A Human Movement
Thursday, September 28, 2006
  a wonderful chat for you to read
my distant relation
5 minutes
2:00 PM me: dios mio
2:01 PM that hairline is like a distant galaxy realized.
other person: she was a looker
and a princess
really, she was a princess
me: hairlines make me weak.
2:02 PM and by hairlines I mean where the hair connects to the scalp on women.
2:04 PM other person: No, I know exactly what you’re talking about. Great hairlines on women = a sound investment in the future. Plus, there’s nothing more religious than a healthy head of hair on a lady. Shiny and with ample sheen. A sound investment
2:05 PM me: in that instant, the shortest tip of the hair where it grows closest to the scalp, emerging out from the head, is the most excellent place, and surely a way to measure the worth of the woman. Where that point stirs in your energy they are good, where you are repelled they are monsters.
2:06 PM that picture is ridiculous... when is it from?
other person: 1960 or so
2:09 PM me: 1960?
I thought she was from the 40s
what was her deal?
2:10 PM I hate that the gap has aped that dance sequence by Audrey Hepburn for their TV commercials.
from Funny Girl.
2:11 PM at least Sister Sara Brown's cuban dance number is safe.... oh Sister Sara!!! Anytime, Anywhere.
2:12 PM
2:14 PM other person: Grace Kelly was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, to John Brendan Kelly, Sr., also known as Jack Kelly, and Margaret Katherine Majer Kelly, a Catholic convert from Lutheranism. Kelly's father's Irish American Catholic family (originally from Kidney Lake, Newport, County Mayo, Ireland) were new but prominent figures in Philadelphia society. Her father was a self-made millionaire and a triple gold-medal-winning Olympic sculler, and her brother John B. Kelly, Jr., sometimes known as "Jack, Jr." or "Kell", followed in that tradition. John, Jr., gave his sister as a wedding present the bronze medal he won at the 1956 Summer Olympics. Kelly Drive in Philadelphia is named for John, Jr., who was a city councilman there. Her father's large family included two prominent uncles in the arts: Walter Kelly, a vaudevillian, and the Pulitzer Prize–winning playwright, George Kelly. Kelly's maternal grandparents, Carl Majer and Margaretha Berg, were of German descent.
2:17 PM me: nice.
it's more than safe to say that the world has been curropted.
2:18 PM other person: i love her family history
me: I love genealogy
nothing is sexier.
other person: my mom is a Kelly, we're from county Mayo, our Kellies grew up in Philadelphia at the same time... makes me wonder... in fact, my cousin, Curran Kelly, got married at Grace Kelly's farm house
2:19 PM me: you need to find another Kelly and procreate.
other person: i know, i know.... i should buff up that side of my gene pool and stay away from the Slavs... but those Slavs can be so damn foxxy
2:20 PM me: There are Scotch and Irish Kellys (Kelleys)
but I think they go back to Ireland... the Kelly (Kelley) clan.
other person: The Kelly clan is one of the oldest names in Gaelic
2:21 PM me: My great grandmother's married an O'Kelly
so we can be from the same clan.
2:22 PM other person: it's translated loosely as "sacred people of the woods," but the name derives, so i was told by Robert Kelly (the owl who knows how many licks it takes to get to the center of tootsie pop) from the word Kellagh, which means quarelsome, which hints at soldier status.. so in a way, kelly is akin to smith
2:23 PM me: http://www.kelly-clan.com/kelly3.htm
other person: i'm not really into that crest
me: Northern Island is better than Southern Island... the southern ones are only good as door stops.
2:24 PM other person: hmmm
we're southern
south eastern actually
me: who?
other person: the black irish
my mom's kellies
me: oh
but the Kelly clan goes back to Northern Island
County Armagh, Northern Ireland
other person: the spanish armada crashed on "our" shores and made olive skinned celts with our ladyfolk
2:25 PM me: ar
other person: indicative in my cousin Curran
me: I don't know if I can go back that far.
other person: very olive, but looks like an irish pixie elf
2:26 PM me: I'm still pro-protestant Ireland.
those catholics should be whipped and enslaved.
other person: yeah, but you have to look at it with stronger eyes thomas
me: shoot
2:27 PM i was kinda jokin' thar pet-ar
2:28 PM other person: Were it not for the Irish catholic monks much of the classic would have died. When Europe went through its darkest of periods all the most beautiful tomes of antiquity were secretly sent up to Ireland.
2:29 PM plus, Joyce wouldn't have been Joyce without Cath
me: monks are never the catholics that need-ah wipping.
let monks be monks
2:30 PM other person: drunk monks
