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archives push me to post webmail :: xenii mail the hive :: for trading and raiding polymorph :: a cosmographia universalis chrisnelson.ca :: chiefwagonburner has a blog fortune cookie distro :: x's distro
You may not have hit the publiish button, Anna. I hit it for you. I guess everything on the editor publishes when you hit the publsh button, so if someone posted but did not publish, I think, and I don't know (we should ask the Great ReCooperator) that it will publish it for them that hadn't been published.
jimmy Thanks, Coop! My Cayley is getting to be more and more vikingish every day! I finally did my slide presentation last night. Aside from a bit of attitude from one of the other students, it went off just fine. The teacher seemed to like it anyway. Now I have to write two papers. I'll see you in another three million years. Okay, I'll try to come back sooner than that, if I get into the procrastination type of mood.
Anna yeah, Jimmy you do have a penchance for creepiness. I mean in your music. Not normally in your everyday life. Well, not as much as in your music, shall we say? I love all the stuff that you're doing. But actually it doesn't creep me out as much as it just makes me kinda depressed, but also in a really good way. The music goes with the cold grey winter days that have descended. And I love it, like I love your songs. kinda makes ya' want to crawl home to safety and lick your wounds or something.
Miss Speck and the Giant Librarians Jeffron, that is SO awesome that you have that! All I have ever heard from that Bowie bit was the end "This ain't rock 'n' roll, this is GENOCIDE!", and I really wasn't even aware that there was anything to miss! That is how the start of Diamond Dogs goes on the average Best Of Bowie records. Haha, the BOBs. Anyhow, most of my Bobs have disgustingly cut-up versions of songs whose long versions are famous. Ashes to Ashes for instance. To me this song represents a complete change in the structure of pop music, but you'd etter not let Bob introduce it to you, because Bobs have shamelessly cut-up versions of this song to spare the tiny minded public the effort of having to think through the mysteriously odd timing in the song. They make it nice and short so radio station dj's don't clench their butts in frustration. Now I have to go looking for that. I always wonder what goes on in a poet's mind when things like this fall out "like packs of dogs assaulting the glass fronts of Love Me Avenue" I mean...we all know what goes on in our minds when we write, and sometimes there might even be a mystery there (but usually not). But trying to figure out someone elses mysteries...where Wilde pulls his witticisms, or Blake pulls his monstrous abborations or Plath finds those creepy, creepy descriptions of mundane things...well, that's half the beauty of poetry for me. Uh. I thought Mutations was awesome for two songs...the one about flies and the one about being dead again (Dead Melodies?) (can't remember the names, my brother left it on the dashboard of his car shortly after I purchased it, and it fried up there, whereas the 14 dollars I paid would have just curled up slightly in the heat and dried out like paper fish).
jimmy one other thing Jeffron, do you want to get rid of Mutations? I could give it a good home. I actually kinda like it. *ducks flying objects*
coop hey Jeffron, I have 6 of those Muppet DVDs already, heh. Life has been absolutely bananas around here. Turns out we might not be moving out west after all. The boy may be taking a job in the Boston area instead. I'm relieved & freaked out & happy all at once. I was so not looking forward to moving, even if it would have meant being a weekend drive's distance from SD. Anyway, yim me sometime if you want the story, it is what they call Developing News. I still haven't gotten to download any of your new stuff, Jimmy. The lyrics are fascinating though. Anna, I forgot to congratulate you on your new kitten! =^..^= <----- Dreaded kitty smiley. Heh. You've got to wonder, though, whether cute little kittens just want to be your overlords. (flash movie link)
coop Hey Jimmy, when Beck opens for you on yer first world tour, do me a favor and kick him in the shins for me. I'm still irked at the 12 bucks I spent on 'Mutations'. Superb stuff you're doing with that mixing o'voices. Creepy. Most everything you write seems to creep me out but in a good way, like the first minute of Bowie's Diamond Dogs: And in the death, as the last few corpses lay rotting in the slimy thoroughfare, the shutters lifted an inch in Temperance Building high on Poacher's Hill. And red mutant eyes gazed down on Hunger City. No more big wheels. Fleas the size of rats sucked on rats the size of cats. And ten thousand people-oids split into small tribes, coveting the highest of the sterile sky-scrappers, like packs of dogs assaulting the glass fronts of Love Me Avenue. Ripping and re-wrapping mink and shiny silver fox, now leg warmers. Family badge of sapphire and cracked emerald. Any day now, the Year of the Diamond Dogs. This ain't rock 'n' roll, this is GENOCIDE! Coop, I just learned that The Muppets have a 15 DVD set out. Did you know this? Vend-a-face, on DVD!
