A Human Movement

All save for the sun

2007-04-12T10:18:00.000-04:00

There is a cooling effect, gathered daily in the senses, when the sun goes away.
An object thrown goes from one to another.
The other can be the one, no matter.
Moving objects, as thrown, have no right to be called the sun.
What causes the sun the move?

The twin disaster, knowledge and knowing, wrecks the mind each moment. The sun does not move. There is a way out; revelation and consequence. The parenthetically yours, referred to in silence.

I liked the part when the ascetic opened his robe to reveal he went to bed hungry, a patchwork of humility wrought in skin and bone, twisted needlework, picked scars and hobbled ghastliness. The awareness of which was delivered in secret as an ignorance implicit that the awareness is not and yet the body is, in peaks, witnessed upon the mind's dismount of prayer. And light is cast under white robe, the heart still red running.

A dice with 5 sixes but 1 one, rolled six times has a 1 in 6 chance of landing at 1.
Harboring suspicions is detective work. And by that I mean people do bad things.

the global polis

2006-12-11T11:06:00.000-05:00

ecstatic light is a candy bar. Guess what? They are sold for cheap on most intersections. This is because everyone enjoys the stuff that they use to be alive with. The biggest problem with the whole deal is that some folks never admit it, that they enjoy what they are, and on the other hand, are those people who admit it too much, which is the ultimate no-no should any person desire a good world around 'em. You want a good world? Shut your mouth and enjoy it 'cuz you know it can't be Spoken. Now, there are those who believe hiding inner enjoyment is some kind of suppression, but that is a wrong way of looking at the divine freedom that is man. Hey guess what? All words mean the same thing. That's as free as a candy bar which is made of grass. Hey guess what? No one needs anything, everyone has everything, some people have a little, other people too much. But economics is a fire drill when the fire has already started. The fire is burning. Burnt sugar women, making sweet sweet babies. Men putting out fires and people saying thanks. Responsibility is the keel. Tradition are the ropes. Nature is the wood. Sugar is the strength. Now, let's understand the discovery of new worlds less about location and land and more about building nice boats, ship craft, under thunder storms read as truth outside of mind, (uncontrollable diversity the only diversity worth experiencing.) Upon these swell crafts, Columbus style, made of; Responsibility (which is the same thing as jealousy, fear & competition,) Tradition (which is learning from All elders,) Nature (which is the spit in my mouth that soothes my rope-burned hands,) and Sugar is that form of Nature that goes in and comes out as some other thing, perhaps even as Tradition (Tradition known as Sugar is the sweetness of Mind.) Yeah, Tradition can be shit. Now, all hands on the poop deck. Here's the rope. Here's a candy bar. You better Listen.

dream #2

2006-10-28T00:21:00.000-04:00

My mind is unfortunately not an instrument, but it does get going when it wishes. At this late hour the creativity will be low, yet perhaps the integrity will be intact enough to wrought inner innards mild intermediary even illustration when just as just.

She was a bus, if not a nose. I was on this bus, I never remember to breathe.
There were two buses. One drove into Russia, a snowy slippery traveling way was made, and the signs in odd diplo-linguistics that although were business signs, seemed to be all in English.

Her voice came through a plastic cup. This cannot be emphasized enough. Not ever.

The other ride took me to a mystical theme park that you've considered yourself. A Gothic jungle-gym the size of a rock quarry. When we first arrived we immediately witnessed a mystical beast licking away at some melting glacier. A small-headed, female, moose-like, winged beast slurping the ice drift that when those amongst me noticed, the guide said no.... He had been mocked & Remember this is a dream.

The calendar said 1984, black and white, the technology of water skiing trapped in black and white and I had seen it before.

Every absorption was a blood swell, or a muffed breath, stuffed nostril twitch.

Coming back, the bus let off, & it had become obvious that our arrival meant the tour of the Gothic remnants would begin. A stone tour in the high arches, lost twisting sideways, stone naves in hollow apses and I was afraid. Never being claustrophobic before didn't mean that a dream about being trapped in the smallest stone clutches of a church didn't pause my modern sense of pleasantness as if a nervous gut were enough. I was stuck.

I didn't fit. Literally, I was unable to make the second twist into the stone passageways, so squeezing back through the one turn I did fit through, painfully, I gave up and came back to where the bus had parked.

It turned out the guide of this Gothic adventure park was an avid photographer, and had been a friend of a former lover of mine. Actually I hated him and I loved her who he had known before I met her. She was gone, had been for too long and I was on the outside, unable to figure into the tour, her life, I was alone and had lost the girl I loved. He was all the more less queer in this present state. My charm dwindled. He had two cameras.

It ended up that we raced on scooters down a mountain. I don't remember who won, but the scooter I rode had very small wheels and was old fashioned. It was the kind of downhill course I have dreams about very often. The deja vu deja vus are made of. Unlike the gothic twists and gargoyle lockers which had taken my breath a few moments before, which was the first time I had felt that lostness. I can't wait to love someone again.

all gods kill

2006-10-27T23:59:00.000-04:00

Here's why gender is wrong: I can look at my arm for 45 minutes straight, I can pass out on beer.

Please spare me the grimey sense. Blah, I've lost. Death, bus rides, Stalingrad. Imagination is a waste of time. The circuits of lust, gymnast stretch.

Ich haben.

Plugged in to the mistake, a dreary dream sheet over my head like a ghost costume. A martyr hullabaloo. My pretty words fallen.

take two today, commands and metallurgic imagining

2006-10-26T11:49:00.000-04:00

Is it vile to compare people with food? Then what of human's dusted with various delights, human dust on certain sups, the grease of a fine athlete, and those almond eyes. Life's a costume. Flayed fleshed, speared rears, just taking it easy.

Why come along and limit things with some kind of derivatives, keep the sight line clear. Von Steuben's commands were clear, Fire! Half-Cock — Firelock! Handle — Cartridge! Prime! Shut — Pan! Charge with Cartridge! Draw — Rammer! Ram down — Cartridge! Return — Rammer! Yessir. Sounds to me like a love potion.

Rammer, ram down, Pan, Charge the cartridge, return fire, firelock, half-cock, ramshut the prime shutter, draw the charger charge cocked fire.

The command is clear, the imaginary gesture is unclear. The ease to follow such commands is easy. But the fact that forgetting a step would be a reality is necessary to admitting your humanity. Then the general kicks your mother down a well. You're mad as hell. But generals, oh generals they know.

Metallurgy made things as they are. Whenever you think where am I? What is that? Is there nothing to do? I've got a 3 o'clock appointment... just think about the metallurgist who did everything you do, sat down and made you.

Then forget a command and be blood, dusted. Cannabalized by an inability to focus.

-------------------------
Reading Notes:

and if there is another dimension to reading, that being a meditional quality, I ask myself to dwell on Vol. 2, Ch. 1: Since the day that modern science gave what may be considered the death-blow to dogmatic theology, by assuming the ground that religion was full of mystery, and mystery is unscientific, the mental state of the educated class has presented a curious aspect. Society seems from that time to have been ever balancing itself upon one leg, on an unseen tight-rope stretched from our visible universe into the invisible one; uncertain whether the end hooked on faith in the latter might not suddenly break, and hurl it into final annihilation.

some problems today, practicing scat

2006-10-26T11:14:00.000-04:00

Like it's a game of how much you can keep in your head, together with everything from yesterday and at the same time some broken chronology, vile vowels, I got your poopy cock right here; Blackbird singing in the dead of night to the bowtied bowel broker.

Loredo, Texas is filled with meat. Manitoba Province is filled with fences. The magazine shop is filled with paper. But what I am interested in is all the beds in the world. If I can't have that, then I'll take every bed in some square mile radius. Ain't no bed but my own.

The worst thing a person can do is get excited about someone's else biography, before finding inspiration from a dead tree branch. The worst thing a person can do is think that they are inspired by a tree branch before reading a biography of a dead person. Some human ether form gas-masked smoke-filled vaccum tube, blood sausage kind of thing, needs to sneak up on you. That's called feeling or Being touched by the glass finger.

The participation is either; I am wrong and happy, or I am right but wrong. Silly person emotes the gender on the righteously lost. Headlines read. Magazines fold, are sold. Fingers sell jewels. Don't blame the soul, sleeping. Get glassed.

2006-10-18T18:53:00.000-04:00

My plight is the plight of loving that form of ambivalence which is commonly wrought into the form of negatory sidetracking, side stepping and in the process developing an envoloping system of non-systemness, it is the plight of awareness and darkness ripping and rebuilding, loving and ignoring cause whereby yielding cause's cause in a form of expected unawareness. A cousin of no one, listening to events as they percolate in the omniverious ampitheatre of pathetic glee, the body who moves also stands still. The masculine hero, I know is a saddened clump while his clumpness is that which wins over the crowd whose needs to converge comes first and is absolute. We see weakness embodied and touch it as strength, we get strong on ourselves just to be and become a body, a body shared from the beginning and end up seeing only the movement of here and not here. I was here and I am here again, truly I do, know nothing, nothing I do know. The glass is half a glass and the water is half water both allowing their negation to be that which they share in a wholeness. I know there is chaos, wind blowing, isthmuses, sandstorms, orderlies, cannonballs, luxuries, arching harnesses of men's clubs and jokers, funniness really funny which puts the real blatancy of a commonplace banality where it might not usually be, or the holiness between your knees and turns something upside down, and gets held onto, passivity, adoration, and then me.

a wonderful chat for you to read

2006-09-28T16:30:00.000-04:00

Peter:
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
well,
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.
obviously
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!
ha!
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.
meanwhile.....
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.
MONARCHOMACHS
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
"together"
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
Aye!
Oi!
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
oh,
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.

Welcome to AHumanmovement October 2006

2006-09-22T21:40:00.000-04:00

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.

portions of a recurring dream, the #1 format

2006-09-19T08:37:00.000-04:00

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.

imports

2006-09-09T11:13:00.000-04:00

What's the draw to being silly? What's the power in being clean? What's the deal with dealing?

tal farlow yonder

2006-09-07T22:18:00.000-04:00

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.

I'm pretty sure

2006-05-01T18:31:00.000-04:00

The world is governed, at least in part, by the goings on in some pretty seedy areas of what for a lack of a better word I will call, 'exchange.' If one was able to float in and out of an understanding of the way in which some persons consider the various enterprises of mortgage rates, hair products, their wife's skin or commodities rates such as the kind of things that control markets, futures, profits, etc., I believe they would discover some hideous darkness as well as genuine strength. For every monstrosity there is a heroic individual who is able to contend with it. Oil executives open mail too. It amazes me that people face such pits with a strength of conviction, but they obviously must as every day the bell rings, the forest is cut, the drill is spun, etc.

And then there are other places with different kind of people. Angels we will call them, who are always getting it wrong or at least misunderstanding things. But they are angels nonetheless, busy crafting lives for themselves which ignore the nefarious and rotten. Yet still, by means of ignoring the oily decisions of resource manipulation, they remain a part of it, for there is no way to remove oneself from being governable and rendered.

But I am pretty sure that most of the world's affairs are governed by those with the strength to face the disgustingness and do so with a firm mind, heroic men thrusting themselves into the mire of their own creation. That's what I am pretty sure of.

on who I believe

2006-04-20T13:30:00.000-04:00

I don't believe no one. Save for the bridges, cheese graters, ghost like vapors and fine wools and linens which keep me on track.

I believe in estrangement, an all pervasive unaccountability that rides the mind's crest of generations. I believe in double negatives such that when nothing is nowhere, something is somewhere, not nowhere, some somewhere, top topless, made immaterial, used brand new, circle square, firm soft, reliable force too strong to imagine, straight twist that in which we come through headways leaves us not guessing.