me: I'm getting excited about the Hugenots lately.
other person: they;re interesting
me: In fact, I think I'm going to have a Huguenots weekend.
2:31 PM other person: aren't they descendants of vikings?
me: French protestants?
maybe... I dunno.
2:32 PM I am interested in their reforms in the early 17th century between the colonization of the Americas and the high points of Calvin in Geneva
2:33 PM there were these hugeunots who weren't having it with Calvin, and had to leave... so they went to canada, upstate new york... and they had interesting ideas, pamphlets about liberty.
I've often said I'd like to find me a Huguenot princess.
other person: i just like the sound of it
2:34 PM Huguenot
any name with a knot in it is fine with me
me: U-gaj-Know
no no
other person: This Marie-Laure, she's a Hugenot
me: U-gah-Know
other person: i know, i know
me: who?
other person: what?
me: Marie-Laure?
2:35 PM it's so hard to find a proper young lady these days.
other person: that's 'cause parasols and garters went out of fashion... now we have mascara and thongs....
me: it seems that libertinism is always strongest within the women's will.
2:36 PM they are wanton sluts at the drop of a pillbox.
2:37 PM I'd prefer to find myself a gentlewoman, if that prove impossible, I'll take myself a hardy, fair girl of peasant stock.
2:38 PM other person: ha
at the drop of a pillbox!
7 minutes
2:45 PM other person: gotta run
works beckons me
39 minutes
3:24 PM other person: sometimes there's nothing, absolutely nothing better than a tuna salad sandwich on toasted rye with pepperjack cheese, tomato, and romaine lettuce, accompanied by a cup of corn chowder
5 minutes
3:30 PM me: probably true.
other person: probably = very today
me: unless their a really saxophone player nearby, and then, that would make it better.
really good sax.
3:31 PM and better than that.... a swami snake charmer.
other person: a guy on the corner of my apt. plays sax on the weekends. he's actually quite good. then there's this wasted blues guy who smiled at me and said, "Hey boy, what do you know about the blues?" So i responded "Charlie Patton," and he goes,"Who?"
3:32 PM that was sad
me: I think he meant, the blues... small b.
other person: i don't think so, he was holding a guitar and had slide on his finger with his guitar case opened with some change in it
3:33 PM me: seulb
3:34 PM other person: you gotta bite open a couple of pepperocinis and let the juice flow into the chowder... gives it a nice kick
3:37 PM me: I listened to This Heat.. made available this morning, but I had to turn it off, whiny marxists... it was a sad day. But I found Sun Ra's Cosmic Tones for Mental Therapy better than ever on the other hand.
7 minutes
3:44 PM other person: yeah, this heat can get a little much, just like everything else... i listened to the title track to 'Money Jungle'... fan fucking tastic
3:45 PM me: I like the Rolling Stones track 'Monkey Man'
that's a winner.
3:46 PM other person: yeah
i love "rocks off"
one of the best album openers ever
me: keef.
3:47 PM other person: richard(s)
me: charlie
me favourites charlie
other person: dashing good hair, and a dashing good dresser
me: did you get that gong?
3:48 PM other person: tonight... all i have to do is revist this unending chat
in the archives
me: right-o
mamma archives
other person: lalalalalala
me: said
manna archives
3:49 PM give me manna
other person: this could go down in history
me: I believe in miracles.
Jesus says `I am the bread of life`
3:50 PM I say, hey, feed me manna
other person: give me some wine Jesus, so i can breathe....
me: manna griddlecakes
jesus is my hotplate
3:51 PM other person: jesus juice
the lord maketh what the lord baketh
3:52 PM me: Mercy-seat
3:53 PM The Holy of Holies is called the "place of the mercy-seat
3:55 PM other person: "Isis" means femal throne... she was always depicted with a throne on her head
they're really throwing me to the sharks today
i loathe their organizational skills
me: lazer-beams on their heads?
3:58 PM other person: this girl brianne down the chubicle has such a cute voice
she's from Idaho and she's very girlish in tone, remeniscent of farrar, but more on top of things
3:59 PM me: Idaho. wow.
you don't get that kind of meat 'round these parts.
4:00 PM other person: she's got a margaux hemingway thing going on.. last name is , so that would be back to my irish roots; however, one must be on guard when it comes to dipping his pen in the company inkwell
4:01 PM me: right-o
I can't stand the people I work with, or rather... they are all ugly.
you want to learn a cool word?
4:03 PM other person: sem‧pi‧ter‧nal  /ˌsɛmpɪˈtɜrnl/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[sem-pi-tur-nl] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation

–adjective Literary. everlasting; eternal.


[Origin: 1400–50; late ME < LL sempiternālis, equiv. to L sempitern(us) everlasting semp(er) always + -i- -i- + -ternus suffix of temporal adjs.; see eterne) + -ālis -al1]
me: Monarchomachs, or the monarchomachi. Those huguenots of the late 15th cent. who opposed the king to undermine the Catholics.
4:04 PM Theories of popular sovereignty in the sixteenth century.
4:06 PM from OED,
As thou art cyte of god, & sempiternal throne, Here now, blessyd lady, my wofulle mone.
man, was English beautiful at one point.
4:07 PM A miraculous acte, and worthie (in deede) of sempiternall remembraunce.
All truth is from the sempiternal source Of Light Divine
can't argue with that.
4:08 PM how about: sempiternize?
other person: i always loved the word y'clept
it just sounds like what it should be
like the french "avec"
4:09 PM eternalize forever
me: I want this on a mug: "As thou art cyte of god, & sempiternal throne, Here now, blessyd lady, my wofulle mone."
other person: yes
me: friggin perfuct.
other person: Freggin perfesh
4:12 PM me: that line is Chaucer
4:13 PM about the eternal god spot of woman being queen and source of man's moan.
other person: good call
i was talking about y'clept
"y'clept" is Chaucer too
me: let me check....
4:14 PM other person: it could also be yclept... but i think they dug the usage of the apostrophe back then
me: defined: Called (so-and-so), named, styled.
4:15 PM other person: i always thought it meant "with"
4:16 PM oh well, i still like it
me: I don't get it...
it means... called?
That fraudfull squire of Ithaca, iclipt Vlisses
Now for the ground Which? which I meane I walkt vpon, it is ycliped, Thy Parke
4:17 PM that's from Love's Labor Lost
Milton: But com thou Goddes fair and free, In Heav'n ycleap'd Euphrosyne.
other person: i like that word
me: Euphrosyne
4:18 PM other person: What are you yclept heavenliest of ladies?
you frozen?
4:19 PM me: what?
you caught me off guard.
other person: Euphrosyne = You Frozen/zine
me: one of the Three Graces
She is also the Goddess of Joy. A daughter of Zeus and Eurynome. Incarnation of grace and beauty.
4:20 PM I think that brings us back to Grace Kelly
and scene.
Friday, September 22, 2006
  Welcome to AHumanmovement October 2006
I see things. I would never venture farther afield than to claim I do. People seeking individual gain undermines society. Society is the undermining of what is best. Let me get this straight for you, I am sitting at my little desk. I have a portrait of Worthtington Chauncey Ford to my right on top of a 1962 copy of the American Archivist, with F. Scott Fitzgerald, Murray Kempton and Norman Mailer in a mini-stack to the upper left. In front of me are notes on Martin Luther. I could reach out and pick up a biography of Dos Passos or James Truslow Adams. Saint Augustine's Confessions are also there, not too far away from Henry Nash Smith, and actually right next to something called Wesleyan University, 1831-1910; Collegiate Enterprise in New England. Huxley's The Perennial Philosophy is on top of another pile, below it is The Connecticut Wits, a compilation including the poetry of Trumbull, Dwight, Barlow, etc. and editions of Eckhart, Tillich and William James still not too far away. I look down and see Cranston's biography of Locke, an odd pile of Perry Miller and an old box of DR Pure Blues guitar strings. What I am saying is I am not trying to make bad. My computer is filled with mp3s of music that is purely enlightening to the soul. I live in New York City because I was brainwashed into thinking that culture was supreme. I sit at my desk and know that silence is queen. To her I am a foreign king. Sexuality is defined by markets. Markets are defined by villains. Behavior is a lost cause. Mastery has long since drowned. I am a man and this is 2006.