jeffron x a train gone sideways [5.12mb] How it's written in my notes: Bluer than you; several dark mice are passengers (too). A plate is a spoon. Sticky and green is your conciousness. And you. You are a loon. Just pop the cap And swallow the olive drab The mice are fine. The men are fine. It’s all so fine. Gravity’s kiss; sucking the blood from your thoughts of this train falling sideways as clumps of dirt rain across the splitting plain [mute guitar/partial chord struct./drone harmony/static] When thoughts come in cans, you fill the shelter til’ you can’t get in. Pills in olive drab work their way like pinguid imps swimming in earl grey What a fat, fat, drab grey world this is. Just pop the cap You’re swallowing the olive cat. The mice are fine. We think it’s time, you lost your hat. -you lost your hat. [fall apart/fade] _____________ [channel 1/channel 2] aftermath cut the gash terrycloth that’s enough squeezing hands strange white vans tiny men knives of ten (fingers) vivisect stand erect pitching van then we ran teleman obstinate turn to fruit kissing boots camera flash kiss the gash bloody stump lovely pump splitting hearts licking tarts eyes of glass screaming mask Cm, Dm, Gm [acoustic guitar, coffee cup (slide), mic] -because i didn't answer the phone
jimmy I was wondering about the upwind thing too. They found the stuff outside, but since the Presidio is on the corner of SF that goes from the ocean to under the Golden Gate Bridge and then along the Bay for a bit, it can be hard to get upwind of stuff. Sometimes you're in all around wind. But I tend to avoid the more forested patches of the park because of the rampant poison oak here, so I probably won't stumble across any mustard gas. Hopefully. But I think there was some other talk a while ago about finding other toxic waste lyin' around. Wouldn't surprise me. After all, I currently work in a wing of the old Letterman hospital that used to be the morgue. blech. Anyhoo. toxic this, dead that, whatever. It's still a beautiful place to work. Lots of old white buildings with red roofs, big eucalyptus trees, steep hills, the beach and lovely views of the bay and Alcatraz. Most dramatic. And peaceful too. Lots of empty buildings here that I wish I could go sneak into and explore, but since the mustard gas danger is higher here than in other places and this is federal land so getting busted for stuff is more severe, I tend to forgo that. Anyhoo.
Miss Speck and the Giant Librarians The lovely & talented Miss Speck and the Giant Librarians quoted: DO NOT TOUCH! Proceed immediately at least 300 feet upwind. How are you supposed to find "upwind" inside, I ask?! Yikes, Speck! That's creepy. Funny tale, my mom's middle school recently had the EPA come in and fine the school system lots of $$$ because they had such dreadful concoctions as white-out, stinky magic markers, and crazy glue in their classrooms where Children could Harm Themselves with them. (these are 11-14 year olds) Not to mention, they confiscated Mom's entire collection of dead stuff in jars, like worms, cow eyeballs, bugs, etc. I'll have to forward her the mustard gas warning. She will laugh. We had a workplace mercury scare last summer at the steam plant my agency used to manage, but it all boiled down to a labor dispute. We were planning to close the steam plant because it was outdated and a major waste of taxpayer dollars. The employees were not pleased about this, understandably so. When I was in junior high school, we all used to paint our fingernails with pastel colored white-out in class. Guess that's out as a recreational activity.
coop egads! I just got this email at work. I work in the Presidio, which used to be a navy base, but now it's a national park and the old buildings are rented out to non-profits for their offices. It's beautiful here, but sometimes it's scary.... read on.... PRESIDIO TRUST SAFETY ADVISORY October 21, 2002 Four small, clear glass bottles containing residual amounts of crystallized, blackened material were recently discovered in a plant restoration area below Inspiration Point. It is possible that these vials contained dry amounts of what was once a liquid chemical agent known as a blister agent: Sulfur Mustard (H, HD, HS). The bottles were part of a kit used to train military personnel in identifying and decontaminating chemical warfare agents. Specialist from the U.S. Army Technical Escort Unit will be arriving at the Presidio in the next few days to help us determine whether these vials contained mustard agent and to decontaminate the items, if necessary. The Presidio Trust conducted an initial survey of the area and the Trust in cooperation with the National Park Police has secured it. As further information is obtained, the Presidio Trust will keep employees and the public notified. Sulfur mustard is colorless when pure, but is more commonly yellowish, amber colored, or even black, and is variously reported to have a sweetish odor, or to smell like garlic, mustard, or horseradish. If liquid mustard agent comes in contact with the skin, the skin must be immediately washed twice with warm water and mild soap. Liquid household bleach is also a decontaminate for blister agents and can be poured over the contaminated skin, except for the eyes, followed by warm water and mild soap. It is important to remember that the Presidio was a military post for many decades and that we must always exercise extreme caution when encountering unfamiliar objects. The four bottles that were found at the Presidio have been identified as part of a military Chemical Agent Identification Set (CAIS) K941 Toxic Gas Set, M-1. The K941 Kits were one of seventeen different types of CAIS used by the Army for training exercises; approximately 110,000 sets were manufactured from the 1930s through the 1960s. The vials found at the Presidio Trust were labeled: HS Toxic Gas Set M1 This discovery may suggest that the CAIS were used in training at the Presidio, but laboratory analysis and further research will be required for final determination. RESPONSE PROCEDURES If you discover items or vials marked "H", "HS", "HD", or "L", "M-1", or Toxic Gas Set M-1" or any other suspicious objects, DO NOT TOUCH! Proceed immediately at least 300 feet upwind. Contact your supervisor as well as Presidio Trust health and safety officer. The Trust Emergency Response team will secure the area and notify the appropriate agencies. The Presidio Trust will contact the U.S. Army Technical Escort Unit specialists to determine appropriate actions.
