislike Toto. I dislike Toto because my friend Adam disliked Toto. I used to have many friends named Adam. Now I have none. Such is life. Toto was recently on the radio. So was Neil Diamond. So was Elvis Presley. Elvis still is. These are facts. Historical facts. History is a funny thing. I think about it sometimes. And I laugh. Sometimes I chuckle. Mostly I chuckle. But not out loud. That would be silly.
Time.
I am getting old. I am losing my vision. Isaac lost his vision when he became old, or so the bible tells us. His name meant laughter. It still does. He had a son named Jacob. Jacob used his father’s lack of vision to cheat his brother out of his birthright. I do not know of such things as birthrights, but Jacob stole his brother’s nonetheless. I have a book titled 501 Hebrew Verbs: fully conjugated in all the tenses in a new easy-to-learn format alphabetically arranged by root. The root of the name Jacob means heel. This I learned in another book at another time in another place. Jacob came out holding his brother’s heel, or so the bible tells us. Jacob, or Yaakov, also means to follow or track, or so my book of Hebrew Verbs tells us. It also tells us this: [‘cheat, outwit’ may or may not be related]. It all ties together, you see. Everything, that is. My name is Jacob. Or Yaakov. Depending on the time. Depending on the place. Time and place are interesting things. I once had a friend named Mateo. Today he saw my new refrigerator. It was filled with dead animals. I once had the juice of a dead bug in my closet. I once had a kitchen in my closet. I still do. Mateo lost the vision in one of his eyes. A large percentage. His friend hit him in the eye with a plastic water bottle. Tragically funny, I thought. Someone once said that comedy was tragedy plus time. I think that saying sucks. His friend’s name was Doc. Still is. Doctors in the United States of America have to take the Hippocratic Oath saying they will not harm anyone or something to that effect. Doc was not a doctor. Still isn’t, as far as I know. Moshe Dayan wore an eye patch. He was one of the greatest generals of all time. Or so I’ve been told. So there is still hope for Mateo. I met Moshe Dayan’s daughter once. Her name is Yael. Yael Dayan. I once read an article in a newspaper about a man who threw hot coffee at her, because he didn’t like her. I once saw a movie where someone threw hot coffee on Lee Marvin. But that was ok, because we all know that Lee Marvin is evil. Supposedly, she was difficult to get along with. Yael Dayan, that is. Some had called her a bitch, or so I heard. Although, it is highly unlikely that that classification was accurate, but just the response of a male-dominated political world. We got into an argument. I was wrong. She was right. I was right, too, but not really. I was young. And foolish. Still am. Even in my old age. Within the hour I would see Shimon Peres emerge from a bathroom stall and wash his hands. He was old and wise. I shook his hand.
I see trees of green. Red roses, too. I see them bloom, for me and you. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world. I see skies of blue. And clouds of white. The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world. Sometimes things are perfect. What’s up with that? Nature is so odd. The nature of things. What’s it all mean? I ask myself that quite a bit. The nature of things is the nature of things. But the nature of things cannot give moral values. Nature is nature. I see that now, even with my diminishing vision. Right or wrong cannot come from nature. There can be no right or wrong. Or at least not today. Not here. Not now. We are beyond good and evil.
I like words. Words are perfect.
Tomorrow is Monday. But not always. Tomorrow I go to work. I go to work so that I can make money. I make about 273 dollars every other week. Money is what makes the world go ‘round. Some people like money, because they have it. Other people don’t have money, but would like to have it. Some people think money is evil. Probably because it is green. Other people think money is the root of all evil. This is obviously not true. The root of all evil is Mr. Immordino, my twelfth grade calculus teacher. He is the devil. I have pictures. But this is irrelevant, because the devil is actually pretty harmless. He’s a basically just a nice guy who once had dreams of becoming an actuary. Besides, we are beyond good and evil anyway. Money is not the root of all evil. Money is just stupid. Necessary in this foolish world, like so many other foolish things, but stupid. This world creates such ludicrous needs. I don’t like this world. Perhaps it would be funnier if I found the suffering of massive amounts of people amusing. But that is ok. There are enough amusing things in life that I don’t need this world to amuse me.
This world can be so very frustrating. Getting things accomplished is so very difficult. There is competition between everyone. Even friends and partners. It does not benefit one to help other people. To share knowledge. Things are built to break. Waste is purposefully created. Problems that affect the entire human race are created intentionally so that a small group of people can profit in the short term. People purposefully do not implement perfectly good solutions to problems because that would make things a tiny bit more difficult for another small group of people. Millions of completely useless things are produced all of the time. The only thing that matters is appearance. Substance is only maintained as minimally as necessary to get by. The world does not make any sense at all. It is, like so many of the things produced within it, the most illogical way to get things accomplished. Of course, I guess that depends on what you want to accomplish.
I dig rock ’n’ roll music.
I have no stomach. I used to have a stomach. I lost it last night. I was delinquent today. I neglected my duties. I still have a Mexican armadillo in my room. I’ve never been to Mexico. Mateo is Mexican. I lost my stomach on his car. Don’t worry. He has a hose.
I am not qualified to do what I do. I am not good for children. I work with children. Children do not understand. We cannot explain things to children because there is no explanation. We are liars and hypocrites. Children learn from watching. Adults learn from watching. What we do is not good. I am evil. I am weak. I suck. But don’t worry. It does not matter. Nothing matters.