I place my belief on the fundamentally incorrect, and I think you'll find that anytime you believe something it will be because of this too.

email SPAM dream poem, as impressive as ever (edits mine)

2006-04-13T14:54:00.000-04:00

Subject: Re: Your money. salt rheum

thimble skein tawny-coated Super-christian
till basket rope-closing berry-shaped

long-ago gliding machine howgozit curve self-checking crawl-up core sand garden garth mann tree ill-conceived salmon ladder Post-pleistocene well-wigged Kaus australis flat-visaged Anti-birmingham time-cleft spinning machine manganese bronze judgment cap down bed platoon school all-eyed castor cake Bengal hemp narrow-rimmed snow-pure hard-iron sulphur vivum politico-commercial white-felled mistress-ship square-sterned cockatoo fish Mid-january hemlock fir first-night pine tag mighty-minded splint-bottomed nail-cutting guide rope after-theatre rose opal All red cloth slitter cheese cement tooth relic stub feather able seaman blood meal well-headed button-shaped box elder urinogenital sinus wire-crimping saddle-backed ill-gendered self-centered key bed arbitration treaty self-control much-admired school-trained bulldog ant grape-eater fire swab pruning shears well rig old-man fern twice-achieved faro bank self-digestion gay-chirping flank attack vulture-gnawn pre-enlightenment sixty-seventh

four-time calcium chloride carvel-built well-installed land otter paddle tumbler
coal-boring drop-kicker curtain raiser cigar lighter all-pondering crush plane ink gall fault surface jewel-studded sponge cloth self psychology poison mask unit
prism weeder hoe quasi trustee chondroitin-sulphuric heart-rending bone yard
water-cressy salmon herring leading man trail plank deep-colored cloth miller cone tree

lug hook square-toedness sharp-back shark mercury fulminate tinder fungus
solent goose bale buckle tree tag tide wheel pleasant-tasting spray-wet safety dog
dispatch box sword-leaved yarn inspector Philo-teuton wash strake tam-tam
well-expended vanilla extract copper refiner cow parsley one-pound pauper
costs playing suit coffee cream closet drama music box suave-spoken spleen-pained
mid-sun bag loader Post-constantinian fawn brown self-sacrificial joy-killer
pseudo boy prairie rocket sled knife vacuum can eagle-flighted thick-growing
coppery-tailed sand bath sea hay cross-fertile pistachio green windy-headed
pedal pushers many-meaning counterscarp gallery crown gold cloth beam

Inter-andean stove coal opera singer shiplapped lumber crap game well-bushed staccato
mark semi-intrados star feed pitch-blackness folk tale self-directive
weather-bound train butcher life-rendering thought-fixed twice-scolded vase-shaped
character piece heddle knitter West point felt washer chicken tick paint-removing blowpipe analysis

ranch country wire sewer earth metal quasi sentence screw nut oil-regulating half-offended hoof-shaped urn-buried way bent rush hour fame-thirsty quasi-constructive ink mixer traveling bag Fulah-zandeh tempest-rent De-anglicization flint paper tradition-fed yellow-fingered valley breeze rail-sawing serious-mindedly shittim wood Pro-caucasian graving piece Neo-plantonic Anglo-irishism world-civilizing

cold-work fox-visaged square-edged coffee-grinding half-deafened three-phased
mis-humility closed-circuit love-stricken Pre-moslem fool duck naked-eared stiff-boned fault line log reel doom ring geyser basin hydroxysuccinic acid dark-stemmed ply yarn feather-tongue barrel-shaped honey grass acetylene
torch wild-blooded mid mashie re-resign pellet molding two-foot war service
chevron bone tar hay plant gemel window Non-pythagorean full-bodied skin-testing
gum pocket deep-musing protein factor bearing plate wood fringe staghorn sumac

blow accordion well-irrigated free silverite gutta susu basket mast
sentiment-proof

_____

blindsided...

2006-04-03T21:32:00.000-04:00

For some unknown reason, the guitar bug has bit me like a shark in the last 48 hours, and so of all the darn things, I turn up this??

and

Some time in 1970?

Is that a Mustang? a Duo-Sonic? Wha?!?! This must be some kind of a joke. What is John McLaughlin doing with that guitar... What is it? It is a Mustang. No it's a duo-sonic. I always figured homeboy played a L-5, or at the smallest an es-335 for his Miles stuff... but this is too cruel. Pictures or accounts online of what exactly McLaughlin used while playing with Davis, 1970-71 are slim to none. I found these, snatched them up and they have really sent me for a loop. What is that tiny guitar? Why is strapped to Mahavishnu? and How does he make it sound like anything that might sound like what his stuff with Miles sounds like? Seriously, can any aged vet of the fusion scene be of assistance?

It's dateless, some time in the 70's... but Ahh, finally, like cool water this makes sense. Back to reality, a varitone'd 335 with a big old DiMarzio PAF in da neck, now that makes sense. Completely. Phew... but still, what is he playing up there with Miles?

Gasp...

Double gasp...

It's 1969, McLaughlin is in the States laying down the sound with Tony Williams Lifetime and he does it with a Mustang?!?! Was I the last to know this? What is going on? Maybe he forgot his usual guitar and was loned this Fender toy. Or, gulp, maybe he really is from another universe and can do anything he wants?

This Italian guy is sticking with the Mustang thesis... I am shocked. The guitar on Live/Evil, Bitches Brew and Devotion is from a Mustang? It's Flabbergasting. Why doesn't Fender market this fact? This really makes me re-think about what is possible and what matters.
It also makes me want to fix up my Mustang...? I mean.

Ope, it's 1978 and

Note the light, note the 335. Phew. Ahh. Thank you John McLaughlin.

I guess this starts to make more sense now?

*On a sidenote, I have recently discovered that the Jack Johnson Sessions make THEE best bicycle riding music, especially as the sun is setting.

Gratuitous Guitar pics

2006-04-03T12:54:00.000-04:00

I often sing a song called, "oh I never should have sold my Hagstrom III"

P.S. Anyone take a look at what me and my Fireglo Rick 330 did. So perfect. I mean, really C'mon, look at those toaster pickups.

Henri Marrou and the dead horse

2006-03-31T13:47:00.000-05:00

Marrou asks the same question I asked in the previous post regarding the dead horse:

'Every theory of knowledge that is conscious of its duties must integrate the fact of "intersubjectivity." (If need be, it will pose the "we" as the fundamental datum, and then call it undemonstrable.) But if must somehow account for it and prove that this fact, accepted by the common mentality, is not illusory.' (Marrou, p. 90)

The photograph of the dead horse, a historical document, is part of that 'we,' which is often shown undemonstrable, except when presented with images or documents of the past.

'History is not only concerned with whatever is specifically human in man's past.' (Marrou, p. 89)

What is not human is part of what is human, especially as it is experience through understanding historical documents.

'In order to understand a document (but more broadly, another person) this Other must pertain quite largely to the category of the Same.' (Marrou, p. 92)

Any why is the feeling moment, known as the painful moment of realization that things do exist, so important to the historical imagination?

'I must forget for a moment what I am, personally, and emerge out of myself in order to be open toward these others' (Marrou, p. 93)

But surely this openess is not just some weak state of giving in? There must be a noble, strong openess correct? The virtous historian is receptive to what is Other, but is not Other to himself, nor should be understand what is Other as anything other than what is the Same. And this is that undemonstrable moment of rejecting solipsism...

Need to return to this, yes at P. 94, also use it come formulate the big test, primarily the statement regarding the misunderstanding of the Other, [ouch, through some kind of realistic blood history of reading documents] and through Plato's Timmaus (and see below for more Plato, a cheeky egotistic posting) But really, to regard the importance of the role of the Other, not as other, but as the same and not as Other in the same at all, but a history according to sameness by virtousness of reception often in the form of the romantic gaze and leaving as a question the role or importance of a Logic or Ration, but defining real Ration not as a godless but as a Godful perspective expecting work and utility, again the taking the God out of Reason has led to poisonous exctractions in time [found in documents other than paper such as oil, petro-chemical, coal mines] remembering that the historical other is not only man, but the environment of man... and also remembering that it is not about what went wrong, but what went...

"The element of Sameness must necessarily prevail over Otherness in order to understand fully."

"Idyllness is not the ability to do nothing at all, but rather, it is the right to anything one wants"

I/ALL

2006-03-30T13:04:00.000-05:00

ideochine, idealvisia, nomophonic, nomosphere, noustatic,

I don't care who you ask, it's really hard reconciling the difference in your head between abstract emotions energies and the rational defined ordered laws. What exists behind our eyes? A person needs both (backwards and forward vision) to arrive at any sort of order/beauty, but beauty/order is hindered by a higher prevalance of the one (law) or the other (sensousness)

So, darn it, how do we see? And why do we lie? And who are convinced?

And there is just no telling anyone about the primal pain of arriving at moments, the kind of life that life leads in anyone's head where their head is the mind and their eyes are in sight. Wrought extensions in the nervous system, how they reach, how they are so felt, and experience in deepest times of truth as actual distortions and upstandingness. So as to say, I am a General of the Army and I am a Grizzly Bear. The more a person slips up, and shows the purity of emotive godstruckness the more they will be punished, set back and ignored. Is this true?

It's just impossible to live between the two. It seems you "gotta lie." Especially when most people, the surrounding bodies that feel and think, have chosen a side already and are working laboriously forever on simple patterns of the one (legal/business) and the other (art/ethnicity) The two sides so incommunicative that it's a sordid despair everywhere.

I saw a picture of a dead horse in the streets of Chicago, 1900 today and until every person communicates to me that meaning of that dead horse the moment they say a word, I will continue to know that we are not going anywhere but to the gutter. Elder businessman and the sexless poet.

Blood blood blood

2006-03-18T22:35:00.000-05:00

Take care, I put the youth in a bag, over my shoulder & imparted strength into his tiny frame. Four words only resulted effort out of the game left in half hour a decade since his departure toward fatherhood. Man repercussed.

The color of that skin archipegiated (THOU SHALL NOT KILL) on my hands, commander position point ignored. '44 years was his name and year.
Rubber is a plastic made of a technique using devices only some know how to utilize. Sell high.

Triangle king five letter word

2006-03-18T22:13:00.000-05:00

Frost kissed authority translated, I am intending to create a passive grip,
coins tossed and all, the swell tide, composite bridge water coffee,
to go.

Language has given me a language without mistakes, cup I fill, hand I see, reach I wrought, muster a ponderous mistake touched taught, literally. Kill curve touch kill step.

Diagonal coast nary that furtive ghoul wrenched index, shelved so.
List and forbidden, mouth and cash, swim and turquoise, turtle and couch, silk and curve, brown and green. Sled and summer. Apartment and condominium. Monument and slide.

salute your past

2006-03-18T22:02:00.000-05:00

Use a word, tumultuous carnival, a point to point to, hope turquoise blue.
A doctorate in underbelly underage colors up below rupture tumult, tom-tom fill,
Come (in between) jump because your yellow is gold tonight, conjoined sepia food tune feed still,

Blue rapture sold a month and imitate, smile we the past.
Twelve passengers tonight wished: God, I was your parents. Negative monuments I never told anyone I enjoyed anything when so clearly understood, I enjoyed much without that mis-step forgotten clue, window through, body if slumbering queue.

an 'e' in a cold way

2006-03-18T21:57:00.000-05:00

neck position,
sweater combination, white, cuddle, car door, coddle and a spelling mishap, shape,
you my son don't need rabbits for pets.

this violin underneath yonder belly come swelling mother hope,
is not a way to get yourself out of the reapers path

hope, eggs, chlorine and the the last century of growth,
simulates patterns, copies repetition, movies photography lost and sped up,
passed through an uncle's eye, a warmer's view, a two visioned pew, sitting through,

March the 17

2006-03-17T11:57:00.000-05:00

I remember of a few of these in the past, March 17. I usually remember a few years in the past at a time.

Happy St. Patrick's Day 2--6

I got all the facts right here

2006-03-07T13:12:00.000-05:00

1) the finite 2) the infinite 3) the union of the finite and the infinite 4) the cause of this union

There is really is nothing else to think about, and should you put every enitity through this, and of course be sure to look your best while you are doing it because looking good is the spirit of mankind, then really, there is no reason to do anything wrong. It's just the way it's gonna be, and has been and will be and comes together as. Kind of like the way a verb implies movement, because it does. Oh yeah, and natural light. Natural light is the only light. Artificial light does not create mind, electricity is a warning of the moving away from mind, which is the 4) above.

And as any soul, pretty lady or strong man looking their best bowing down to the great sound knows Teutates or Teuth, the same as the Thoth of the Egyptians created the Word, grammar, Writing. There is no fiction.

scan dust

2006-03-07T00:46:00.001-05:00

*f , *. . * , . . */r /*. , . . . . . . . . . .<>. . : ... . . ..,-I . . .. : . , : . I i ' ' ., *,'T? *. I ' : . ~' . , . . . . . . . . . , . .~. , . . , , , , , . . ,<>. ., ; . *9 : *. . t. .

When fresh tracks come, ole!

2006-03-06T00:56:00.000-05:00

Onsette Albumen, or the Foreign Sound Egg Protein of Saxony sent this audio file of his/her's country's folk music trradition, from that place, maybe Alsace, France, or maybe Gottingen, Germany from where they come. It has a lot going on, and should be added to any thinking person's audio library, or, of course toward the best sort of freedom style appropriate way of getting together sun beam, not. No falseness, Onsette Albumen is Prussian.

combinatorial

2006-02-24T12:06:00.000-05:00

papa pastures, green green grasses says yesses,

if the soil is below the grass, and the soil is brown and anyone who ever thinks about soil thinks of it in some version of brown, even that kind of memory black and white brown, greyscale brown,

yellow crane, white snow. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10

I, sometimes, do really have to hand it to "ten," I mean I could never think of ten as anything but ten. Now seven, I don't need seven. It could be 41 for all I am concerned. But ten's got the idea, it's close enough to 8 and 12 that who really cares about 15 or 5. I don't see anyone getting upset with 10.