Reading some notes I took I see; "Humans must bind together to master themselves." This makes me start thinking about some kind of 'New Jerusalem,' the idea that at one point people thought that if everyone would get together and have the right idea, Zion would be actual. I got no problem with that except for the ignorant people who problematize, actualize themselves all over again everytime. "The body is beauty, and I often say imperfection is grace." Cassette tapes once were a perfectly fine way to replicate music, and now they seem a bit strange. I would listen to anything, and I believe that this sentiment is enough to bring me to the real nature of what is asked of us as humans.

I am not so sure how much I care for democracy. My kingdom is beyond here. I, like Anne Bradstreet, wonder about miracles. I see them everyday, but how can I know them when so many people ignore so much that is similar to that which astounds me. Grace is imperfection, and therein lies the distortion toward individuality which has become a pock on the skin of recent life. I fear even addressing time, for we are living beyond time.

The other day I held a map from the 1939 World's Fair and wandered about Flushing Meadows. I have never been so tired. Thinking hurts the human mind, thinking about history especially so. We live in a chaotic flange of events, melee strewned about, facial hair on men, ovulation for women we mix and reject, rejoice and commit. Who has our best interests in mind? Time is impossible to glance at, and yet we are offered jobs which demand our time, day after day, moment after moment. I do not believe people should be free, I believe those people who free themselves should be honored. Honor is listening, listening is recognition, recognition needs to be revamped.

Recognize more, each of you in your soul, and we shall commence the straight truth track.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
  portions of a recurring dream, the #1 format
I've had the same dream, or bits thereof reapply itself to my mind in various ways throughout my life. I am not sure if this is true, but it seems that way. I also often have dreams in which I acquire the feeling of having had the dream before within the very dream so as to create a sort of infinity effect of mirror into mirror and difficult to prove those i've had before and those dreams in which having had the dream before is part of the dream.

There are two types of dream format for me of late. 1) action + lust 2) research + wonder

The #1 format as taken on the form of a hollywood style spy thriller in many twisting ways. Sort of a Total Recall meets Robert Ludlum. And certain parts interchange and come back wth months in between. In this way the story enlarges itself on both ends.

The scene is a sloping woods put together from memories of the Hudson Valley and the woods around Lake Winnepasaukee. The object is running away from some group of unknown enemies which at first were friend, but whose true identity was revealed after a botched assasination attempt. The botch assasination attempt and the friendly nature are treated much less than the running away which takes on a more detailed form on each recurrance. It is usually mayhem, running or riding a bike or car until either break down from the desperate crashing into trees uncontrollabley down the hill with the risk of being fired at.

The scenery usually changes. Last night there was a group of young boys, a high school archery team whose final shooter happened to turn his arrow into the midsection of another right at the moment I pass by, thus singifying some kind of end to inoncence. Scenes of this type often occur during the running away state of format #1, as I happen to see events right at the moment they turn ugly. But I don't dwell I keep running.

Shots are fired, splinter shatters of the trees around me, my clothes are eventually run off as I realize that it much better to hide from the danger of the enemy by achieving a natural state. As the cars crash, the bike breaks and my clothes tear and I arrive as a place of safety under the cover of some kind of mud pool. Thinking of the fact that there might be bugs in the mud, I realize I have had this dream before and shouldn't worry about it.

Along with safety come the realization that I have back up. Last night's back up was a team of cammo men laying down with guns pointed through cracks in what I think was a bleacher. As those soldiers take over and charge I find myself in safety of a legitamate army type situation where there is a network of bivouac camps, latrines, men on phones and supplies being arranged. I am covered in mud and have to find an officer of some sort to share my recon intelligence with. Somehow convey the facts of the botched assasination attempt of which I know nothing.

It gets foggy from here because in the past few recurrances of this format, some time around now is a dream sequence back to another time. Perhaps to help me try to figure out who I am (in the dream.) The special information representatives are not nice and in the past have told me to put on glasses that have a mind jarring effect.
Last night I took the glasses with the knowledge that they were mind altering and as soon as the special information operators realized, (had they realized?) that I knew the glasses were phony they told me off and left me in the mud.

Being left in the mud, I am picked up by a group of non-mission related persons. Normal people walking through the woods which has not yet changed into suburban surroundings it will be in the next moments of the dream. There are women, some attractive and usually the one to which I am attracted, talks to me. Last night was strange because there was a woman who I had talked to before in past recurrances and she said to me, that she had wanted to return but didn't know how. I remember her explaining to me how long she had tried to get in touch with me. I replied telling her that my e-mail address had changed, but that she should have just googled me. Oh 2006. The thing about this woman is that she was remarkabley similar to another woman who had already recurred, and worse both were present in the civilian group who picked me up after the special information ops dissappear and the fighting in the woods has receded into memory.