Miss Speck and the Giant Librarians From the yahoo_netherworld, fairgrl112 writes: Hi guys! Been a while. Sorry for the long delay and all. I just started college and I seem to be constantly writing papers or doing math homework--yuk! How has everyone been? Full of vim and vigor I'm sure. The good old Gateway crashed so writing in here will be by chance until the damn thing gets fixed. Yeah for me! Hopefully I can go through the archives and read everyones writings. It seems like it might take a bit of time seeing as the only time I get any access to internet is at school or at my grandmothers. Anyways I hope to hear from you all soon. My e-mail is fairygrl112@y... Write to me if you want. I will answer one way or another. lol Love, Tink *** Somebody should drop her a line and tell her to com'n over. I would, but I couldn't cope with the responsibility. The awesome weight. The burden. *** Speaking of burdens, my ears suffer one in the form of my clunky old Dell. Whoever they subcontracted to make the fan for this thing also subcontracted with Boeing to make turboprops. It's loud. Fucking loud. Loud like two people fucking. Okay, maybe not loud like that, but you get what I mean. Of course, messing around with fans and heatsinks and power supplies is not covered in the owner's manual (assuming I had one, which I do, because I found it on the internet, but like I'm going to print it out). They don't even list the size specs for the parts, and everything is in metric, and I don't even have a metric ruler because I live in this backward hegemonic country called the US that can't even go along with the rest of the world about HOW TO MEASURE THINGS. Us and Equatorial Guinea. Blah, etc.
jeffron x Hey Jimmy, thanks for asking. It will happen Wednesday night, so I won't have an account of the ordeal until then. I worked on it more last evening by clicking through the slides and rambling about them outloud so that I could hear what I sounded like. I was making very little sense. I would babble on and on, until I said something worth remembering, and then I'd run to the computer to type out notes. It's hard. I should be practicing my oration more tonight, but I'm so tired already that I think I'll have to just do it all in a panic tomorrow evening. I went to the slide library at school and picked up some slides of work by James Turrell, Ad Reinhardt, Brice Marden, Joseph Kosuth, and Vija Celmins. The fellow who works in the slide library is this very suspicious looking guy, and I had to tell him I was checking out the slides for the teacher I'm TAing for (it was a lie). If you're just a grad student you can't keep the slides overnight, and I needed them today so I could prepare. Faculty get two weeks on slide checkouts. Anyhow, I don't think he believed me, but he let me do it anyhow. I had two studio meetings today, which were good warm-ups for the lecture. To paraphrase someone here on this board whose name starts with "Jimmy", Blah, Blah, Blah and Fucking Blah. (Or something like that :) )
Anna Make up a lie for me that we can rely on sweetness Maybe we could believe in maybe. We could be at ease. Let’s try to make it at least. And this time…the last time… We’re gonna win. As heroes to an underclass This thing’s already written on the wall. And don’t forget We’ll take you all We’ve just begun and we can’t fall. we’ve just begun and we can’t fall we’re gonna rise up beat you all! Heroes to an Underclass [3.44mb] A little cheesey, what with the deliberately half-hearted claps and snaps and all, but it took me months to find the right way to express the final melody, and I'm glad it's outta my friggin' head. Ptooie. Even diarrhea is carthasis. You know the story. "Not a finished work, just a sketch" and bla bla fucking bla.
jimmy Anna, how did your slideshow go? Curious!
jimmy the reasonable simulacrum is beautiful, jimmy. i clicked on the link, mystifying the cat, who only just finished gnawing on my knuckles as i typed (or rather, i forcefully caused him to stop). we both found it soothing. i like the city of clouds name for it. now i look forward to recordings of you playing the piano!