And yet, on this side of the ocean, not this side, but that side, there exists some kind of paranoia towards that which grants more then less, which is a misunderstanding that there is never less than more.

The more is, that swelling agent, the growing moon (and to those in the know, and by knowledge I mean grace, all people when no people are implied.) the less is the receding current, the shrinking daylight.

But still, people gotta get riled up over one or the other. Luckily they never attack 10. Measurement is freedom. It's a tough step to take, to give in to the power of observation. But if you want to be free it requires the giving and the taking. The moon.

I can move one arm, and then another. You don't see me getting upset on my arms.

Paper topic

2006-02-21T11:07:00.000-05:00

Rethinking enlightened philanthropy:

Try to understand the way in which the philanthropic activities in late 19th century Looking at lives/work of I. N. Phelps Stokes, Jacob Schiff, Paul Cravath, Florence Kelley --> Nicholas Kelley, and the Survey Associates. Maybe even think about James Lenox and his ideas of who could use his library.

Could even possibly think about working on the idea of "labor" less as a tool for separating class and more as an American religion, or divine mind from Puritan yeoman to industrial time clocks.

Change in idea of self from "the redemption of the individual lay within the social world" pre-1860 to "the redemption of the social world lay with the individual" into the 20th cent.

vonbonheim's chat

2006-02-14T18:04:00.000-05:00

Here's a chat to which nobody replied, this chat would have been lost if I didn't save it.. it's still lost, save it:

[vonbonheim] diddy wah diddle
[vonbonheim] Dr. Funkendiddlestein, Ph. D.
[vonbonheim] Dadiddle Momdiddle got to get diddled, make diddles until they deadiddled
[vonbonheim] Emperor Ladiddle commandeer the Reindeerdiddle Arms and all that Armor
[vonbonheim] Rapunzeldiddle let down your diddlehair so I can diddleclimb up the towerdiddle
[vonbonheim] Put down the chemistrydiddle set beakerdiddle elements and diddle charts
[vonbonheim] Monarch diddleflies mark springdiddle time and lay babydiddleflies in the bark of diddleBirch trees
[vonbonheim] Obligatorydiddle whale skeletons are described in the volumes upon the diddleshelves in the diddlebrary
[vonbonheim] Marching diddlebands use the holidaydiddle to register the communitydiddle's pride in the nationdiddle
[vonbonheim] Diddle incisions are cut in the diddlestomachs of women who needdiddle emergency deliverydiddles of their diddlebabies in the bellydiddles
[vonbonheim] Diddletwister play by diddlekids who can touch one another's diddles without having to worry
[vonbonheim] Morning thaw diddle in the sun, night darkness covers diddle but it's all the diddlesame to motherdiddlenature
[vonbonheim] Sharktoothdiddle cigarette filter soak in smoke diddlestring hope
[vonbonheim] Logcabin diddlenineteenth century home builtdiddle hard work chop treediddles down
[vonbonheim] Peanut butterdiddle coconut sandstorm diddle repay the taxdiddle man armydiddle man
[vonbonheim] Kamikazediddle plane swoop dartboard diddlerighthandman concerned about his diddledude's oven
[vonbonheim] Umberto Diddleco grabbed his diddleracket to play tennisdiddle in the backyard
[vonbonheim] Fawndiddle softly diddlestepped out of the deer's grassy homediddle to get a drink of diddle
[vonbonheim] Lost diddlechildren struggled to make ends diddle, before they met the gnome
[vonbonheim]Diddleafrican man played oboe in diddlehigh school
[vonbonheim] Golfdiddle pro used endorsement diddle to buy a new diddlehome in the carribeandiddle
[vonbonheim] The caribbeandiddle ocean is warm because of the shape of the diddleworld

solid and close together

2006-02-14T11:42:00.000-05:00

afathercameinclosecontactwithhissonthedaybeforehissondiedandwhenthesonwasgone
allhisstuffwasleftbehindandthefatherhadnoideawhattodowithitsohehadtoaskaround
topeoplewhoknewhissontofindoutwhatstuffthekidcaredaboutmostsothefathermightknow
whattokeepandwhattogetridofbutnooneknewsothefatherwasfacedwiththedecisionof
keepingeverythingorgettingridofevertythingorworsekeepingonlywhathecaredabout
himselfabouthissonwhichhedidandhefeltalotbetterabouthissonedying

x in different sizes

2006-02-14T11:23:00.000-05:00

powdered wig, acrylic oil paint, rusty spray paint bottle can
...all three things at once. So there.

and then wooden glossy boat, garden gloves with rubbery grips, metal plastic mesh on a boombox speaker... all three things at once.

Made in America, a German import's expense, Made in Japan. Things are made in one location and then increase or decrease value as transport manifests out of desire and also ignorance.

Ever found an old bottle in the woods? There is no way to date it. It could be from 1973 or 1989 or 1961. The bottle has been there since it was left there.

A tree to sit under, secondary growth only 110 years old, trees growing close to one another and twist. Three at once.

No more trees. Now cloth.

Velvet on a stuffed bunny's nose, cordoroy brown suit jacket new, thick nylon strap on a luggage case canoe strap.

No more cloth than that, now. What's next to be over?

Ways to paint the sun!

A circle, perfect yellow. A stream canal light pink cloud topping, and as though it is not even there, darkness because the sun never goes away.

No more sun.

What else is there that can come in different ways, in such a way that they can just be ignored, finally, beautifully ignored so that they do not surprise or arrive as they do in the various ways that they do?

Textures, please be over with. Colors of brick, done. Ways to arrange windows on a structure no more. Leave us with none of that.

The worst of which twists, communication. Pig. Greasy fat tar pit energy source like time early or late. Oh time too, no more! Late, early, just now, next or never. All there, so there. No more time too. Don't need you.

What's left? Please, asking, requiring, unnesesary, spelling incorrectly, spelling identically, what it sounds like, what it doesn't sound like, all of you... go away.

Piss smell, fresh water, clean glass, rotten lettuce water, bacteria, done with you too. Variations on water no more, how about it? Deal, no deal. Leave me be.

fresh out of fluid (this one's about society and how it remembers heros)

2006-02-01T00:27:00.000-05:00

the heroes sometimes stand, and sometimes sit
but always keep an eye on the foreigner, who in this instance is a body and a vital force described as, and then, remembered fortunately as each hard wood barn built

forget the teenage opportunity to make families once and for all, adulthood set in with the tissue you project into, and then from out of nowhere, of course neglecting the ability of the average pronounciated comma, collection as if and with all, says;

"use your body like a fountain, make your face a statue to commemorate someone dead and better than you. Go get killed for today you can be remembered."

vowels like o,i

2006-01-29T14:08:00.000-05:00

under approached sequences only forgotten because they were never known
and misforunate glances, sights of monuments lost
to wayward empty silence hope
and gained a sense of sentiment for
what once stood there.

the trills of a bar chord, and the patterns recognized in centuries
as the fences, keeping one side out of the other, maintaining order in the gaps where one part dares not attempt part away, with what it, knows

and yet the strength of the actor- is the better part of the emperor-
ringing stringlet of the long desceased's hair, protect this avenue please
and know that you got your affluence, from the deepest respect of discipline and honor from strangers

so reach back into the town squares and say hello to the bandstand and the buildings, awnings and the storefronts, sewn with chocolate glass, pasted in sacred plaster and snug between clamshell sidewalks, holding the mortal remains of fathers dead in 1831. A generation after 1760. No one is a part of it, it's in the lived head - and fifteen years is finally known.

what is a playlist...

2006-01-22T20:53:00.000-05:00

1) Sun City Girls - anything off Torch of Mystics, especially 'The Flower' 'The Shining Path' and 'Blue Mambo'
2) Albert Ayler - anything, especially the longer tracks, I used 'Holy, Holy' off Witches and Devils
3) Sun Ra - ESP Disk 'Gods on Safari (featuring Pharaoh Sanders)' from 1964 the track: 'The World Shadow'
4) Simon Finn: Jerusalem
5) John Cale: 'Summer Heat' from the Table of Elements' Sun Blindness Music: New York in the 1960's, Volume 1

Wow... quite a good feeling, sensation that is.

the sincerest ditty I know right now, (spoken correctly this sounds good)

2006-01-16T23:00:00.000-05:00

Love is right, Love is wrong
Love is good, Love is gone,
Come what may, I might say;

love is right and love is wrong
love is good and love is gone,
know what's might, know what's strong
and love will get up to fight the fight...

Wait, oh that can't right, wait that must be wrong
wait for something good, but then it's gone
say you know, but then they go.

[and then something about spying on a person, or even better
something about time travel or a white coat, like a lab technician or
those people who pick you up to commit you, they come in trucks -- and then
just for poignancy repeat from above with more feeling,
only when you get to this last part about the 'spying' and the 'white coats'
say something totally different, say whatever is in your head after repeating the]
'love is good,' 'love is gone' part... (it has a special melody too which can't come through in typed words. Oops, that's too bad.)
but yeah, repeat the top bit. Over and over.

___

This is totally offensive and wrong, but I'm doing it anyway so for those of you who dare to care,
don't tell me I did not warn you. Oh yeah and sorry.

this one's for the ladies

2006-01-12T22:28:00.000-05:00

my foot was stuck in a snare, a true device
solely placed there for the catching and waiting
as feet come, they walk,

all matter pushed down on my situation to say,
definitely that way young old minor major and then
from the whence it came, came again

to speak of a fortune so pure that the ravenous
nature of man and his bleeding prick finger print
point prints would covet darling touch less then
merely a glance of that aspect so spoken by a moment
so known reached outward, a double sided billfold
injustice revealed even in sharing some of this light
for ages, and the ancients arrived to say okay, as a
means to express the cycles of the growth in the field
of this, the from whence it came

and so it came, and it spoke shortly to those gathered.
hey, colored faces all of you all, short and tall
fill your merriment moments with sharing this, me, my
berry nature spoken, gathered twigs like fuel for the winter
months begotten as such, so forth and said politely
use me up.

this is the spell of the moment which speaks from whence it came,
and for which we'll go, to know, so it can come again,
shadow moment shared in the divorcing of one's self of the potential
of it.

graet moment so collected by your fabrics, and in bowls
situate the strength little rain drop castles, reached upward
pick, pick and bring home these tiny berries.

Feelings cuz they count

2006-01-12T14:33:00.000-05:00

What am I to do with the fact, or idea that I am a radioactive goose having been calling home too long the fizzy lake waters of my not doing what I mean, I am literally a bird, a goose and I live on a body of water which has been changed in ways in which I did not play any part. I need the water to live.

Now, I can honk my own special song out into the wilderness passage where measurements are not measured by any similarities between form or experienced amount, but shift refractedly and shatter into dark recesses of agitational, periodic self-awareness out to where the honk goes, an acausal appropriation. Should I hope that my honk can be heard?

Having been poisoned in ways unknown, I do believe that some one, some thing, perhaps the polluters themselves will bear witness to the darting sound out shot sound particle net, I sent to catch my self-identity. How can I know the lake again, if the sounds I make are not understood? I leave when it gets to cold, I do things in certain ways.

a few lines about knowledge, bodies and New York City (dated today)

2006-01-10T11:33:00.000-05:00

emphatic zombie knowledge, light forms light forms,
come talk death ray struggle as mind preternaturally forming around man, around man.
Dedicated to the embodiment of flesh, soil; sweet man works, giving accounts of the where-he-has-been. The gazing modal locus operates the crane of eternal building, in a city of explosive mesh, a mix mash swelling around inner and outer.

There are three things at stake, 1) the gene pool informed by believed sensation imparted with hypnotic swirls of forces next to forces tugging, up and inside, influential influences obvious & unknown 2) the once embodied, love device binding operative organ with hands, a person not dying, but moving towards ends both in themselves and as ends, or gaps creating the created curbed essences from which flow between forces. High sided mind inside the bodily form, formed body and 3) the competitive aspects already known, reaching high spirit on an island is, when once known, form the formation out from which knowledge hummed, (notice the model gestured as that area between a thing and a thing imparted from thing) often gleaned from strangers' glances backswung into our time, guiding rationality and imparting memory. Then, after the love device binding operative organ has formed out and in from whence it recognizes its ability to not recognize the tug of forces so-called witnessed, it streaks and its streak reach upward in trustworthy structures called experience and on which safely stands.(read outward: I am a frozen emerald)

understanding at the OED

2005-12-30T11:39:00.000-05:00

DEFINITION
under{sm}standing, vbl. n.
1. a. (Without article.) Power or ability to understand; intellect, intelligence. Sometimes spec. = c.