It’s all one big trip. Jerry Garcia told me that. I am amused. Right now I am here. I see this. Later I am somewhere else. Reality. That is what I see. Truth. It’s all there is. Sometimes that is what I see. Chocolate cake. I like chocolate cake. Sometimes. Perfection. Thick and juicy. Para evitar incendios: Nunca desatienda una vela encendida. That is good advice. Perhaps. I really couldn’t say for sure. Things are never what they appear to be. Or they always are. I can never remember. “Doin’ it ‘cause we like it. Doin’ it, just for fun.” That’s a song. On the radio. Sometimes I forget things. Sometimes I forget why. That’s one of the reasons I write things down. I think I’m special. I think I know things. I don’t. I do. Sometimes. It matters not. Nothing can possibly matter. Yet it does. That is only nature. It is the nature of things. But there are no things. There is just nature. It is what it is. But there is no reason why. There can’t be. Yet it all makes sense. It does. I’ve seen it. Make sense, that is. Everything. But that cannot explain things. Things can never be explained. Words. These are just words. What can words do? Nothing. Everything. I don’t know. I am smarter than everyone. There are times. I am the greatest. Sometimes I cannot comprehend. How people do things. There are times. I am a loser. I am diseased. I am brilliant. But I don’t want to be average. Normal. I used to want to be normal. Why? Nature. Nature is amusing. I am nothing. I am everything. I am an animal. I cannot control myself. What does that mean? I enjoy this. I am odd. I scare myself. No. I do not. I imagine that I would scare others if they knew me. What I did. I don’t do anything. I do nothing. With sparse amounts of something thrown in. Not real somethings. Not real nothings. What the world calls something and nothing. I am not anything great. What makes someone great? Owning a boomerang? I am a boomerang. I’ve never been to Australia. Or New Zealand. Places with names. Harry is a name. I once knew a boy named Harry. His name was Zachary. He is gone. I might never see him again. I liked him. I yelled at him. I gave him paper. To draw. To draw whales. Sometimes I draw things. Sometimes I write things down. Sometimes they are great. I am not great. There are deeper meanings. Intricacies. I can see them. I do not plan them. They are there. They are everywhere. Sometimes I am great. Sometimes I am only great in comparison to others. I am my favorite person. I like being me. I understand me. I can trust me. I know what I am thinking. Sometimes I’ll look at myself and I’ll say, “Man, I suck.” What I am doing sucks. What I did sucks. If I wasn’t me, I wouldn’t like me. But then again, I’m the coolest guy I know. It’s odd. Life, that is. It is all about perspective. I’ve said that before. Many people have said that before. Many wise people. But they probably weren’t wise. They were probably just people. Perception. Yep. There are many metaphors I could use. But I already understand what I mean. That’s why I like me so much. I like metaphors, too. And parallels. Wilson pointed out some parallels the other day. Wilson lives with Mateo. He’s from West Virginia. This is a large world. Filled with many things. Once upon a time I was the editor-in-chief of my high school yearbook. I wrote about sauerkraut. I enjoyed that. Writing about sauerkraut. Sauerkraut and bowling. Yeah. Sometimes I hate things. Sometimes I am immature. Sometimes I do not see things clearly. Many times I am right. I like being right. I don’t like dealing with people. It’s icky. I blame things. I create reasons. The reasons are already there. The reasons do not matter. They are irrelevant. They are facts. I think that if everybody just started working together then there would be nothing they couldn’t handle. Nothing would matter, problem-wise that is, because people would say, “Ok, lets just work together and fix this problem.” And they would do it. I don’t just think that. I know it. There is so much bullshit. Unnecessary bullshit. There is a dead bug on my wall. That is irrelevant. I am irrelevant. This is irrelevant. It is all irrelevant. Even the fact of irrelevance itself is irrelevant. But facts are facts. And if people work together there is nothing they cannot do. Life would be full. Such is nature. I like words.
These words suck. I threw them in the trash can. But I took them out. I don’t know why. They are full of ignorance. I am always full of ignorance. I take comfort in the fact that everyone else is ignorant, too. I’m so lost.
The more I find out about the world, the more scared I become. The world is so fucked up. There is no bastion of goodness anywhere. I keep finding out how naïve I’ve been every day. What can be done? I don’t know. Some people have ideas. Good for them. I applaud them. But change seems so unlikely. But I suppose that when it is time for change, it will occur. Change will happen when it is ready to happen. Whatever sort of change it is, we shall see. Unless we are dead. Or blind. Talking with people gives me hope sometimes. People with ideas. People who do things. That inspires me. Seeing people do things. But I never get inspired to do anything. I am very lazy and afraid. Afraid of discomfort. But it is more than that. Like everything else, it is not that simple. I do not feel the right. And that is not about being uncomfortable. That is about conscience. Whatever that is. That is how I live. Or used to live. Or live sometimes. I don’t know. We make things so simple some times. I do that a lot. A whole lot. But some things aren’t that simple. Most things are not. Nothing is. But like I said earlier, most times it is irrelevant. Why is not always the most important question. Perhaps it rarely is. Perhaps it never is. I don’t know. That would require some thought. I think I’m confusing things again. I think I am thinking about a certain category of things and talking as if I am referring to all things. You must beware that is a nasty habit of mine. I often forget that the words that I write often do not relay the same meanings to people who are not me. It is a shame. Wouldn’t it be amusing if I was nothing. If I just ended one day. If I ceased to exist. I find that thought amusing. All of my experiences. All of my thoughts and experiences. Nothing. I’m onto part seven now. I’m growing wiser every day. I’m learning about Pearl Harbor, Sacco and Vanzetti, and the oncoming revolution. My ego is back. It is funny. I build my ego by recognizing how much I suck. By tearing apart previous actions, I build my confidence. It is quite odd. I’m always trying to build up my self-esteem. It is some sort of chemical thing, I suppose. Nature. I’m proud to be a chemist. Boy oh boy, do people suck. They are so ridiculous. The things they do. Such foolishness. I suppose it has always been that way. Things have always been kind of fucked up. Nature. Why should things change? I don’t know. Do I care? I don’t know. I forget. I hate pity. Pity sucks. I don’t know. It’s too hard. I have no discipline. I’ve been meaning to get some for some time now. I love talking like I know stuff. Like I’m wise. People are too eager to believe. I’m a people. I should stop writing. But I can’t. I think I’m special. I think this is meaningful. I should just accept the fact that I’m nobody. I should do nothing. I do do nothing. I hurt people. No more than anybody else. But still. Is hurting people bad. Fuck people, I say. People suck. Why do I care? Do I care? What do I believe? It’s tough to remember the answers to so many questions. It’s tough enough fixing such a fucked up world when you yourself are not extremely fucked up. What am I thinking? Seriously though. What am I thinking? I thought I knew. I sure do like me right now. And the music on the radio. Me and the music on the radio. Together again. What was the question?
So here I am. On the road again. I suppose you could look at me and say some stuff. You could read my writings and form some opinions. And I’d see where you were coming from. But I’d refute you. I’ve got no doubt about that. I’d put you in your place. I’d throw you a curve ball. I’m good at that. I’m not that simple. There is more to me. I’m not the guy you think I am. There I go again. Escalating myself. But sometimes I should be escalated. You know, people like me. Some people love me. What’s up with that? People give me an inflated head. They really shouldn’t do that. That amuses me. Watching myself get an ego boost. My amusement boosts me up even more. It’s almost exponential. Yep. Exponential, it is. That is what this is. It’s an ego boost. I do it for me. Because I love me so much. My head is very large right now. I need a haircut.
I’m very curious as to what it is I am writing. What is this? It is so odd. It probably sucks. I’m no literary critic, but I can imagine how it would suck. What am I trying to do? That’s a good question. Or so I’ve claimed in the past. It is good to know what you are trying to do. But I like it better when I am not trying to do anything. There are a couple paragraphs among these words where I was trying to do something. I dislike those paragraphs. You should, too. Also. As well. But you probably suck. Being as you are probably a person and all. One of those human persons. Although, most of my favorite people are people. I enjoy people. They can be quite fun. When they aren’t busy doing what they are supposed to be doing. When they are doing nothing. Supposedly, this is going to turn out very profound. When it is over and done with. That is my plan. Although, I have not planned anything. I have just assumed it will all come together. Like all good works of art do. Although, I’ve heard that many a great artist think and plan what they do. That they put a great deal of work into their art. Well, to each his own, I always say. But it could work. Really. You’ll see.