The two recurring women's personalities are now on display and there is always the risk that they will tire of me and go off to talk with another civilian male who is part of our train walking through suburban surrounding of varying class as we talk about their personalities and I try to decide which one I think is more trustworthy.
The one who had told me that she had wanted to find me but couldn't was very mad, and implied that since I was so difficult to find she was moving on. That she even had a person to move on with, who turned out to be some kind of Cockney footballer with facial hair. I was saddened, but realized that the other women was recurring as well and I still had some okay chances. The second one is smaller, has a pointier nose and is a writer, the ideal combination of homely, nervous and yet completely attractive (like the ugly girl who turns pretty in movies by getting contacts and a hair cut.) She was not as frustrated by my absence, and was quickly laughing at things I said in such a way as to suggest that she was happy to have my point of view available to her. I can't remember what I said exactly, but we did walk past a lake house that was for sale for 88 million dollars. The finer points of these women are better left unsaid in this forum. Also this part of the recurring dream is quite new, I have never left the fighting scene in such a friendly way. In the past I had put on the glasses of the special information officers and have gone back into the fighting equipped with special weapons and specific missions. But last night I got away and was walking peacefully away talking about society and social order with an impressionable women who enjoyed my perspective on things.

But this recurs, as that is that. Until next time.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
What's the draw to being silly? What's the power in being clean? What's the deal with dealing?
Thursday, September 07, 2006
  tal farlow yonder
sometimes I think Tal Farlow is playing a 1959 Jazzmaster, with the anodized pickgaurd and thimbles of gold on his fingers playing notes as decided by last night's poker game and tomorrow night's opening chess strategy which will be played on a chess board of the finest quality ebony and ivory squares and rosewood and mahogany peices and italian leather shoes afixed to his tapping feet that the maitre 'd noticed while letting him into the back door of some classy restaurant.

I'd like to set off a bunch of mouse traps inside a piano and capture the sound with microphones from the 1930s and play it back over speakers at a later date. I would also like to stare at marble staircases. Sheet covered body roaming in a hallway with some kind of phosphorescent light that if not capture on film would be carcinogenic. Fireproof chemical compounds like they used to use on pipes. A wild lament about the loss of control and loss of natural nature in nature. The evolutionary process whereby things change and stay the same and confuse us.

I'd like to sit in a wicker rockingchair and become angry at the person I am conversing with because of their lacking memories of playing croquet at large house of a family friend when they were younger. A green sloping lawn with drinks and watermelons and burgers by the pool in silence all in their own memories are missing. Freedom's done this much for me. I'd like to hear parallel D#'s still, slightly wobling next to one another. Staccato horsehair sniffles. Cardboard box percussion. I'd like to know how they made sunburst so much better in the 1950s than in the 1960s.

Whole milk just at the freezing point through a hoze. Greyish turquoise trapezoids and mid-century paperbacks, 1952-1969. Jingling change in a pocket of suit of man whose proximity is hard to place exactly. Canvas tents under which maps are set up and men gathered.

I'd like to read a history of one of the world wars written by canvas. At least a battle or a deployment of some kind. And then I'd like a good lecture about victorian chess boards from an expert in the field. I'd like to hear a huge swooshing filter of sound, a tin sound band pass filter out of which came an vintage radio broadcast.

White robed people floating when I peep through the F-hole in some old violin that I have never found yet or seen. The imagination might be okay. But if it is okay, than it has be discussed in some other way and by other way I mean through blinding lights and in small closets at once highly technological in the current sense but also filled with other other other other other tools and machines. Imagining a world where it's cool to admit that nonliving artifacts are completely cognizant and have simply had it. Not there yet.

Out of the F-hole and back into days and nights.
working towards a spiritual conception of information...those visiting this page are in the presence of the deposited brain in the form of electric text embracing inclusive and spectacular ideas where possibility is mirrored less by occurances and more by the bodiless time-frame granularity come globule mark

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Whereas understanding is a foundation
Whereas mind should move
Whereas things have limits
Resolved that knowledge is king.

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