USAGE:
c1340 HAMPOLE Pr. Consc. 605
Man when he is til worshepe broght Right understandyng has he noght.

Richard Rolle of Hampole
LIST OF WORKS
A devoute medytacyon (The remedy ayenst the troubles of temptacyons) a 1349 (W. de Worde 1508)
English prose treatises. Edited from Robert Thornton's MS. c 1340 (E.E.T.S. 1866)
The pricke of conscience (Stimulus conscientiæ); a Northumbrian poem c 1340 (Philol. Soc. 1863)FIND THIS
The psalter; or psalms of David, and certain canticles, with a translation and exposition in English a 1340 (1884)
Richard Rolle of Hampole and his followers (Yorkshire writers) v.d. (Horstman 1895–96)

See also Fire of Love HTML Translation from www.ccel.org

An understanding of the word understanding, for Thomas Lannon, in some instances, especially helpful in those times of devout research, (the place of the health cure) implies that a person unstands. Or to literally, become unprostrate before that which is always more. Beyond the bodily lie, to unstand is to be priviledged to pure possibility but not to dwell in mere possibility. At this time, knowledge is gained when knowledge is not what is claimed. It is different then the active body, as the active body is the consciousness known. It also not the unconscious mind. It is not self-denial as self-denial is the same thing as being aware. Unstanding is the time when one finds his or her duty to usefulness and enacts it in the form of goodness toward that eternal legacy of which one is always about, and only the infintessimal smallest harking.

Pricke of Conscience Window at All Saints, York

Get Camille Flammarion's 1900 The Unknown

2005-12-29T17:23:00.000-05:00

All of us live, without knowing it, in a psychic environment we do not understand. The atmosphere contains not only chemical elements - oxygen, nitrogen, carbonic-acid gas, watery vapor, et cetera - but also psychic elements. Everywhere there are souls. There is a constant mingling of animism and spiritism in the experiments of which we are speaking; it is extremely difficult to separate them, to isolate them. Let us try to do this here, however.

Manifestations of the Dead in Spiritistic Experiments by Camille Flammarion

if I had a name, it would be something catchy

2005-12-20T13:14:00.000-05:00

I can describe cardboard in as many ways as anyone can,
the infinite amount of pickup games played in cul de sacs around the nation,
is the exact genetic makeup of the words used to know them.

cdhlenscmangameuparouondownbackmanupcldhmmum

Describing merits were granted by officials at the tollbooth for soulful utterances, Quite literally I met the officials at the state office of description and they badged me an ascertainer.

Infinity is the numerator riding the denominator of finite senses. The world places emphasis on descriptions and comparisons. the [all/one] thing.

Seriously, either the world is infinite in possibilities;
and underneath that man is the donkey ridden, & possibilities are limited. The limitation is like a filter cutoff where a certain frequencies are not allowed. This 'not allowing of certain things' is the swash of the paintbrush where one side is limited line and the other is always about to be, or the food eaten where energy is taken from bites taken and used to take another, and another.

The world is limitless, but the efforts taken are limited, but they are taken out of the limitless, so their limitedness is unlimited.

buttercups

2005-12-20T12:49:00.000-05:00

a soothing series of oohs, and a shopping cart lost in the snow,
shoed there by a truck with an attached snowplow.

a ballpark frank of frankly the most beautifully skinned girls, in boxes tossed to me,
caramel car wash hideout. Beauty and strength is better than anything.

William Clark (1770-1838)

2005-12-13T12:41:00.000-05:00

Defined the word Sense

It is a faculty of the Soul, whereby it perceived external Objects, by means of the impressions they make on certain organs of the body. These organs are Commonly reconed 5, Viz:1 the Eyes, whereby we See objects; the ear, which enables us to hear sounds; the nose, by which we receive the Ideas of different smells; the Palate, by which we judge of tastes; and the Skin, which enables us to feel--the different, forms, hardness, or Softness of bodies.

a 'once half hour'

2005-12-06T13:28:00.000-05:00

'Choke battery stage' is the state of the throat performance where energy is the momentary joyness of finding something natural occuring that is circular.

'Wing man sent' is the method for which strangers who are not strangers, you know, those people who are only 5 minutes away, in other cars, houses, or sidewalks become part of your knowledge of yourself. They 'sent man wing' you, you 'wing man sent' them.

'Deaf cuff length' is the shape arms form when arms are near one another, in crossing or in mind, wing man sent (other people's) arms approach a crossing with others in the choke battery stage. No arm is not circular when placed near another both in physical crossing or mind planned.

'Picture mesh whence' is a way of improvised mapping whereby the key represents the territory. In this style of knowing, the terms are flexible for joy's sake, but scientific in the moment of discovery. joy is not to be confused with joy at any other moment, this is a joy that happens only just only seriously once. the smallest once, an atomic onceness*

'Fend off sail' is the choral approach to 'picture mesh whence' meaning, the maps (knowledge) have been arranged well done, as in ordering according to when they stood to represent properness such as small-to-largest or color-to-other-color

_____________

*All things fade from one thing to another, and to not see the fading process is to be stressful, anxious or otherwise without the 'real father moment birthmark face'
Liars are not welcome. (and this last line is here to imply my acceptance of the teleological aspect of history of man, if only at once, and again, and then also to state plainly that the section on joy above need be re-read, re-focused and re-distributed) This teleological coming-around occurs upon acceptance of the moment as the father of the next which is another way to define 'picture mesh whence'and Thus the asterix.

the -10 commandments

2005-12-06T13:13:00.000-05:00

winning is discovering, bells vibrate, sleekness is pursuit,
mourning rituals prove useful to those who endeavor to surmount the asteroid belt of what you avoid to make form out of the gaps in experience which arise from sleep, ritual, make believe, and gravity. The "Sameness, handsfree, Dragging" we all know so well

Watch the waist of the man move, and not you can see, not the growth, but the not general growth, and the not movements not he calls not moving over and not over and not over, this falling not known.

It's a ballgame. But not with a ball. Puzzles come backwards in this way, like as if, to those who wait, wait suitably for ways to not gain thee cleanliness for power not in situations where bright skin is better then soiled saltiness west is east.

enveloping paddles

2005-12-06T13:04:00.000-05:00

The procedural pancake mix, wet appetites of those who "pick" "nic,"
no matter what the blankets cover, melodic concentration, he said camp,
they said tennis racquet, i said sun, it's a hectic mix to forgive from a
person whose arms are the size of fences, or borders even and are as yet, to be, outstretched,
no matter the size of the sun baked roll i called cake, the earth has been a pan for me and not for you. my forearm tremors are medicinal because they yield longitudinal apprehension,

the body rose, yeast made it do so, the active ingredient aggresor pressure cooker,
mister with the moustache who is the coach of the past, he coaches yesterday and gets a lot of production from 8 years ago, his front man in the wing is this guy from 12 years ago who has good stick control, great hands.

The sun cooks the body, the man coaches the team of past, but it's Bacteria That calls all the shots. It's got all the money. Most people's eyes are almonds. Justice is the knowledge that most nuts have personalities growing up to the sun, but that it is ok to take from them to see, and then, to see what the almond sees. Because the almonds is the eye of the just human.

I have before me

2005-12-05T10:50:00.000-05:00

A program to an event from 1917 at Carnegie Hall called:

"Greater and Better New York, Fourth Town Meeting" the subject of the night was "Good Health and Clean Streets" and it's got a lot of knowledge coming off of it.

The Event was produced by The Civic Forum. There were speeches by various commissioners; one such speech:

"A Clean City" by Commissioner J.T. Featherston of the Department of Street Cleaning.

and there also was "Moving Pictures" one was titled "The Day's Work" and it probably was about picking up trash.

Lillian Wald gave a speech called "Serving the City," and it was illustrated with "moving pictures" of her "Visiting Nurse Service" doing some street cleaing, I have the speech here, she described the moving pictures as:

"Here you will see women of diverse nationalities and many creeds forgetting separations in the great service of this precious cause. Clear thinking men and women of different nationalities or different classes find no frontiers between them. Internationalism in the truest sense of the word is their experience."

There was also music played by something called "The Street Cleaning Band" which was probably a band of trashmen of the time. In Carnegie Hall!

machinations for the fleesh

2005-11-30T23:55:00.000-05:00

all reactions between men are equal, where only, equal is allowed to mean the collected difference between those matters involved.

the sound made; 'hey,' is used to call attention from one thing to another. Should the word sound as 'utter,' in addition to man not attending to his fellow man's needs, it makes no difference what the other said as he will remain unattended. His other has said no. This occurs as scientific as graphs and heart beats: the world between one and the other.

No worries come when the man is unattended. 1 of every 4 men are without attention. And where 4 implies 1, then it is 16, 32, 166, and so on as white, locomotion, slop, advancements.

[Combat occurs where those involved admit to the location of their bodies in space. Space in this instance is the eye, and body is their digestive process. Combat is interlocutation and involvement is all matters which have hitherto been processed as acting. The performance is the region, or group of spaces where eyes see and bodies process.]

What gets me through the day:

2005-11-28T17:50:00.000-05:00

Sticking this here into the digital notebook, as it's some sexy shit.

Joseph Cambpell wrote: "Marriage is not a love affair. A love affair has to do with immediate personal satisfaction. Marriage is an ordeal; it means yielding, time and again. That's why it's a sacrament: you give up your personal simplicity to participate in a relationship. And when you're giving, you're not giving to the other person; you're giving to the relationship."

an actual draft;

2005-11-07T10:53:00.000-05:00

WHAT FOLLOWS IS A HISTORY OF THE WORLD:

Presiding over I know what you got,
the king man delivered decree and solemn oath;
'out proper land grows grain ensconced
out undue procedure pours pain in depth,
on matters of measurement use my arm
where my arm shall not fit, refer to my castle with
its tower stone to see defense -
and should threats still billow, or even nature concern,
envision my amulet married to thee.'

king man then made masterfully, turned from whence and was gone
into hot bed chamber sweat linen July,
breaked bread swang goose neck, copper water feast
in darkness for the next three days, servants waited,
on pondering reverse daylight curtains barred see.

Should I be the king knowing what you've got, or
would I as king spread sovereignty stronger as ancient knive knight
wondering what you've got, says not him.
Queen shares a bed entered absent chamber, hair enthroned
'There's a throng of muttering tasks, King,
shall I commit then or,' pesteringly, 'let them in'

My subjects are commited, commence repeating as so.
Grey skinned dwellers and brown sleeved mourners, for
I know what you've got, these subjects in me.

But, knowing what you've got has gotten only for your defense,
the tall tower, highest point, with its stone to see.
(Each attempt the king made to know, was marked with another
stone step, heightening the castle tower, official mason worked free)

That I, king know what you got, might not would be the
stricken blow, which only the amulet might sew-
No, I should commit to these subjects, and they should not break bread here
for there lived world is owed to my knowledge, which defends them so

King sat dark, pink flesh to whiter flesh sang time passing,
until August marking the neighboring tower address king delivery
king rose to hallway, echo step inbred solo, a marching band of flow

servant swang open tapis, King stepped silent approaching roar-
'The surveys have been taken, measurements have arrived, the land is clean and free,
I know that Lake Westerly is 8 King Arm deep, Farmer There's land is 42 towers wide
yielding 400 king's arms of cotton, 300 king's arm of green edibles, 200 king's arm fruit and 100 KA root.
These shall be yours, subject grey and brown, so that I may continue to know and your defense grow,
In turned King, silent observed landed people, serfs and ladies.