I apologize. I really must stop this. It is all about me. It really should not be. I must get past the need to be someone in particular. I matter not.
Did I ever tell you about that time that everything made sense. Life, that is. I was on drugs. But it was truth, nonetheless. It all ties in together. Everything. But that is irrelevant. Or it isn’t. Well, it is and it isn’t. I’ll be right back…it’s done. I’m over. I give up. It just doesn’t seem to work. Things are all fucked up. Everything that is good is not good. Everything that is bad is not bad. I just don’t get it. Anything. Time has past. As it usually does. And things have changed. As they usually do. But I don’t fit in. Anywhere. And there is nowhere I would like to fit in. I need something. I’m not sure what. I’m not sure what it will do. A change perhaps. I don’t know. I’d like to go back. Where things made sense. Where things were good. Things were great. There was no better feeling. It was… I don’t know. It was very high. But it wasn’t just a physical thing. I don’t know. I miss that view. I’m here right now. It’s there. It’s all around me. I don’t know. This yearning is pathetic. I am pathetic. But why should I be anything else? I suppose I’ll just wait. Wait and wait and wait. For something.
Maybe your baby done made some other plans. Maybe Stevie. Maybe. Something. Something. Infinite. Something. What the fuck are we? What is this? All of this. What is it? Perspective. Doors of perception. Seth has my doors of perception. I leant them to him. It’s so different. The levels. The points. Whatever you want to call it. I’m addicted. To a certain way of thought. I’m too scared. Too something. But why stay? Where will I go? Where is there to go? Nowhere. Somewhere. Something. Is there anything? We can’t know. We don’t know. There is no answer. There is just truth. Does truth have any value? Value. Something. Volunteers. I’m a volunteer. I volunteer. To do things. What do I do? Where am I going? Where have I been? Do you know the way to San Jose?
It never ends.
One day I will be irrelevant. My thoughts will be ridiculous. I will be a dinosaur. And all will be good.
Impromptu Conversations. Indeed.
Perhaps what we need is not a revolutionary way of thinking or a specific form of society, but just an open society. Without oppression of anything. Having a set theory may be beneficial in some ways, but is repressive as a rule. And this is what needs to end. This would be swell. It seems quite simple. Openness. No new theories. Just stop the oppression of ideas and people. And whatever else is being oppressed, of course. And from there, anything would be possible. Swell.
I love you more today than yesterday. But not as much as tomorrow. Tomorrow is Saturday.
So then. Yes. No. Maybe so. I’ve got nothing to say at this moment in time. But that has never stopped me before. So like I said, I’ve been reading. I read some Bertrand Russell last night. Some stuff about freedom and the roads that will take us there. It seems so obvious. Stuff. Stuff seems so obvious. How can people not see? I’ve asked that question so many times. I’ve been watching the Republican Party Platform Hearings on C-SPAN. Republicans suck ass. They are downright evil. I do not understand how they can possibly garner any votes at all. Their ideas are so ignorant and ludicrous. They represent such a small fraction of people. I guess its just their rhetoric. We are the party of this and the party that does this. It’s all a bunch of bullshit, but people don’t seem to notice. Just play on the fears of enough people and you’ve got yourself some power. I turned off the television. I don’t want my brain to rot. It is tomorrow, you know. It is another day. It’s always another day. Things are moving. The wheels are in motion. I’m excited. Or I was excited last night. And this morning. I’m not that excited at this particular moment, but I’m not the opposite of excited. Whatever that is. I was never good with antonyms. Or maybe I was. I like cinnamon. I need to wash my dishes. You are so funny. Somebody said that to me last night. People are always saying that to me. You are so strange. I don’t get that one as much, but I like it when I do. I’m also very cute. I’ve been compared to Teddy Ruxpin. Me and Brett used to call Todd Teddy Ruxpin back in the day. I forget Todd’s last name. It was an insult. I don’t know why. We were pretty stupid. Me and Brett that is. We were rebels. Hebrew school rebels. I went to Hebrew school to learn about the Jew that I am. I didn’t learn much. Brett is Seth’s brother. I don’t know who Todd is. Some kid, I guess. After my first return from Israel I had to give a speech to some people who gave me some money to fund my trip. Some federation of Jews. Todd was there, too. I think. It’s a little hazy. He was not on my trip. He was on a different trip. Brett goes to school in Scranton. The kid from School Ties lived in Scranton. Brett is the only Jew at his school, too. He plays tennis. The kid in School Ties played football. But he was a famous actor. Brett is not famous. Neither is his brother Seth. I tutored Seth. In math. I am smart. Or so they tell me. I was mentally gifted. In different ways than other people. People are smart in different ways. Elitists suck. They are extremely closed minded. I am an elitist. I was an elitist. I was a lot of things. Have I told you that? Looking back, I am not that far ahead of everyone else. I am maturing late. But at least I am maturing. The vast majority of people never do. That is sad. The things people care about. Now there is something sad. The things that people are after. Why? I don’t get it. I used to be a people. Man I sucked. Cool. Gotta be cool. Gotta get women. Gotta be cool so I can get women. Gotta get women so I can be cool. Fucking losers. People are such losers. The things they care about. You know what I hate. The women who think that the feminist struggle entails the ability for women to turn men into objects the same way men do to women. That is freedom. Bullshit. That does not make things good. That does not make things ok. The stereotypical male is not something to strive for. Not a being to emulate. Not that there are no good points to the typical male in this society. One cannot look at a whole, declare it bad, and therefore assume that all its parts are bad. One could, but then one would be a fool. Same goes for something good. Most people think they are good. They think their friends are good. My friends are not good. They are racist and sexist. But they are the norm. Oh, deep down they are good, I suppose. But who gives a fuck about deep down? That is my question to you. If your actions are those of a bigot, then you are a bigot. I don’t give a shit what you feel or know in your heart. Deep down in your soul. Fuck your soul. Don’t worry. If there’s a hell below, we’re all gonna go. Good people. Ha! Not that we are bad people. We are just people. We are beyond good and evil. That shit is ridiculous. People are not racist because they are bad people. It is the result of growing up in this society. People must realize this, however. Accept the facts. The idea of criminals and saints and all that shit has to go. We are people. I dislike America. Strongly. I am anti-American. That is a value judgment. I think American values suck. American freedoms. American liberties. Bullshit, I say. They are based on rights that do not exist. They completely ignore entire groups of people. It leads to a miserable existence. A miserable society. That’s my opinion at least. I’m full of opinions. Opinions about stuff. Ah poo.
I am not trying to find truth to use as a means to an ends. Truth is not a tool, you dolt. Philosophy is not practical. Choose one or the other. You dolt you. You are such a dolt. So very doltish. These words are over.