Vicki Anna happened to find fairygrl's post in the tcint, and I sent her an email letting her know where we were. I finished a transient piece. Well. It's not finished really, it's missing the faint offkey choir in the background and a piano and a tympani. I still haven't moved the piano into my room. The folks who helped me move it to the house in the first place object saying they can't help until their bruises are healed. -who can blame them. a reasonable simulacrum (of reality). Originally called "city of clouds" and then "transient point for angels", I always imagine flying into some fantastic real world city floating above the earth but not visible because it's sitting in some slightly discoincident space of some sort. Bla bla fucking bla. I talk too much. I met a person. She writes this amazing Satie-esque piano music. I think she is slightly touched. She took me to the back-room of the cafe, ignored the sign begging the customers NOT to play the piano, and played me a very beautiful melody that broke over and over again. I immediately began stuttering and staring at the floor like mother's favorite idiot. Then she said "now show me what you write!" and I couldn't play anything. In fact, I couldn't do anything at all. I just sort of mumbled something about something I don't remember and we went back outside and joined everyone in conversation again. She and my friend Chuck then drove over to my house and she recorded her music on my piano and I burned a cd for her and at her behest, the "tsetse" fly song I did. Just as I was finally calming down in her company, she got skittish and wanted to leave immediately to get herself some food. It was like we were two parts of a single pendulum. (Both gemini's. Coincidence? Yes.) No, I don't think I like her. I wouldn't toss her out of my bed though. What? Was that rude? Aw deal with it. I'm a goddamned monkey. I just wish I thought with the damned thing (re: phallus). In this world's wintry sexual economy, a man who thinks with his Richard gets more work done. HAhaha! His Richard. Oh man, I'm sure it's been done, but I love it. King Richard. Little Nixon. And as if to prove how slow I really am, I asked someone to think of a famous Richard out of the blue. xyz_theory: Think of a famous Richard for me. Anyone. Political, scientific, royal, etc. I want to laugh. litenshadow: Richard Noggin xyz_theory: LMFAO who the hell is that? litenshadow: Dick Head xyz_theory: Oh. xyz_theory: Clever. That's why I was doing it actually. Damn I'm slow. litenshadow: im a smart ass., sorry xyz_theory: No no. I'm posting to a forum and I suddenly made the connection that every school kid probably made in 2nd grade but me, well...you know. Slow uptake. litenshadow: do you need me to think of another xyz_theory: Sure. litenshadow: richard simmons xyz_theory: LOL xyz_theory: Excellent. litenshadow: i figured you thought of Nixon xyz_theory: I did. litenshadow: little richard, richard marx.. xyz_theory: HAHAH xyz_theory: I'm so immature. So there you have it.
jimmy I never mentioned how glad I was that you're going to be in San Diego, Speck. "I'm glad you're going to be in San Diego, Speck." We have street fairs here, but they all involve beer sloshing around, hotdogs on a stick and lots of flag waving. Oh, and god forbid anyone would ever want to be in drag down here. Oh, and should anyone ever salute an upside down flag, a dark and forboding rumbling would ensue as all the denizens of Lake Side and El Cajon shit their pants at once. Sirens would wail. Semi-functional shut-ins would drop their television remotes and cock their guns, stretching their grizzly pimply faces into terrifying caricatures of human beings. 27 grampas would stir in their sleep, losing their minds in unison as bullets rained down from some fearsome red enemy, always crouching in the ready, always growling hungrily, always invisible; enemies who eat the stars off the flags and drink stripes like blood and water.... FORD trucks would rebel against their owners, their manufacturers, and the roads upon which they would spin wildly, seeking ex-patriots to crush, liberals to mangle, their bumpers twisted and bent into gruesome metal grins...televisions would scream in frequencies unheard, filling living rooms with eery flashing red white and blue flames, reliving and displaying the imagery of the thousands of murders, rapes, mindless chair breaking brawls, and poorly acted suicides with which they inundated all of our "above average" children. Garden gnomes, pissing faux-marble cherubs, and flat wooden pink flamingos would stampede through trailer parks, destroying foreign cars and televisions, terrorizing migrant workers and mangling japanese gardens. Bald eagle kites and chinese coi windsocks would dogfight in fiery orange skies, hailing chunks of non-toxic "safe for kids 5 and older" synthetic material and impossibly long lines of string upon frantic and distraught groups of weekend warriors. Every flag pole at every foreign embassy in every city would bend as in some preternatural modern swan dance, dipping like white iron reeds, dragging their heathen flags across the gum covered pavement. Packs of hotdogs would leap into propane powered grills and cook themselves, turning in circles until ready, and then resplendent in their swollen skins of animal lips, anuses and erectile tissue, roll in droves toward baseball stadiums, where every black pop-star and every tobacco spitting country singer would sing together in sweet new harmonies, some in twangs, others in broken english, their voices feeding back into the microphone as the mascots of opposing teams fucked wildly on the pitchers mound. Shit. They could sell tickets. Where was I? Oh. I never mentioned how glad I was that you're going to be in San Diego, Speck. I'll buy you a burrito.
jimmy 
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