A craftsman uttered to another, below,
'The kings report speaks not to what I know'
'The king report ignores my efforts of trade'
Another craftsman, freindly with the first used words to support,
'again I promise this first craftsmans utterance to be sound pure,
for my craft too, has yet to be measured and should it be- I may be of more worth
then some defense tower stone to see'

The crowed murmured wonder, filed memory, and set off.

good no good time

2005-11-04T12:27:00.000-05:00

sweetness bitter undigestable insurmountable punch of gutted waste wrought nebulous hell of an unspecified separation or distinction worth $28,000 and 5 years or more, a celestial harbinger ignored graceful point of fornicated ignoble grasping entrail travailed distance peach skin entitled to no entitlement becuase of learned hate, resistance accrued from togetherness at an unavoidable collision of misappropriated logic and diseased skin membrane spaghetti spoiled work ethic conundrum pill abrasive misspent time and hidden jerking for complete idiotic focus.

indiscernable ability to communicate why whoever cannot see the ultimate and non ultimate as pair next to the here and there is a fallacious liar no money to those who need to be necessary so that the way of ignorance procedes, is all in all of us. reading stories fantastically to one another, especially those who appreaciate similar symmetries and proportionate face gestures, sailboat time. The mother is the father of the man. The family is the skull of the cupboard. The oak is the iron in the pleat of the sail. The water is the cannon forged for the battle. The sincerity is the liver of the wind. The machine is the pill of the daughter. The turnip is the condition of the foreigner. Open is the scent to the new. When the scent is made by the process of stewing up some future life, made in the wretched stink of the alley, or the finest sheets in the valley, the finest grass in the land, sheeps eat to let their wool grow for the farmer to sheer and sell, eat mutton once and some other greens some other time for the nutrients to get a move on. Sell a daughter or two.

the Marketplace made up of what that guy sells, oh it's nice, I want it. The marketplace sold me to slavery and I work because working feels good even when you are owned by another person who treats you like an animal. I would be so lucky to be sold like an animal and slaughtered in the name of processional weightiness,
the fat man's corpulescent breakfast always breaking. Greasy fat man breakfast plate succumbs, with me on it. The breakfast is the slave of the fat man. Work is inevitable because it feels too good to learn to shirk duties. Duties that never come to those who care. Dutyless naive. Broken back squalor creates true life experience in the direction of a some future congratulations, as if I want your rewards, awards or nominations

Insular concave energy inefficient purposeless lake of fear pounding sideways into the ears that are your legs. Legs hear too, ears said to me. So why focus on the ear. The part is the potential of the whole. Cut your legs off and see what you hear. It will change. So don't talk to me about my ears hearing, unless you speak it to my knees. And don't let my ears hear that they can't get me where I am going, unless you want to go with me to there. I hear. I walk. Someone else does the same, I conclude they cannot. Someone else walks. I walk. Someone else walks. Walking doesn't mean they walk the same. Why ask questions then if indeed the mother is the son of the tree? Because you want to know something about the progressive force which has compelled you to waste so much of your energy on eating, selling, and working for free like a rich, wealthy man who owns the globe like the dead man who died last night at 3:30AM whose job you took three weeks ago.

opera in 4, or more minutes

2005-10-28T10:29:00.000-04:00

astronomical feats in surrepticious light, beyond solo magnesium minor
sure to fade incontinence, continental bleak chemistry, blathering on
criminal circumstance, don robes yawn, mutter catastrophe, cata-lobe, cat and mouse cartography.

cave fortune, a hidden workbench, gutted animal hide hangs, a bell shaped stench
from whence came either, little bottle ether, and beakers. Many tiny beakers.

OUT COMES WHITE COAT JACKET MAN WEARING BEARSKIN, SOME KIND OF SKIN, ANIMAL UNIDENTIFIABLE.

"I am Sir 200 Years" exclaims little beaker man. Man holds tubes connecting glass maze. Our new witnessed man turns around, shows animal hide only and thus dissappearing into the subcontext of the cave behind him. Highlight cave paintings, Lascuaex style, silence falls around the situation, but in deafening drone.

"I cannot hear" shouts deaf audience member, growing grass out of skin, shoveling sod. (For the failure to recognize the role of 'it and that' as simultaneity result in building without thinking, & wretched society results) The unheard deafening sound is rushed capillaries, corporals and sargeants, front and phalanx. Blood war groom dance of the very reddest sort, a maroon variety show. Horse blood, knight blood, soldier blood, heart surgeon blood.

NEXT

Winged bat interlude, flutter wings, emit wings, wings flying upon wings, soar out hollowbones, curiously adapted to weightless conscience, not heavy. Sonic listening avalanche mutant canine birds. Membrane skin, through which light illuminates unutterable complexity. Wings cut through the tet, heavy tets of those onlooking. Exclaiming headless no more onlookers, and suddenly, a rising.

The headless orchestra, now straddles the stratus. Not that the body was necessary aye. Note that the body was necessary I. The spine thus unfolded in expressed futurity, and joy. Wielding fresh and headless, the audience admits to its whereabouts and finally, be gone. 3,000 empty rows behind us, turn to one convex mirror seat, angled in such a way that one side reflects the other, permitting hover.

ON THE SUBJECT OF BLUE.

Blue is the state of the ever changing position of a thing, losing itself in its failure to comprehend itself through attempted comprehension. Sat back the blueness and said: "I am less blue, than I once was" but prepondered, "I have within me, the ability to be more blue, than I once was." Why not admit vibration as dimension, and thus vibrate dimensionally. Arms outstreched, less than limbs - more the immediate range of that which may be graced knowingly. Immediately after, a sinking occurs.

THUD.

Into a bush of berries, impact. Sugary syrup underneath sidways. Berry nourishment, impact fulfills. Hidden technology creates juice, just as once juices were nonexistant, still more wait to be found. Float berries while, and stir. Impact berry nourishment, and fade solvently, back to drifting red.

properly sumblimate yourself

2005-10-28T10:25:00.000-04:00

The End of Courtship By Leon R. Kass
For reading:

"But perhaps still worse than such amorality—and amorality on this subject is itself morally culpable—is the failure of sex education to attempt to inform and elevate the erotic imagination of the young. On the contrary, the very attention to physiology and technique is deadly to the imagination. True sex education is an education of the heart; it concerns itself with beautiful and worthy beloveds, with elevating transports of the soul. The energy of sexual desire, if properly sublimated, is transformable into genuine and lofty longings—not only for love and romance but for all the other higher human yearnings. The sonnets and plays of Shakespeare, the poetry of Keats and Shelley, and the novels of Jane Austen can incline a heart to woo, and even show one whom and how. What kind of wooers can one hope to cultivate from reading the sex manuals—or from watching the unsublimated and unsublime sexual athleticism of the popular culture?"

used 12-tone strat (DiMarzio body) with tele neck

2005-10-03T15:10:00.000-04:00

Contemplating microtonal guitars on Josh's mentioning of his interest in them to me this weekend. This one is available. 12 frets in regular place, but 12 more frets added to provide 36 notes per octave. (?) Interesting to think of how this might radically alter the ability to find lost sounds, and in-between intervals, but I'm pretty sure that I couldn't figure it all out. I can't help but think that it would be easy to get more 'crazy warbles' (my technical term for the sounds which inform life) from a regular tuning on a neck like this, as more notes would be available from the start. Essentially it would be possible to play runs without a tremolo bar which would sound like using a tremolo bar on a regular fretted instrument. I can also imagine that three or four note repeated melodies could get particular more jarring with the slight variations available at the fingertips.

Recently I have been tuning to [from low E] / D# G# C# F# A D# /

This is essentially tuning down every string a half step, but tuning the B (5th string) up a whole step. This allows for unisons on the 4rth + 5th string to be found at a comfortable position (upside down power chord) and also for full octave unisons between 1st and 6th string D#'s to drone around the inner strings. It also allows for sort of normal interaction in the first 4 strings where everything is just a half step lower.

Beck Esquire

2005-09-19T16:42:00.000-04:00

Nabbed this from a google cache of the JEFF BECK BULLETIN ISSUE #3, Fall 1994, because the site was down, and didn't want to lose it.

From The Desk Of: Seymour Duncan
4-2-94
Jeff has always been my favorite guitarist and I have many great stories about him. I want to share some of the stories with you and my envolvement with Jeff throughout the years. I want to thank Dick Wyzanski for being the focal point of the Jeff Beck fan club.

The Man: Jeff Beck

The first time I heard of Jeff Beck was the summer of 1965 when I was playing in Bridgeton, New Jersey during a talent show with a local band. The local radio station had been broadcasting live during the performances of the talent show. During intermission from the live music they played a recording by a group that previously had good air play with a recording "For Your Love" and their second hit had a guitar sound I'd never heard before. The song was "Heart Full Of Soul" and was performed by a group from England called "The Yardbirds" and was released July 1965. Their unique sound and incredible guitar work was from a new guitarist named Jeff Beck. He had previously been in a group called the Tridents and joined the Yardbirds by the suggestion of Jimmy Page who had other obligations with sessions and was unable to join the band to fill Eric Clapton's spot. Eric wanted to play more blues and develope his title of "Slow Hand". During the mid sixties I hunted record shops to find and often nag the store owner to order the 45's and LP's. I remember playing in Lima, Ohio and taking along my records to learn all the riffs I could. I was playing every night during the summer and traveling from club to club. I learned "I'm A Man", "The Nazz Are Blue", "Steeled Blues" and one of my favorites, "I'm Not Talking". The greatist thing was seeing the Yardbirds perform on many of the early music shows like Hullaballoo, Shindig, Ready Steay Go and more.

The Guitar:

I noticed Jeff was playing a Fender Telecaster minus the rhythm pickup making it an Esquire. Jeff's Fender Esquire originally had a white single layer pickguard which Jeff later changed to a black phenolic one. He bought the guitar from John Maus, a guitarist with a recording group called the "Walker Brothers" and they had a hit recording "The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore". Several years ago John visited my shop in Santa Barbara and he said he contoured the front (forearm) and back of the body to make it feel more like a Fender Stratocaster. He carefully shaped the wood leaving the original paint and exposed Swamp Ash body.

During the early 60's, Jeff Beck was on tour and bought a 1954 Fender Esquire from the guitarist in the group "Walker Brothers". The Walker Brothers consisted of John Maus (guitar), Scott Engle (bass) and Gary Leeds (drums). In the mid 60's the group went to London for a tour. While touring England, Jeff bought it from John for $60. When on some of the very early Yardbirds' videos recorded during a television show, you can see the guitar first had a white Esquire (no slot for a rhythm pickup) pickguard. A short time later on Yardbirds' videos you can see the black pickguard Jeff put on. Jeff liked the contrast and it looked like the Tele's made just a year earlier. You can see the chips in the pickguard and the neck was the third or fourth according to Ralph Baker, Jeff's long time assistant. During the days of youth watching Jeff Beck, Yardbirds and the British Invasion and famouse television shows like Lloyd Thaxton, Shindig and Hullabaloo, I totally became hooked on Fender Esquires. While working in England during the mid-70's, I worked with a technician named Ron Roka, who worked at the newly opened Fender Soundhouse that was originally located on Tottenham Court Road in London. Ron had a custom shop in the Soundhouse and had advertised for a guitar repairman to assist him with guitar repairs and custom work. I was recording during the evenings at Polydor Records with an artist named Chris Rainbow and had days off. My manager Norman Vandenberg read an advertisement in a local paper that Ron Roka (Roka's Repair) was looking for a guitar repairman. The next day I interviewed and got the job. It was a great time working with Ron and meeting all the players that came to visit and have their instruments worked on. I remember working for The Stones, The Who, Robin Trower, Vinegar Joe, Gerry Rafferty, Roy Wood and Wizzard, Sutherland Brother and Quiver, Suzi Quatro, Super Tramp and Beck, Bogert and Appice. During the time at the Soundhouse, I did the first article on Guitar Pickups for Guitarist Magazine in 1974. Jeff was recording the second (unreleased as of yet) album with Beck, Bogert and Appice at the CBS Studios that was a block from the Fender Soundhouse. While at the Fender Soundhouse I put together the first "Tele-Gib" guitar and gave it to Jeff. It was a Telecaster with two Humbuckers. The bridge on the Telecaster was cut to fit the Humbuckers and to keep the 3 piece brass early 50's bridge saddles. The two Humbuckers came out of an old broken Gibson Flying V that once belonged to Lonnie Mack in Cincinnati, Ohio. Somebody messed with the coils and I rewound them as prototypes for Jeff. The neck pickup was Zebra (cream bobbin facing the bridge) and bridge pickup was Double Cream and both were originally '59 Patent Applied For Humbuckers. I made a pickguard for the Tele-Gib out of dark chocolate vinyl plastic. The lever switch knob was from a handfull that I got from an old telephone switchboard during the mid 60's. The same knob was given to Roy Buchanan and can be seen on the cover of his "Loading Zone" album (Atlantic SD 18219). I gave them to Roy about 1966 when he was playing in Wildwood, New Jersey, a shore resort town near the Atlantic Ocean. Jeff started playing and recording with the "Tele-Gib" in 1974 and recorded tracks on the "Blow By Blow" album. One song you can hear him using the volume controls in on "Cause We've Ended As Lovers". The main reason I made and gave Jeff the Tele-Gib was because I loved the tone he had on the "Truth" album. His tech had taken his sunburst Les Paul into a repair shop for volume control problems and when they got to the next gig Jeff rehearsed and he noticed someone put covers on his "Patent Applied For" pickups. He told his guitar tech to remove the covers because the guitar was feeding back too much. When the covers were removed Jeff noticed that his "Patent Applied For" Humbuckers had been replaced with new Gibson Humbuckers. I felt bad when I heard this and I wanted Jeff to have an instrument that had the tone of a Les Paul. I couldn't afford a Les Paul so I made the Tele-Gib instead and gave it to him. Several days after giving Jeff the guitar while BBA was recording the unreleased second album at the CBS Studios, Ralph Baker came to the Fender Soundhouse with a cloth bag with three guitars in it. Ralph said "Jeff wanted you to take your pick." In the bag was a 51 Telecaster, a mid 50's Stratocaster and my favorite guitar, Jeff's 54' Fender Esquire guitar he used with "The Yardbirds". I picked the Esquire because Jeff used it! I remembered the songs like "Heart Full Of Soul", "I'm A Man", "Train Kept A Rollin'" and "Mister You're A Better Man Than I".