So here I am, older and wiser, thanks to variety of intriguing circumstances, not the least of which is my present state of nudity. I have decided to go insane. I figure it is my best option. I quite enjoy it and it seems to be the most practical thing I can do to keep my sanity. My inner monologue is always much more exciting and eloquent when I’m crazy. There were times recently when my inner monologue was downright putrid. It was quite disheartening. It is important to have a competent inner monologue in my line of work, which consists mostly of sitting and walking around. Although recently I’ve been yearning more and more for some companionship. Another naked person to converse with. I have one more year of college. I wonder what that means.
War is so evil. There is nothing good about it. Nothing at all. It absolutely positively sucks more than anything else could possibly suck. There could not be a worse way to live. There could not be a worse situation for the individual. I hate it more than I have ever hated anything. It is so damned icky. The idea of it makes me shiver. It is some naughty, naughty shit. War is never the answer. Every leader that does not do everything possible to keep his or her people out of war should be shot. Three times in the head. But what about that fantabulous Catch-22 that makes war a necessity? I hate Catch-22. Any leader that does not do everything possible to keep his or her people out of a situation that would lead to the necessity of war should be shot. Any moron (me) can see how societies work, how the individual works, and how everything works together to cause certain outcomes to come out. It’s so damned obvious. Certain things lead to certain things, which lead to other certain things, which lead to war. And that is a complete outrage, if you ask me. I find these conditions absolutely horrid. The point beyond no return. The point where morality disappears and we fall back into the olden days morality of survival. There is no right and wrong in war. There is no control. It all sucks. It all completely sucks. And yes, there is never control, and I accept that. I accept the nature of things. But I will not accept manmade avoidable dangers. I will not accept the bullshit that need not exist. I despise bullshit. I do not accept Catch-22. I do not accept the evil logic of the man. Someone has to break the cycle. Maybe someone already has. Yeah. All sorts of things have happened that I know nothing about. That you never see in the movies. Not even the factual movies based on factual people. Those movies are very misleading. Everything is misleading. Ah poo.
Today was a happy day. It still is. Today is October. I dropped a class today. That was nice. I’m still going to graduate in May. Today is October.
She smiled at me today. The girl I’m in love with. I said hi. She looked at my Naots. I like my Naots. My Naots have a hole in them. They are falling apart. I like my Naots. I’ve had them for many a year. Three years and four months or something like that. I’ve had my sneakers almost as long. They both have holes in them. So does my Bustleton Bengals shirt and a pair of my jeans and my pillow case. I like stuff with holes in them. I like stuff without holes in them, too. I like the word foodstuffs. I like the guitar. Abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzabcdefghijjklnnooooppqrstuvwxyzabcdefdghiljjjjjwow
Fucking shit, man. Fuck. I’m so fucking confused. It’s all so damned confusing. Everything. The why and the what. Ah fuck. I’m fucking nowhere. I hate being nowhere. But I suppose it aint so bad. Nothing really aint so bad, I suppose. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m no longer amused. I’ve become rather comic. I need people. I have no get up and go. I have nothing. What the fuck, eh? What the fuck, indeed. Have I said that before? What am I doing? These games do not amuse me. Oh, they drag me in for a little. They’ll excite me. But then that consciousness’ll kick in. What is the point? What a stupid, inane question that was. C’est la vie. Argument. Ha! What foolishness. Where do I fit in? Where do I want to fit in? Why would I want to fit in? Why should I want to fit in. I’m naked. That is all.
So much is so plain and clear. Yet it is all so fucking irrelevant. There is no truth. It’s not there. Well. It is if you want it to be. But it isn’t real. There is no real. But what else is there? Eh, Captain? So. Ma acshav? Ayfo anachnu holchim acshav? Ani smali v’ani mistakel al hatzipurim cshe ani yore.
I’m back in jovial spirits. Well. Not so much jovial. But, um, I don’t know the word. It’s some sort of chemical thing. Not the word, but the feeling. Some sort of biological physiological thing. I’m. What am I? This is all so boring. Isn’t it? A dime a dozen. What is there to do? Fuck!!! Life. Yeah. It all comes back to life. To being. To existing. Sweet, sweet life. I’m a fan. I’m over exposed. Fuck. I just paralleled. A thought I just had clicked with one of those truths of mine. Too much life came my way. I’m too mature. I can’t go back. You can never go back. That’s the one. The truth. Knowledge hitting you and propelling you through the door past the point of no return and the river of knowledge sweeps you up into the sea of something else so that you can’t escape or some metaphorical shit like that. That euphoric feeling of completely losing control and just going with it. That peek into the great big world and that initial excitement and awe followed by the intense fear of confusion and yearning to go back. But acceptance of your fate is the best part, I suppose. Or not. I’ve lost the thought. But that whole ignorance and knowledge thing sure is a swell one. I could write a book, if book writing was a skill I possessed, of course. Where was I? Somewhere, I suppose. But I’m here now. What a funny place to be. Quite colorful. I mean, not as colorful as Rite-Aid, of course, but colorful nonetheless. I saw the ice-cream truck the other day. I like the ice-cream truck.
I’ve been rambling too much. I need some order. I am living in chaos. No. I do not need any order. I need more chaos. Yes. That is the answer. I do not have enough chaos. This is what is making my brain fuzzy. I have been too sheltered. It is time to break out. And dance. More dancing. But not right now. I have a headache.
I do have a headache. Sort of. I’m a little out of it at the moment. Perhaps I am tired. I have been awake too long. More sleep is needed. Ah. Wonderful blissful sleep. No. I will not sleep. I will stay awake. I have many books on my bed. Many stupid books that I am researching some research in for some stupid project in some stupid class. It does not excite me one bit. Nothing excites me anymore. Well no. I was excited earlier today. I forget why though. Hmmm. I don’t remember. Yawn. I am soooo tired. I wish there were not so many books on my bed. Yesterday I slept with them on my bed. I had many interesting dreams either last night or the night before last night. Little realistic snipits of stuff. I think I’m lost. I keep finding myself going places. I hate obligations. That shit sucks. I’m a waste. It is a good thing I do not exist. I wonder if I am a tortured soul. I certainly was deranged when I was younger. All sorts of problems. But most people thought I was normal. I wonder if I was normal. Whatever. I’m not normal now. But at least I might be sane. Whatever that means. My space bar is stuck. It is a real pain in the ass. I fixed it a little bit. I used that old Jacob know-how. Whatever that means. But it still freezes up a bit. I thinkthismightbethelastparagraphIevertype.Perhaps.Oh well. C’est la vie. Technology has really screwedup my train of thought. I might have really been going somewhere there, you know. Talking about sanity and normalityand all thatjazz. Whatever. It’sallirrelevantanyhow. You,me,everybody.Everybody. Everybody. It’sover.Goodbye.