During the early touring years, a British singer by the name of Terry Reid was touring with a joint Rolling Stone, Yardbirds, Reid tour. Terry recalls while he was standing by the equipment loading dock, as the back door was opened he remembers catching the guitar (caseless) as it fell from the back of the truck. Terry remembers Jeff doing all kinds of wild things with the guitar.

Jeff could manipulate the volume and tone controls giving it a Wah Wah effect as in "Train Kept A Rollin'" or "Still I'm Sad". The lever switch would give full treble in the bridge position, variable tone control in the center and full bass in the front position. (See schematic) The bridge pickup has slightly staggered poles. The body was made in 1954 and the neck (the original was broken) was replaced with one made in 1955. During the mid sixties, the Yardbirds were touring the midwest and I had a chance to meet the band and see Jeff play and do his tricks. He would lean on the amp, causing feedback and always looking down at his guitar. During another tour, Jimmy Page was in the band and I asked where Jeff was and Jimmy said he left the band. When I asked Keith (Keith Relf was the singer and front man in the Yardbirds) to play "Nazz Are Blue" I heard Jimmy yell out "The Nazz isn't here". So I figured they wouldn't do the song as long as Jeff wasn't there. During that time Jimmy had Jeff's Esquire on tour with them and their roadie named Brian Conliffe let me play the Esquire and I took photos of it. I photographed it at a concert hall in Lima, Ohio called Springbrook Gardens. While there I saw Jimmy playing another guitar and written on the back of it was "Jeffman" and you can see it in some of my photos. I don't know if it was Jeff's guitar as I never asked Jimmy about it. It may be the one that later was used in Led Zeppelin and later painted psychedelic.

Throughout the years i have had much enjoyment building custom guitars and pickups for Jeff and enjoyed keeping his 32 Ford roadster. I have many great stories and info for later fan club articles. Below is a rundown on the 1954 Fender Esquire used by Jeff Beck in the "Yardbirds".

The Guitar
Jeff Beck's 1954 Fender Esquire

* Specifications:
o 1. Esquire pickguard: When Jeff first got it from John Maus it had a white vinyl pickguard and can be seen in earlier "Yardbird" videos and photos. Jeff replaced it with a black Esquire pickguard (no slot for rhythm pickup). The pickguard had a 5 hole pattern with two distinctive chips. The top edge and lower neck slot.
o 2. Bridge saddles: The 54' steel bridge saddles were completely rusted and were replaced with 52' Telecaster brass saddles from another Telecaster belonging to Jeff.
+ Bridge saddle heights: .371" E-1st, .396" B-2nd, .398" G-3rd, .411" D-4th, .409" A-5th, .395" E-6th.
+ Intonation: E & A saddle: .605", D & G saddle: .686", B & E saddle: .715" (Measured from the inside back plate to the middle of the bridge saddle) Intonation adjustment are round head phillips: 6-32 x 1 1/4" machine screws.
o 3. The lever knob: Jeff used a white lever knob from a 55' Stratocaster and is still in the case. A recessed 53' Telecaster black bakelite knob was put on it the late 60's.
o 4. The tuning keys: are stock 1955 Klusons. They are worn but still work well.
o 5. The strings: have been on the instrument since 1974 are kept de-tuned as to reduce tension and eliminate breaking. E-.009", B-.011", G-.016", D-.024", A-.032", E-.042" .
o 6. Body: is light Swamp Ash, hand contoured. No dates on the body. Body thickness: 1.770" measured with thin lacquer finish. String ferrules recessed in body slightly below finish surface.
o 7. The neck: is dated 55' with stock frets and fingerware. Round string guide measures .313" top thickness of neck to the pickguard that measures .063" thick, 7" neck radius. Position markers on fingerboard measure .250" diameter, side dots measure .093".
o 8. Serial Number: #1056 stamped on the back neck plate. Neck plate measures 2.519" X 2.012", thickness .062", 1/4" radius.
o 9. Instrument Weight: 6 lbs. 6 oz.
o 10. Pickup Ohms: 5.86k ohms. Pickup reading may vary depending in tolerance of meter being used for test. Pickup height has not been modified since used by Jeff.
o 11. Pickup Description: Stock hand wind, G & D poles slightly raised, .197" diameter and .625" length common for such pickups. Magnets are sand cast Alnico and measure 20 gauss. Pickup height from bridge plate: .316" high on treble side, .288" high on bass side.
o 12. Pickup Control: Wiring: On control plate stock Esquire wiring.
+ Front Position: Mellow sound due to capacitor connected to ground. Tone control inactive in this position.
+ Middle Position: Variable tone control adjustment. Only position tone control works. You can have maximum treble or maximum bass. Swells and Wah Wah effect.
+ Bridge Position: Full treble in this position and tone control inactive.
o 13. Body Information: Stock well worn and checked Blond finish. The body was hand shaped by John Maus (Walker Brothers) to make it feel and simulate the contours of a Stratocaster. The rhythm pickup cavity is routed for a neck pickup but was not drilled to hold one. The body is well worn with nicks and gouges and the Nitrocellulose lacquer Blond finish has turned various shades of yellow and orange.
o 14. Body Specifications:
+ Body Thickness: 1.767"
+ Body Length: 15.812"
+ Body Width: Minimum 8.875" Maximum 12.5"
o 15. Neck Specifications: Nitrocellulose lacquer finish, orange and yellowish and worn thin. The top edge of the fingerboard is rounded towards the edge from both sanding at the factory and extensive wear from playing.
+ Width:
# Nut: 1.657"
# 5th fret: 1.837"
# 8th fret: 1.922"
# 12th fret: 2.023"
# 15th fret: 2.095"
# 21st fret: 2.185"
+ Thickness:
# Headstock: .562"
# Nut: .90"
# 5th fret: .957"
# 8th fret: .972"
# 12th fret: .975"
# 15th fret: .988"
# 21st fret: .990"
+ Screws:
# Pickguard: Oval head Phillip, wood screw, steel, plating worn off.
# Neck: Oval head Phillip, wood screw, steel, plating worn off.
# Bridge: Oval head Phillip, wood screw, steel, rusted.
# Tuning Keys: Round head Phillip, wood screw, rusted.
# Control Plate: Oval head Phillip, wood screw, plating worn off.
# Lever Switch: Round head slotted, machine screw, plating worn off 6-32.
# Pickup Height Adjustment: Round head slotted machine screw 6-32 X 1/2".
+ Misc. Information:
# Lever switch is a Centralab #1452 three way "shorting".
# Lever knob: Harry Davies Molded, traditional 1950-1954 style common on early Broadcasters, No-Casters, Telecasters and Esquires. Jeff used a white 54' Stratocaster lever knob during the "Yardbirds".
# Neck slot depth: .610" deep.
+ Bridge Plate: stamped FENDER PAT. PEND. (at the same angle as the pickup)
+ Frets: .075" wide and .022" high.
+ Weight: 5 lbs. 10 oz. This is a very light instrument and would weigh a little more if there were no cutaways or contours.
+ The Esquire can be seen on several "Yardbird" albums and CD covers including; "The Yardbirds", "Rave Up" (Epic LN 24177), "The Yardbirds' Greatest Hits Vol. 1" (Rhino RNLP 70128) and Spanish release "The Yardbirds Play The Blues" (Charley EP-472).

v y b

2005-09-16T01:16:00.000-04:00

For some reason I cannot stop thinking about my use of the word 'vibe' in class today. Perhaps it is because it was a central part of the role I played in class discussion, or maybe it is because I truly do wonder about the word 'vibe,' but I do want to way that I am going to start this discussion right here with the definition (however weak that may be) with the word 'vibe.'

Oh questions, that they lead to knowledge - and thusly their importance. Who created you question? To where does your legacy point?

PS Find every definition of the word vibe, or vibration and place it here

More pleasing stereo discovery

2005-09-15T14:32:00.000-04:00

Very nice stereo echo reverb sound on Coltrane's A Love Supreme in the right channel on Part 3 'Pursuance' into (my favorite) Part 4 'Psalm.' You can hear the reverb-y ring of the saxophone in the distance, almost as if you were in the next room and the saxophone came through muffled. It is also amazing because it brings out different passages of notes strings which are not heard when listening to both tracks. The microphone pick up in the right channel is not directly on the sax part. So 1-2-3-4-5-6-7 becomes 3-44-5-7, and while this might not be the way the sound was intended to be heard, and you are in fact losing sound. It is an very nice experience because it allows you to hear aspects of room and the performance in a more focused way. It gives Coltrane's musical expression almost ghost like presence in the side of your time-head. I recommend it. Also because A Love Supreme should probably be listened to in so many, unending ways.

I can hear you over here,

For more audio channel bleeding & listening fun see here

the celestial globe tasker

2005-09-15T00:22:00.000-04:00

Reaching down upon it, it embraces it, oh my celestial globe tasker

Life in the library

2005-08-31T19:14:00.000-04:00

Blogging from the 34rth and 5th. It's so exciting to be back in a library, I missed the stacks very much to put it succinctly. And just now, I got a bar code put on the back of my ID, it is 7:15PM - approximately 1 hour since I left work - and I am almost ready to sit down and read a section from Joseph Ben-David's The Scientist's Role in Society. It is also a small revelation to be able to use the library from the perspective of a student. I can claim stupidity and ask the people behind the desk questions. The Graduate Center's library has the most beautiful elevator. I think that 'A Human Movement' and 'blog.tlib.org' will be changing in the coming months as I will probably use them in much different ways then the past. Psychedelic gazes will now be filtered through the fact that I have assigned readings, so my gas will be filled the asterisks of reading lists. I think blog.tlib.org will be turning into something of an online notebook/calendar/personal management system. While 'A Human Movmement' might be filled with wisps, guesses and apologies which no one has come to know so well.

I have a big reading list for my 'Social History of Science' class, and sadly - none of it is electronic which means that I have 3 choices:

1) Buy it
2) Photocopy it from the library
3) Read it in the library

I will probably be seeing a mix of these in the coming weeks... I wish the readings were online. Imagine how much smoother a class could go if the majority of the readings were scanned in and ready to be read from any location? Print, presto, PDF. I can't believe here it is 2005, and I am still thinking about this. It seems like a decade ago that I was sitting behind a reserve desk myself thinking about a future of scanned texts and remote reading for all in the name of education. The tasks of coming to the library, getting settled, finding the books, making photocopies, reading the 100 pages, taking notes, etc. etc. is probably going to take a good 9 hours a week, more when writing assignments are in order. I wish 2 of those hours did not consist of checking out books and photocopying them. I wonder how many floors this library has? I am on the second floor with the PR 500's, 'POETRY,' at my back. Oh those PR's!!

Anyway, I think I am about settled and ready to get quiet - I only have my reserve reading until 9:11PM, after that I start getting fined. On the bright side, I found one of the books for the class in the stacks which means I can take it out and photocopy necessary parts at work tomorrow. So much wasted paper! It's a tragedy, a true tragedy the wasted paper.

I think I might start thinking in terms of tragedies as a result of the tsunami in Louisiana. When is the next tragedy? What can be done to circumvent it? I think taking away all profits from insurance companies and big box stores and using it to invest in education, health insurance and larger salaries for American workers is the place to start -- should any future tragedy wished to be quelled prematurely those are steps to stopping it. And no extra funds for the cops, they are useless. There's the wisp...

What's a dick for?

2005-08-22T16:47:00.000-04:00

I'm glad I wasn't the only one who saw the phallic-ness in the symbolic repetition of the Washington Monument, as the two characters from the Wedding Crashers movie routinely crashed-landed with the giant dick symbol between their legs after a season of humping girls.

I'm going to pretend that this is a audio-blog for a second, and while the going is hot, all y'all should go ahead and download Prick of the World a rare magazine track by the Sun City Girls... because you fuckers need it like I do, as much as anyone does who goes on hiding the fact that all y'all enjoy being raped but won't fess up to it, cuz you been brainwashed by the collective imagination purported to be love that cares, and not love that wares away at your very right to be safe in your own genital make-up fake response, which you'd crush in an instant had there ever been a time when rubbing them on strangers wasn't exactly the point when you finally came into your own. Childbirth.

On the passing of Bob Moog

2005-08-22T10:47:00.000-04:00

Artist, scientist, synthesist, prophet Bob Moog passed away and the small obituary posted on the moogmusic website includes a fascinating little quote:

Bob was warm and outgoing. He enjoyed meeting people from all over the world. He especially appreciated what Ileana referred to as "the magical connection" between music-makers and their instruments.

What is Ileana Moog refering to? What magical connection exists between music-makers and their instruments? This is very interesting, and worthy of further explanation, interpretation, understanding.

What is the connection between say: Roy Buchanan and his telecaster? Sun Ra and his MiniMoog? Is it the same as Van Gogh and his brush or palette? A biologist and his microscope? What bonds men (and women) to their tools? I am sure many people have attempted to posit some kind of 'eros' in between the hand and the drill, need and cause, but really how can we attempt to identify the beauty of the instruments people use to some kind of previously built-up logic?

I wouldn't be averse to an interpretation that some kind of supra-cellular propelsion in the form of magnetic ray spectra is what binds man the artist to the tools of his craft, leaving those available to wider band of spectra with a greater need, or the ability to connect with higher resonating tools. Such as a Bruce Springsteen with his telecaster or a Buddy Holly with his stratocaster or a programmer with his operating system. Magnetic pulsar rays of unknown attraction bonding us to our lust, and the outcome beauty.

(I would also admit that destruction is highly a part of this magnetic lust, and that pollution and carcinogens are an acceptable part of the tool attraction hypothesis.)

2005-08-21T01:22:00.000-04:00

Oh reaching out... for connection.

I got a frequency changer the other day, and it allowed me to group associable recollection next to other similar possibilities.
It uses foot power, and it is the easy way out for right now -if I want to go into the mudanity of the beauty of what can be, and foot power is only slightly representing what it means to blur to associable recollections.

Oh foot.

Oh lust, you perfect inferior, I am a person and I can only witness the true stretch of the imagination needed to consider understaning a possible goal. But still a new goal is thrown at me for each moment I progress. The quietness of an icicle will always prevail over a car alarm...Or would it? What is the sound that is heard when sound is only one way to hear.

The ANSWER: It sounds like easiness and control, and also therefor desire and percussion --- because the answer always implies the already known connection of one to another ---

Lines can blur, no man has the ability to discern lines when they approach.

Stand back, watching the interconnection, let pause occur and reach out to the gaps involved, what is known must has the ability to be not known.

guess what

2005-08-18T16:08:00.000-04:00

The sun is the closest star to the planet earth.

WeekendWindow returns

2005-08-13T11:06:00.000-04:00

New Track projected Rays at www.tlib.org/ww from The SummerTapes 2005: (Demos for Democracy, Demos for Demonology Sessions)

Tracks:

On Deception (demo) | Extra non-affair (resident alien demo) | Tropical Harmonies ('Sheer Rose' demo)

Short story: Everyone should make content, content creation and sharing is the key to saving the world!

Zib this

2005-08-12T11:10:00.000-04:00

Just talking to people at work regarding personality and its effect on internet usage.
It seems that moments of high optimisim, hope, confidence are more easily filled with internet sharing, linking, connection-finding while pessimism leads to closedness, and a inability or lack of want to share, or seek or connect.

I'm finding it all odd, the more it goes: Getting closer to what it is that is happening as I write this. I am also coming to grips with my lack of ability to explain it... or understand what it means to share one's personality in an electronic way.

So, I'll just sit back and maintain it.

If I'm not thinking one thing, I'm thinking the other

2005-07-31T00:50:00.000-04:00

The first step to enlightenment is through beauty. Those without beauty are lacking. There are many tools to beauty. These are a few of mine.

plastic nose beam

2005-07-29T21:38:00.000-04:00

what does it mean if you crank the treble on your amp, and rip your strings to bits, chanting whatever comes to mind while off and on blasting select cuts off of Doc at Radar Station?

If you got answers, I wanna know. Cuz it's what I'm doin'

I just discovered something weird

2005-07-22T16:44:00.000-04:00

I don't know if this is just on my computer, some cache ram or something in my browser, but for some reason Columbia University's website comes up with the URL Sounds of China.org It's weird, I'm sure there is a logical explanation but I think it's worth mentioning.

FIRE

2005-07-22T16:37:00.000-04:00

FIRE
Originally uploaded by d_b1.

I wonder if this occurs in places like Dubai and the U.A.E where temp's reach 50 degrees centigrade and what not. Either way, this picture is satisfying.

Northern Junket Volume 11, Number 6, July 1973

2005-07-19T16:50:00.000-04:00

Northern Junket Volume 11, Number 6, July 1973

Max Romeo's Warning Warning

2005-07-07T11:27:00.000-04:00

Givin’ out my warning...
Now you rich people listen to me
Weep and wail over the miseries
That are coming, coming up on you
Your riches have rotted away
And your clothes have been eaten by moth
Your gold and silver is covered with rust
And this rust will be witness against you
And eat up your flesh like fire
You have piled up your riches in these last days
But heads a go roll down Sandy Gully one of these days
Heads a go roll down Sandy Gully that’s what Marcus says

Your life here on earth have been filled with luxury and pleasure
You have made yourself fat for the day of slaughter
You've not paid the men that work in your fields
The cries of those that gather your crops
Have reached the ears of Jah, Jah Almighty
Heads a go roll down Sandy Gully one of these days
Heads a go roll down Sandy Gully that’s what Marcus says

[...]

If only sound was a photo

2005-07-06T23:41:00.000-04:00

whole apt. from entry
Originally uploaded by oaeoeao.

Some people may want to know how I am living. My eyes hurt, my back aches, I'm still relatively strong and young, and I want to sleep and wake up in silence.

Everyone needs a loudspeaker

2005-06-28T15:16:00.000-04:00

I finally got around to taking my amplifier (the tweed Peavey Delta Blue 1 x 15" combo) to get repaired yesterday. I took it to Jeff Bloch's Amp and Guitar Wellness Center, which is secretly one of the best guitar stores in the New York metro area. I don't know how much it is going to cost to fix, but they charge 75$ an hour. I hope it is just a re-tube and calibrate type deal, maybe a blown fuse. If I had my druthers, and 189.99 to spare, I would have already ordered up a Jensen P15N speaker to replace the crappy Peavey speaker that is in it, then when I looked behind my amp - I could see the beautiful green of this guy peeking out.

no nothings.

2005-06-24T22:58:00.000-04:00

Much can be learned from looking at representation of truth's changes in and over time. A grassy landscape to a parking lot. For instance, it is oft believed that the sexual organs of two, a male and a female, create life when conjoined for a period of time in such a way. With this belief comes the idea that one's blood carriage is line-like, but what must be lapsed to lose this dearly held notion? If on the day of your conception your father ate a chicken salad sandwhich, and used the energy from said sandwhich to arouse his human making sensibilities, how much do you, as spawn of those sensibilities, owe to that chicken salad? And if it is not known, how can we really expect to go around with such convictions of purity where notions of identity are considered?

I am not a father, but I am a son. These identities, father and son, mean little to me but they do seem to be thought and referred to much in the literature of life. They are symbols in the symptoms for sure, but how much does it take to come to understand fatherhood to mean something more close to 'perception,' that what is known is created as it is perceived, each son is begat fatherly by each person, and further that this is the scope of the world's time human's dwell in?

I've got far to go, but I only ask a simple question: and it is: Isn't it possible to spell a word wrong and yet, still have its meaning come across equally to as if it were spelt correctly? And if so, what does this mean about spelling? And furthermore what does it mean about order? If spelling itself is understood as one type of order, what are persons doing to themselves each time they spell a word, but believing in an irrational order? Who is irrational, the person who spells words incorrectly, or those that believe in the 'i before e' phenomenon?

I'm not anti-authoritarian, but I do wonder what it means why so much of what is possible goes unnoticed and unchallenged. More often the not, it is the unnoticement and unchallenging way of head-to-body relations which allows people to go ignored, and therefor for what could be to only never come to pass, or for those people to be destroyed (either through war, prescription drugs, malnutrition, or murder)

All people are created equal, and have equal right to access of expression -- if a person does not challege something as simple as the spelling of a 'wurd,' how then can we expect these same people to press for the rights equal of others? In the landscape of thinking, it seems that more people become extinct then survive -- and the cause for this extinction is the success of the few at becoming not ignored. I suppose this is why public relations as business through photography and the media is akin to cancer and representative of our poisoned times, i.e. mass destruction. But still, all it take is a glance at a space to understand that it will change again, and how we spell our times before us, will again change.

2005-06-17T11:05:00.000-04:00

FREEDOM IS FREE

I got a little notion that thinks the world will continue to be run towards death, disease, pain and terror in so far as man is forced to think inside himself. Until the day arrives that man can easily summize a reality thought not from what it considered to be self, not out from the recognizing I/eye, but also for all that is known, that there exists in nature 'an outside I,' If all humans hear, why should it ever be thought that the individual does hear, but selfish deception? A tree can be the very thing that man thinks himself to be, statements purely errorenous are closer to being truth then those half thought and once the lies of human supieority fade, and it is known that the clouds as one representation of the not-man can write stories which are represented as by man exactly, if not better then any one person who is revealed to be the selfish deceptor, then the one person will be free to think outside of progenited name identity, & no more story writers with names will try to put their boring grimace expressions passed you, and all stories will be known and experienced. It's not chaos and it's not order, but vibratory-receptioning convince-manship. Identity has been a distraction to take away from people what they already know, and it starts when you represent yourself to others as 'not them,' or when a person is surprised at things, or remarks about them at all from the perspective that only they have received them, or are sad when they are sad. What is is all things are at once and not stopped, so please remember the elsewhere, and get ready to soon find out that freedom is only free.

an Apostle speaketh

2005-06-15T11:21:00.000-04:00

“Music's primarily instrumental, human beings actually play music in a room together and you record it. I can't see why, in order to make an audible record of that, you would want to have the human beings do their bits separately and then patch them together to make a representation of what it might have sounded like if they'd all been playing together in a room at the same time. I profoundly find that a weird way to go... The sound that people make together in a room playing, to me that's what recording ought to be about.” (Bruce Russell).

Read this now and sigh and read it again

2005-06-13T17:17:00.000-04:00

Circumstances are thought irresistibly to control the world, both collectively and individually; and, under this impression, man has consented to be controlled by them. But man holds the power to destroy those circumstances which are unfavorable to his happiness and peace; and by exercising this power, he will sustain and cooperate with the principles of Nature. These fleeting circumstances being destroyed, man will be controlled only by the operations of general law. This, however, has not yet been done, because man individually can not do it.

No one principle of government, unvarying in its nature, could be made to manifest its proper results, as applied to an isolated and detached community. Those who have founded, and put forth efforts to sustain, communities, have been persons who have striven to familiarize the laws, which governed them, to their feelings and affections. The condition of society and of the world has become repulsive to their feelings and sentiments; and their movements are but the outbreaking and gushing forth of those desires that have been so long concealed.

A knowledge of the natural laws which govern society should have been before understood; but the sources of knowledge which exist in the world have been perverted from their legitimate object and use. Institutions for the diffusion of knowledge are founded on an artificial basis. It is the interest of every institution to confine its knowledge to itself; whereas, it should be both the principle and interest of all such to cause their knowledge to become universal. Moreover, people who have not the capacity to comprehend the sciences, should not be educated for, and compelled to hold situations, where such knowledge is absolutely required.

The situations of professional men are exceedingly corrupting and vitiating. Those who would be honest, can not; for their interests oppose. The condition of these and of other members of society at this time, is an artificial representation of the circumstances by which the world is controlled. Generations that are past have neglected the great light of the knowledge of these truths. Their time and talents were engaged in the upbuilding of sectarian and denominational casts; and in protecting these, nations have warred against nations. Destruction and devastation were the legitimate results; and, neglecting the general and personal good, man lost his happiness by these inhuman proceedings. No man could utter a thought, or express himself in any respect, contrary to the prevailing sentiment. This vice, misery, illiberality, and uncharitableness, with all their legitimate moral and intellectual results, still exist; and man has lost much of the light and knowledge which he would now possess, if the real had existed in place of the artificial.

Free and unrestrained inquiry is necessary to moral and intellectual progress, and therefore should be encouraged. Truth is an eternal principle; and any institution, creed, denomination, or any influence a sectarian character, that opposes in any way the free and unrestrained investigation of truth, must evidently be founded on ignorance, superstition, and bigotry. And, moreover, anything which tends to restrict the spirit of inquiry, openly manifests its own error.