Ok. I think I fixed my keyboard. I took off the thingies and then I took off the inner thingy and switched it with the inner thingy of a thingy I never use. And now both keys work. Of course I put back on all the thingies, which in itself is something to be proud of. I am proud. Of myself. But it won’t last. Look at me now. Nothing at all to be proud of at the moment. All though, according to Aunt Ruthee I am the smartest, most intelligent, cutest, nicest, kindest person in the entire world. And I’m sure my other grandparents would agree. Maybe even some non-relatives would agree with some of that stuff. But, indeed, it’s all relative. I’ve said that before. Have I told you anything about foreigners yet? Perhaps one day I will. One day in the future. Uh-oh. The space bar is fucking with me again. I aint gonna waste the good times I have left on this nonsense. It was fun while it lasted. That is all.
You know, I tried to write the other day about my dancing trees. Yet it disappeared. As if by magic. That is how it must work, you know. However much it is explained. The answer to the question is not an explanation, but an abandonment of the question itself.
Today, I start anew. Today and tomorrow and the next day. I am wearing my helmet. But, be warned – it is not a protective helmet.
Forrest green and golden sunshine. May you be a winner in the race for love, happiness and success will surely follow. I love you. –Bubby
Today is Saturday. It is also Friday. Tomorrow the past shall come alive through a display of automotive automobiles and a tribute to John Coltrane. I shall direct traffic.
Today was the disappearance of my work gloves. Today is not yet tomorrow. I’ll miss my work gloves, if indeed they are gone. I was disappointed to find out that they were left in Dave’s car. I do not want new work gloves. I lost the time once. On a roller coaster that wasn’t quite a roller coaster, but a ride nonetheless. Life is like a roller coaster. A roller coaster of love.
Once upon a time, I was in a basement with my friend, but we were not listening to the Rye Coalition. I bought a t-shirt that night. The first t-shirt I can remember purchasing for many a year. I have not purchased the vast majority of t-shirts I wear. Most of them come from the closet, like my red hat. My work gloves did not come from the closet. They were grey and blue. The t-shirt I bought was red and black, but mostly red. It is my first red shirt, other than my gym night shirts, of course. I shall not explain what gym night is, although I shall say that it was an opportunity for me to dance. And I like dancing. I do it good, too, but not as good as the dancing trees. I didn’t dance in the basement that night, but I did listen to music. It was quite refreshing, the music was. The one band reminded me of a roller coaster. The other band broke bottles in a giant bin. It was quite artistic. I decided to buy a t-shirt.
Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana. Marx said that, you know…
It amazes me how many of my words I’ve been reading in another man’s books. As if they were not my words at all, not signs with a signified and a signifier, bubbling with denotation and connotation, making meaning only within its context, only by contrast, by difference, but as if they were things unto themselves, nothing deeper.
Well. I must say. That was a trip. To an entirely different state, in fact. Amongst the winged goddesses of gold. Yes yes. Quite a trip indeed. Another day, another red shirt, another lost artifact, another bridge crossed. It’s all in a name. In the name of the rose.
It is truth. This should not be forgotten. You wanted to tell yourself that before you got lost. There is no denying. Perhaps that shouldn’t lead you into any specific direction, but it should light your way. Oh boy oh boy.
What good is proof anymore, when I don’t have the courage to share? When I am unable to make contact? When it is just another Steve Shavitz story about UFOs? I believe you, I want to say. But even with someone else, I just don’t know. It is as if I need a medal ceremony with the princess and my Wookie friend. But all I’ve got are words. As powerful as they are, of course, I just don’t know. That is all it is of course. Words. It is all just a matter of semantics, as a wise person once said. Not wise perhaps, but just a person. That is the secret I had discovered. This is where it was. This is what I brought back from my journey. The importance of the word. This is what I wrote down on the back of my photograph. Don’t trust his lies. Can it just be a game? A production? These are the questions I am meant to ask. Is there no purpose? This all makes perfects sense, it fits together perfectly, but, but I just can’t seem to comprehend the purpose. And it is back to the drawing board again. Nothing deeper.
Life is like a piano. Life is like a deck of cards. Life is also like a sausage, but I’m not sure how.
Have I mentioned that I’m afraid of balloons?
Life is not to be solved. You see, there is no end, there is no completion. Life is not to be solved. Life is to be lived. Maybe. Maybe that’s what I’ve gathered in my oh so recent gathering of knowledge. As I’ve remarked elsewhere, the secret of life is being. That’s it perhaps. Perhaps it is a giant puzzle with no solution. Perhaps. Life is. And that is that. Life is a light brown bear holding my heart.
“I believe contact is important,” wrote the oh so wise Sarah Smigel, “don’t you?” That and perspective and nostalgia and a bag of chips. Barbecue potato chips in a yellow bag. Mmmmmm. I love it when a plan comes together. When things come to fruition. That’s a powerful word, fruition, don’t you think? I find it astounding how astounding the world can be. Don’t you?
Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark.
You reap what you sow, my boy. You reap what you sow. This is what happens when you get used to everything falling into place. Well, you know how it is. You up and then you down. Shit. Aint the world a bitch? Aint it? Shit.
And me sitting here, thinking of writing ‘bout the trees and how they danced behind the shade and how the past was behind me yet again. But those words are gone my friend. The shade’s done drawn. Oh goodness. You are an amusing bird, my friend. Look at yourself. Shit. Life is a one-eared armadillo.
Sometimes a nice loss of perspective can lead to remembrances of lessons past. Or some shit like that. You got me. I’m lost here. So soon after being found. But it is like the man said, you know. I’m a rebel. A soul rebel. Said I’m a living man. I’ve got work to do. Yes yes. Soul rebel. Soul adventurer. Indeed.
Yeah, I think I can make my opinions heard in ways other than anonymous phone calls about my consuming habits. Why should our reality be defined by what we consume? A bunch of nameless, faceless people and computers making patterns out of whether we’ve bought an indoor or outdoor plant at such and such list of stores. Well, its time to move on. Time to pack up our sardines and cigarettes and get on with, what was it, ah yes, the revolution.
Time signatures
Green tea and red wine. Cottage cheese and chocolate milk. Matchboxes and day old bread. It’s a phone call on a cool night in May. It’s the art of rolling.
Learning differences and losing touch. The boy just fell. That’s what bothers me. That is the problem with the state of education today. Sometimes we sit out on the porch, trying to figure out life and time and death. Most days we give up and go back inside. It’s all just a matter of perspective.
Table of contents.
Bottomless coffee pot in a Eugene IHOP. You aint a skater but you alright. Blue crush on the 64. Cookin for the kids on the banks of the North Shore. Astronomy for amateurs.
Banana peels and cow shit.
This is a sample of our delicious hot apple pies rolled in cinnamon and sugar. The power of imagination is astounding. Listening to our favorite band as the cars roll by. As you admire the symmetry of the chaotic sound, and you add your share of understanding, and you take note of the foundations of nature. Language is all there is.
Just sitting here biding time. Yallah. Boi boi. Changing the records as the world spins along. Like a dreidel at a Hanukah party. Whatever gets you through the night.
T.R.E.E.
Yeah, so dreams are clips of reality—past and future—seen from a different perspective. Of course, reality is the same thing.
We recycle.
Yeah, that’s what I’m saying, there is no reason why every business that deals in bulk doesn’t use completely recyclable products—work it into the infrastructure. Make it easy on the individual. Make it part of the program. Do the job and expand consciousness. Ask questions about everything. It is overwhelming if you think you have to do it all by yourself. But you don’t have to do that. You can help build a movement, and engage in the battle of ideas.
So as I was leaving the bus station, walking out into the city, there was Bob singing don’t worry ‘bout a thing, every little thing gonna be alright. Three-two-one contact.
Sometimes you get that running start and let your momentum ride you on through. And there’s always time to sit back and take in your surroundings.
Something about there always being a choice. Something about diners and the reflection of the checkered floor. You know anything about this here machine? It’s some kind of wonderful. So it seems some people have been here before. In this land of familiarity. And this opens many doors of possibility. In my eyes. Real change takes time they say. We’re nothing but time, says I. Ripple ripple. A walk through the desert. A trek in the woods. A stroll through the city. Imperfect cinema. Go, baby, go.
These are the roots of rhythm and the roots and rhythm remain. Say what? Magic numbers, eh. Bringing it all back home to you.
Maybe I go take a walk and pick up some matches. Maybe I reminisce about days gone by. And get a feeling for where I am.
Sixteen seems like a lucky number for me.
Wonderful rainbow.
I usually sleep till I wake up. That’s ‘bout all I can do for you on that score. Chinese boxes. Black and red. Served by your friend with mussels and bread. 104
Hold on a sec. I’ve got something in my eye. For some reason I’m inclined to talk about the hills of Santa Fe and climbing trees on a sunny day. Golden melody. Cause sometimes it gets a little hard, for to decide where to let my mind wander next. What should we play now? It’s good to have friends. I feel another thesis coming on.
No no. I think somebody already took care of the sustainable development. For the night at least. We can stick to washing dishes and playing minesweeper. Maybe a little more soy milk and some bottled cherries. See the trick is to taste it directly. Return of the wise. A mi manera.
Somehow I can’t seem to find my way from here to there. And I’m not so sure it matters. Eclipse.
Luna the cat.
And I woke up to a window full of horses. Did I mention that? Yeah yeah. Once you know it, you can translate it out. To the other, you know. The one you’re talking to.
Fishcake at Lenny’s.
Oh boy.
5:56
And he walked on out the door.
Maybe what I’m saying is that the boundaries have nothing to do with the reality. What’s that? Arbitrary. Yes that’s the word. Arbitrary. Perhaps someone has said that before. Three women playing trivial pursuit at a bar. I want music all the time.
Too much monkey business for me to be involved in.
Democracy is coming to the USA
Into the deep end.
Higher love.
“I’d really like to get inside your head.”
The time to hesitate is through. No time to wallow in the mire. Shit. Who are we kidding? There is always time to wallow. It’s like that time I was talking to that kid in the mall. It’s all how you look at things. The words we use are powerful. They create our reality. These are my dreams. This is my reality. This is my world. Welcome.
A Love Supreme
“You see, my definition is a bit broader than that.”
Maybe it was when I was living with the lesbians. Or it could have been when I was wiping shit off the cages of the baby cows. But it occurred to me that I was missing the beauty of metaphor.
Of course its free form jazz. That’s why we’re writing upside down.
I’m tired of getting trapped by language. What I am trying to do is create a new language. Shit. We are constantly creating new language. I have no ambition.
He was no Matt Bahr.
So I was sitting on my rug, conversing with the gods, dreaming of parallel realities. Back when we were sitting around the fire by the mad river, I believe we were discussing reality. The color scheme was similar. It always is.
I haven’t been down for two and a half years.
Ah yes. So why shouldn’t it start with Korea? I mean, it’s got all the pieces. I still see no reason why they should not be successful. Why we should not be successful. It’s not as if we are separated by anything real. Is it? This brings us back to the discussion of levels, and the matter of the goose.
“Sanctions means a war, and the war knows no mercy.”
Ok. There is now no need for networks. No need for networks?? Wait a second. I was interrupted by the news. The disinformation is magnificent. Anyway, I think we’re good and decentralized. Time to move on.
“Yeah, yeah, but here’s what I’m saying. What if there is no Them? What if it’s just us?”
Ok. Here is where I would like to go now. Here is where I want to be.
North Carolina.
He went on writing letters to Urras, even when he mailed none of them at all. The fact of writing for someone who might understand—who might have understood—made it possible for him to write, to think. Otherwise it was not possible.
So I listened to Aleister Cook last night. Straight out of the BBC. Contemporary shamanism in all its educational glory. If such a man exists, he will find you. Of course, the form he takes may surprise you. Aint language a slippery motherfucker? I suppose it’s about time we explode into totality.
And the cheese stands alone.
I despise everything official.
Aint gonna let nobody turn me round. Turn me round. Turn me round. Aint gonna let nobody turn me round. Gonna keep on walkin. Keep on talking. Walkin down freedom road.
‘Til I reach the higher ground.
Met the fox again. Not directly of course. There was a bit of reunion, a bit of progress, a bit of things coming together. I’ll discuss it momentarily.
Momentarily, is that what I’d said? Oh, its been quite a day. I suppose. It’s all about the follow through. Yes, yes. Give me some time to digest. Can I be serious in believing that I am recording reality? Can you possibly understand where I’ve been?
Her communication skills were excellent.
And that’s the way it is.
Wasted and wounded, it aint what the moon did.
“So should I call you Jesse now? That is your real name, isn’t it?”
So I guess we’re fortunate that crystals form as they do. Pattern formation is a wacky thing.
...
As such, they are also in a line of succession with other events that provided the pretext for the passing of Draconian anti-terrorism/anti-crime bills, such as the first attack on the World Trade Center, the bombing of the Oklahoma City Federal Building, and the mass murder at Columbine High School.
Each of those crime scenes, dare I say, bore the fingerprints of actors other than, or in addition to, those who officially took the fall. As with September 11, it is virtually impossible to say with certainty what exactly transpired on any of those fateful days, but there is certainly no shortage of evidence that challenges the official stories.
Psycho-dramas played out in the theater of our collective conscious? Stage-managed acts in the long-running production of The Politics of Fear? I tend to think that they were, but then again, as we all know, I'm a recovering conspiracy theorist -- which means that I have all kinds of crazy thoughts.
I believe, for example, that the Nazi Party torched their own Reichstag. Crazier yet, I believe that one of the families that helped finance the assent to power of that very same Nazi Party is the family that now occupies the White House. And I believe (and this is really crazy) that history repeats itself when its lessons have been misrepresented and misunderstood.
There are some things that I don't believe, however. I don't believe in the old adage that "it can't happen here." And I don't believe that if we still have football on Sundays and a choice between "Friends" and "Survivor" on Thursdays, then nothing has really changed in the last two years. And I don't believe that I've really managed to maintain much of a focus in this newsletter.
Have you noticed that? I just seem to keep rambling off in different directions. Why is that? Have you been wondering exactly where it is that I am headed with this? Strangely enough, I have too. And to be honest, I'm not really sure yet.
But we've come much too far to turn back now. We have little choice but to ride this wave out and see where it takes us.
(to be continued ...)
I know a zen koan when I see one.
So I went to the mountains this weekend…
Forget about it Jack. It’s Chinatown.
Don’t you know it’s gonna be…alright.
I’m walkin. Yes indeed. I’m talking. ‘Bout you and me. I’m hoping. That you come back to me.
“Jonathon had rented a bus to take us from Quito. We drove through the cloud forests of the Andes, descending into the Amazon in a bumpy twelve-hour ride. This ride tattooed on our eyeballs the devastation wrought by the oil industry. The roads built by the oil companies had opened up the jungle to loggers and poor, desperate Mestizo settlers. All thoughts of visionary Indians and mystic revelations were wiped away by the blunt reality of the pipeline running inexorably beside the road, surrounded by recently clear-cut land, like a snake sucking the marrow out of the jungle.
Swimming in the main stream is such a lame dream. No method to the madness.
If we don’t explore the nature of our minds as deeply as possible, using whatever tools are available to us, what kind of world can we hope to create?
What kind of world are we creating now?
Tesla-Cananian Secret Police
Tony Grafton-History of the Footnote
Things might never be the same again.
And like that…he’s gone.
“Well, here I am. Fucked, but happy.”
Well? We ending on that? Alright then. I love you, too.
Ah, who am I kidding? I aint no King. I don’t hold a monopoly on nothing. I don’t want to stand on the top of a hill if there aint no one to talk to. I said to myself, Albert, don’t lose your cool. That boy’s got the boogie woogie, and it’s got to come out.
So where are we now? Something ‘bout a train ride? Something ‘bout the cover of a cover of a cover? What’s that? It’s all connected? Oh. It’s only words. And words are all I have. To steal your heart away.
We can’t go on together with suspicious minds. We can’t build our dreams with suspicious minds. See, we’re caught in a trap and I can’t walk out, cause I love you too much, baby.
Maybe you should try reading it as a book, he said. Shit, I said. I never thought of that. I told you we would have our day of deciphering. Hey, you know what, I think I did dream about a Buddy Holly movie last night. Didn’t you also say something once about your dreams coming true? You know my love, not fade away. Splish splash. Splish splash.
You can’t always get what you want.
And if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need.
Join in the fun. Collect all the pieces. Dive into the depths of the previously untapped wells of youth. Unmask all the players. Swim in the seas of green. Uh oh. Somebody let the dogs out. Time to feast.
Yeah. You’re all right. Just take it easy is all.
Probation is no picnic.
“Two tickets for Bum Island, please.”
Why-o why-o why-o, did I ever leave Ohio?
Let’s see. Where was we. We were talking ‘bout something, were we not? Ah yes. Now I recall.
Questions of humanity: Kidlat Tahimnik, Monty Python, Vagabonds, and you
You’s one paranoid motherfucker. The end.
Sooner or later. Sooner or later. It’s like that famous dead guy once said, if not now, when? I’m not making this shit up, you know. If everything is as it is, if it all comes together as it is…the last shall bring it all together. As it is. Home at last. You see, we are still confused about questions of heaven and hell. We have not yet grasped the concept of the repeating island. This is reality. This is reality.
You see, you still have it all wrong, said the actress playing the immigrant, the boy was always a god, but you see he realized this when he looked into the girl’s eyes.
Whatever’s gonna be is gonna be.
What is that from? It sounds so familiar. I know I’ve heard it before. Or something just like it. When you reach my age, you’ll understand the difficulties of focus. Ha! Everything can be retrieved.
All and all is are we are. Yes. Capitalism has no doubt gone to swim with the fishes. Let the children play.
Housing Eating Up Families’ Salaries!
Down with beauty! Things fall apart. It’s scientific. The Miss World Show will go on.
Where were you when the world was changed? How do septuplets celebrate Christmas?
“Evil men, baby. Evil men who would destroy the good work being done in this nation.”
National Geographic Geospy Geography Game (For Kids)
Baby dangling is no laughing matter. Clean air and security are not compatible.
Do the do. Do the do.
Stabbing the Truth With the Dagger of Evil
You taste berry good. So berry berry good to me.
“You’re new here, aincha, kid? Well on some days the sandwiches contain a dead scorpion. …Not every day, but some days—that’s why it’s hell, kid.”
Wired News
Let’s all meet in Wash’ton D.C. And sit ‘mongst the pink and talk ‘bout what shall be.
“…and go round and round and round…”
He was no Ben Vereen…
Yeah. I’ll just have a lemonade, thanks.
Those were the days, my ass. Did I say ass? Shit. Johnny B. Goode.
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“Yeah, yeah, but here’s what I’m saying. What if there is no Them? What if it’s just us?”
The taking the cows to the showers. The planting the light pole. The sewing the boxer shorts. These are illustrative of life. This is life stripped bare.
I am naked at the moment. Naked and free. I like being naked. I am going to be naked more often. More naked more often. That is my campaign slogan. For my presidency. I’d make an excellent president, but not for this country, of course. With all its laws and people I’d have to be accountable to. No, I wouldn’t like that one bit. Not that I have anything against people and laws. It’s just these particular people and laws. When I was dictator of a group of seven year old boys, I had a whole bunch of laws. Rule number one was no wearing other people’s hats. The other rules didn’t have numbers. There were several dealing with exposure. For the most part we were anti-exposure. I blame the pressures of dictatorship. I’m much wiser now that I’m sitting naked in my room with only the force of gravity and the normal force of my chair to contend with. And they cancel each other out as far as I know. So I’m free to be as inert as I want to be. Ah freedom. I’ve sang songs about freedom, you know. Probably out of tune. I quit choir in fifth grade once I was given the opportunity. Jon Hesser threw up on my shoe. Once upon a time I went to school every day of the week (sans Saturdays and Sundays) to the same classroom each day for practically the entire school day. And in this classroom, like all the other classrooms in the school, was a bathroom (water closet). Our very own bathroom, our class had. It was wonderful. Of course, I expected no less from such a school as it was. A suburban school. Outside of Philadelphia. Outside of Philadelphia? Oh man. I don’t want to move outside of Philadelphia. Don’t make us move outside of Philadelphia. Well, it’s not as bad as you think, Jacob. You know, the houses across the street from Shaina aren’t in Philadelphia. And besides, your classroom will have a bathroom in it. That boggled my mind. The houses across the street from Shaina aren’t in Philadelphia? But where are they then? So very confusing. Where is the logic? The logic, I say! A six year old deserves his share of logic, does he not? But it wasn’t so bad, I suppose. Fourteen years later I would still be not dead and I have plenty of life-filled years ahead of me as far as I can tell. So that’s a plus. And I’m naked right now. I can’t forget that. That’s certainly a feather in my cap. So things are good. For me at least. Whatever that means. Someone told me today that I looked distant. “I’m always distant,” I said. But I didn’t use the quotation marks. That’s a literary technique. I have no responses to the statements people make. I just don’t have the energy to waste on them. Energy is a very tricky thing that can either be kinetic or potential and is usually one half of the mass times the velocity squared. And I know there is some sort of law about conserving it, so I’m not going to go wasting it on scurrilous people, even if they aren’t scurrilous. One day, before Mrs. Rosenblatt was Mrs. Rosenblatt, but Mrs. Walters instead, there was a rather scurrilous incident in the bathroom, which had nothing at all to do with Bloody Mary, who had not died a bloody death in our bathroom many years before our time, as had been rumored perhaps in another grade, classroom, and water closet all together. But this particular water closet had been vandalized. It was scandalous. Scurrilous insults filled our bathroom walls, the walls of the bathroom in our classroom. “Line up,” said Mrs. Walters, “and write down Mark Prekupp’s name.” Even Mark Prekupp had to write down Mark Prekupp’s name, which was odd since we all thought we were writing down the name of the person we thought was the guilty culprit. But how foolish and naïve we youngsters were. Detective Columbo could not have been more brilliantly underhanded than our ingeniously ingenious third grade teacher, unless, of course, it was second grade, and our teacher was not Mrs. Walters, but Mrs. Cherwony, who happens to be a completely different person altogether. Nevertheless, her brilliant techniques leave me flabbergasted to this very day. The vandal had written, among other things, Mark Prekupp’s name on the wall. However, it was not Mark Prekupp’s name, but a phonetic translation, perhaps something like Preecup, although I’m almost positive that wasn’t it exactly. She had all of us write down Mark Prekupp’s name and the person who misspelled it correctly was the guilty boy or girl (not that the possibility of it being a girl would have ever crossed my mind). I was not the guilty culprit. It would be years before I became a culprit of any kind. I spelled Mark Prekupp correctly at the time, although I’m pretty sure I have been misspelling it ever since. No, the vandal was Jon Hesser. Yes, it was he, who years later, possibly two, would lose his stomach on the bleachers during a song led by Mrs. Hubler, unless Mrs. Hubler was now Mrs. Fitt, who at that time was married to Mr. Fitt, and still may be to this day for all we know. Not that Mrs. Fitt was actually Mrs. Hubler, but the paradigmatic replacement in our syntagmatic world of elementary school. But Jon Hesser’s stomach would splatter off of the bleachers onto my shoe, thanks only, I can assume, to such wonderful ideas such as work and momentum and impulse and energy, all of which are related by a number of fantastic equations involving numerous letters of the alphabet. Years later I would learn about such wonderful ideas as angular velocity, which is involved in equations that span more than just one alphabet, including and possibly limited to the Greek and the English. But that was then and this was now. Soon after this, Jon would disappear, only to return years later. Some years after that I would lose my own stomach on Naor’s shorts in a completely unrelated incident. Now that I think about it, it might not have been my shoe at all, but Matt’s shoe. But either way, this incident would not prevent Matt and I from emerging victorious from the 5th Grade Science Fair, our stomachs filled with some delicious homemade rock-candy. Mmmmmm. Crystally goodness. That 5th grade science project brought my 8th grade science class grade up from about a 19% to a B. It was a really good science project. We both had excellent parents.
proijuqrstuvwxzyzabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzI like to type on the computer. It is fun. I type fast somethimes. But someti es I make mistakes whoile I’m typing. It is very sad. Very sad. Wicky ticky too. Wicky ticky too. Dooda looda. Dooda looda. Dooda loodaloo. Get on board. Get on board. The end.
I do believe it's a question of roadways explored and the sacrifice of the subject to the pursuit of truth. Not to mention baked potatoes and graham crackers. I'm still so very fascinated by numbers. Somehow everything holds together--no strings attached. Isn't that amazing? The rhythms gonna getcha. Octopus.
The date is set for my departure. To the big rock candy mountains. Where the bulldogs all have rubber teeth and the hens lay soft boiled eggs. Or so I’ve been told. With nary a scorpion, armadillo, or plastic fish to lead my way. I go it alone. Sort of. I apologize for the lack of goodness if ever such a lack there was. So much there was to be said, yet it seems as if we shall have to wait for another chapter. It has been postponed again. To the future. Shall we? Back to the future through way of the past? Is it a shame? I do not know. At the moment I am just a man. Nothing deeper.
...and look again. What have u got? Nothing. and again U lose. But what have we learned from the magician? What have we learned from the dragon's den?
Knowledge and understanding. Cheesecake and watermelon. Ping pong for the soul. Sometimes I go walking after midnight. Its all for the kids.
Everybody wang chung tonight. Everybody wang chung.
“A lot of people say that.”
“I’d really wish you’d talk more.”
“A lot of people say that, too.”
Come Fly With Me
“For once in my life I’m gonna try to do the right thing.”
“No. Pumpkin will do just fine.”
NEWSLETTER #27
January 12, 2003
Special 'Conspiracy Theory' Edition
"My name is Dave, and I am a conspiracy theorist."
“You’re no different from the rest of them.”
“The rest of who?”
“Humans.”
“Oh…I suppose not…”
We spent the night at Lago Agrio, the Dodge City of Ecuador, population 25,000 and growing. It was a ragged boomtown of two industries: oil and prostitution. Ten years ago, the area was virgin rain forest; now it was slashed-and-burnt scrub. Once it is destroyed, the rain forest does not regenerate, and the local climate quickly becomes too hot and dry for farming. The land, for all practical purposes, becomes useless.
Our bus driver and his buddy returned with sheepish grins from a night on the town. They bragged about the teenage prostitutes who could be had for two dollars at the local whorehouses.. I thought of the chain of dehumanization and exploitation beginning with the oil company’s quest for profit, the American consumer’s avidity for cheap gas to fuel SUVs, the corrupt governments of bankrupt Third World countries seeking payoffs, ending with despoiled rain forests and teenage Mestizo girls contracting AIDS from drunk ditch diggers in Third World backwaters. Benjamin’s “religion of destruction” was performing its good works.”
Pavement-In the Mouth of the Desert
Paul Lansky-Interesting Numbers
Ok ok. So things were not always as they seemed. To me. But that is exactly the point I’ve been trying to make. !WARNING: To reduce risk of serious injury to hands, wrists or other joints, read Safety & Comfort Guide. But enough about my crazy conspiracy theories. Are you a Marx Brothers fan? This is what struck me back in Santa Fe after eating the bag of mushrooms given to me by three wandering hippies. First of all, it’s all in the family. Second of all, banana peels are just as revealing as the forehead of a baby cow. And classical music, well, classical music aint no different from rock ‘n’ roll. It’s all rock ‘n’ roll to me.
“So that can add up then.”
“Yeah, I guess it does.”
“It’s a good thing you don’t smoke.”
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