Every principle opposed to free and unrestrained investigation shows distinctly the fear of light and knowledge. Light upon any subject of a moral nature should be received free from interests or local prejudices; and if free investigation or the most unlimited exercise of the human mind, is obstructed, the obstruction proclaims its author's own condemnation: for this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men choose the darkness of bygone ages, and foster it, rather than light, because their institutions and actions are evil.

From: The principles of nature, her divine relations, and a voice to mankind. By and through Andrew Jackson Davis., Davis, Andrew Jackson, 1826-1910.

2005-06-10T17:17:00.000-04:00

My extispicious is looking pretty. Maybe one of these days, I will explain the difference and meaning of the Green mind & soul, Blue movement & cool, Yellow communication & expository, Brown preservation & memory of the AHM sidebar, but in a way I just did.

2005-06-10T10:38:00.000-04:00

Regarding computer file sharing and privacy, I have a simple question.

What constitutes friendship?

If I meet a person and chat with them about music and share a recording, why is it legal to do so via a CD-R or cassette tape, but not via a file sharing client software (such as SLSK.) It seems that those people who are opposed to file sharing, groups such as the RIAA, are not actually opposed to the sharing of music, as much as they are opposed to modern ideas of what consitutes friendship.

I guess this is sort of like the Betamax thing where the court said it is safe to share music P2P because it is no different then taping movies. But really on another level it seems that those forces who are opposed to file sharing are actually opposed to friendship, and the widening of social networks along electronic lines.

test:

2005-06-09T16:37:00.000-04:00

It is my conviction that all things should be shared. Further, that all things are always in a state of already sharedness. All things have safety in their sharedness to be, as they are shared in the name of education. It's "universal experience time" and more simply, the question of what is a thing. I believe that all entities in the world are broken down into infinite parts where the defining characteristics of the thing are without ownership, then out from this intermediary state, individuals each grab their own part of the entity, as they come to know it. What is, is always ready to be changed through the appropriation of others, in knowledge. A thing is not what it is, but that it has come to be known.

It is the perspective of the individual which owns the account of what is known by the many, and not the other way around. The main problem of the world is shown here: every person speaks their own language, yet for some reason when two people are conversing they believe they are speaking the same language. If one says tree and the other thinks of tree, green growth bark substance forrest tall etc., there is still not any exact tree that is share between one and the other. If one hears beep and the other hears beep, there are still two beeps. That they both refer to what they heard as beep - does in no way create one beep. This is common sense, and a time should come when this common sense is allowed to prevail.

This is also the gateway to the contradiction which needs to be appropriated as man beathes electrically, 1 in, and 2 out. All things are owned by each individual in knowledge, and although they are out of the same substance, they are never the same as they are known. Only through knowledge does a thing come to exist, and this is why all things should be shared in the name of education. The universal subject guaranteer in the name of allness brings what can be through educative experience.

This is a gift for all those out there who came across this now.

(Shanti, 1972)PERSIAN SURGERY DERVISHES: Smooth, two-record set of live modal improvisations, with tape delay in Los Angeles and Paris.

to own is not to surround

2005-06-03T22:02:00.000-04:00

Three thoughts I commonly have are as follows;

1) the world is going to be what it is with or without me,
2) it's only man's fear that carries him on. (And by this I get frightened about the fact that it might literally be only the fear of death, the fear of not living, that creates the life trails man tramples.)
3) i think I can handle just about any level of seriousness when it comes to severely true musical playing.

I go on my days, and not much can really knock these 3 thoughts down, they sit above most of which happens to my body as it portends the glide. Then I listen to Fushitsusha and I know I was wrong about the third thing.

conversation re: Emerson's 'History'

2005-06-02T12:38:00.000-04:00

I don't know if I made any point of concern clearly last night with my
saying the things about judging people based on their culture accrued,
but I have been really jiving the Emerson on my own now recently, and the
last sentence of 'History' reads like the point I've been arguing since I
knew to speak:

"The idiot, the Indian, the child, and unschooled farmer's boy, stand
nearer to the light by which nature is to be read, than the dissector or
the antiquary."

well, then, maybe we should read, or understand (rather than judge) each
person by how close (or not) they stand by this radiant light

I for one don't doubt there are plenty of farmers, indians, and idiots
who stand far further from it than the earnest dissector, librarian, or
businessman, even.

...indeed that is the task at hand... I think we can judge people on their
closeness to the light, through listening to their ways of describing the
things they feel as events occur around them, (both to them and for them.)
Someone who says 'you can't have a colored wallet, that's weird, wallets are black' is further from the light then someone who says 'you have a colored wallet,
ok' or even better 'your colored wallet is no different then a black one.'

...the meritable among us who see the light and hold it, have the ability
to see all things in all things. a duck is a helicopter, no squabbling
over particulars.... those people who see and feel freely the
effect/affect of all things, and know the connection between a thing's
occurance as it happens TO them and BECAUSE of them simultaneously are the ones who are more often then not --- in touch with healthy minds and ably summit
to the creation happy vibes.

Emerson's History essay begins:

There is no great and no small
To the Soul that maketh all:

Imagine yourself in a bathroom stall:

2005-06-01T11:10:00.000-04:00

FOR A GOOD TIME

Get to a copy of the Yardbirds, Lost Woman from Roger the Engineer and listen to the track on headphones, however, only listen to the left channel. The vocals/harmonica track are on the right and the guitars are on the left. You get to hear the best feedback ever recorded, which literally seeps into your head like a '66 Pinot Noir. Even better is that the vocals bleed from the right channel over to the left, but all you can hear is trace elements of the extreme reverb of the room the tracks was recorded in. It sounds as if there is man yelling in the building next to you. The reverb is ever so delightfully magical, it's a prescription for even the soul-less, the whole experience is worth repeating over and over!

Oh hold on, the effects of the bleeding-e-cho-faint voice is here on Nazz are Blue too, it's sumptuous.

The facts of life, (how to unlearn)

2005-05-31T15:58:00.000-04:00

Over this past weekend, I was in a situation where there were people both younger and older than me. Those older then me were probably by as much as 26 years, and those younger then me were as many as 26 years. A situation arose where a boy, who was born on May 30th, 1990 had a guitar and an amp on which I was asked to play. The boy just turning 14 was at the point of his conscious desire that he sought to play songs, and to listen to songs played on his guitar instrument. (Who doesn't remember this stage of development, where to do some 'thing,' that 'thing' could only be so as far as it modeled exactly that which you similarly desired.) Then when I cracked and popped the strings and found unisons to create eschewing warbles in air, the kid was was visibly edgy, rightly unimpressed, and I heard only "play a song" in reply. I told him to listen to everything he hears, and further to "check this out" this song is called you. Being a Grateful Dead fan, the boy could at least get into the fact that I was talking about improv-minded guitar playing and he even mocked me for it, godbless him. But luckily for me, born on May 29th 1978, the 14-year old boy left the room and along came a child of 14 months. The child couldn't speak a word but for a few, he clearly had an interest in the black guitar device in my hands and on my lap. He reached out for it and I held it closer to him. The child baby boy was only interested in the three knobs on the guitar and turned them back and forth in different ways, creating patterns he was both conscious and unconcious of. He prefered no sound from the amp, leaving my one note playing to vibrate acoustically, but when he moved the knobs to the position where the signal was loud enough to drive the amp the baby boy of 14 months would stop and clap, perhaps smile, always acknowledge what he had done and seek to repeat it some way.

What had happened in the 14 years of the 14 year old to make him listen only to his desire to find some form acknowledged and not what he was actually doing, while the baby was totally in tuned to what he was doing at all times and had no ability to express his desire for form other then in experience?

Obviously the right way is to be able to assimilate both styles of knowledge into one's guitar playing and be able to belt out Clapton licks as much as unlearned fiddling... It was a good time, enough of one to take out at least 40 minutes of my day that day.

Also odd was when an electric bass was plugged in the 14 year old replied that he did not know how to play it, but the 14 month old could rock the knobs like a seasoned pro!

Back in effect to failed gestures:

2005-05-31T10:32:00.000-04:00

Key 1:

MAN1 is named man, or 'the familiar man if.'
"what is posited" is the basis for which MAN1 claims his familiarness.
man is all people, or 'historical generation.'
god the unknown gaze of man
'omnipotent effort' is a way in which current MAN1 becomes man

Post:

MAN1 can claim [express to know] no more [a highest limit perceived] on behalf of man than what man before called god.
(More precisely, such claims toward "realized human greatness" [the process of 'omnipotent effort'] consist in a demand for the immediate realization of MAN1's widest vision)
Again: MAN1 needs to cast the widest net of knowledge/vision and instead of calling it something else, or even calling this effort itself, MAN1 should understand widest points of the knowledge/vision to be "what is posited."

Key 2:

THE NATURE OF THE CONTRADICTION DESIRED
It should be understood that all efforts to conceal the extravagance of a person seeking the 'omnipotent effort' should be concealed with the character of the appetite to know, and that knowledge itself. MAN1 may know man through the consciousness of the contradiction in the concealment of the desire to know.

I'm starting a new project on radar:

2005-05-26T16:24:00.000-04:00

Your Life's Profession, film about being a librarian. A fun trip to 1947.

Note to self:

2005-05-25T17:03:00.000-04:00

I really must stop forgetting that we are in a universe, or rather, a solar system, and that our planet is just one process in it, at a location, awash in the beyond-motion and therefor the always-alreadyness haze of sunshot gasses. Too often do I just assume that everything I know, see and act as is the universe that I ignore the big picture, that there is space outside of the effects of the sun. I see light, the sun makes it so. If I wanted to get outside of the effects of the sun, I'd have to practice being 90% hydrogen and 10% helium, with additional elements like metals present in trace amounts.

NASA: Voyager I enters solar system's final frontier
"Contrary to popular belief, space is not an empty void. Rather, the solar system is awash in solar wind, charged gases that flow off the sun at supersonic speed. The wind travels at an average speed ranging from 300 to 700 kilometers per second (700,000 to 1.5 million mph)."

For more good times about The Early Universe

Choice cuts:

2005-05-24T15:23:00.000-04:00

I have a nice peice of nostalgia before me; Vol. XLIX - No. 19, November 21, 1969 of The Blue and Grey, the campus newspaper for Hood College in Frederick, Maryland. Lead story on right hand column of front page:

State Attorney Speaks on Drug Problem

Drug abuse has recently become a great problem in the United States, a problem which particularly affects the youth...Mr. Roethenhoefer, the prosecuting attorney for Frederic County and Corporal Harbaugh, a state trooper who has done considerable research in the area....Which is more harmful, heroin or LSD? Answer: one is as bad as the other: one can die because of heroin or become mentally deranged because of LSD. Other points concerning LSD: If one has a "bad trip" on becomes crazy immediately; in the case of a "good" trip, the person has such sensations as seeing colors or becoming "more aware of what is going on around him." One can have recurrences of "the trip" even two years later, causing severe mental derangement or even death, if, for example, one is driving when this hallucination recurs; secondly it has been medically proven that LSD causes deformation in children born to mothers who have taken LSD.

That is how the article ends, with the deformation statement. What a fantastic and pure example of the propaganda and lies created to reclaim the brains of the young in the late 60's. I have never heard of Hood College in Maryland, but I'm guessing it was a second tier school, where it of the utmost importannce for the government to curb the growing mind expansion trend. Your better schools might not have allowed lies like this to reach their student newspapers, or else the students were to smart and were handling their LSD just fine. Nonetheless, this little article is a gem and again, I wish I had a pocket-mini-scanner at the ready to post it.

cymabls forthcoming perhaps

2005-05-23T10:43:00.000-04:00

Subject: Re: Cheap Cymbals Wanted
From: FordMustang683@aol.com
Date: Mon, 23 May 2005 06:38:00 EDT
To: tl@tlib.org

ill take some pics of the cymbals. ill probably sell the hi hats and crash

as a set so shoot me an offer or how much u willing to spend. the crash

has no cracks on it it still works and the hi hats are still
good
the top hi hat has no crackings the bottom one has a little crack not big
tho
i cut it off where it was cracked these hi hats still work so i

dont wanna c them go to dumpster ill send u pics tonight when i
get
home

......now what is a a hi hat beaver moustache man?

2005-05-20T14:56:00.000-04:00

Right now this is blowing my mind: (and note the now nearing upon triomaniacal exaggerated emphasis of 'right now' + 'blowing' + 'mind')

Main Entry: col·loid
Pronunciation: 'kä-"loid
Function: noun
Etymology: International Scientific Vocabulary coll- + -oid

1 : a gelatinous or mucinous substance found in tissues in disease (as in the thyroid) or normally
2 a : a substance that consists of particles dispersed throughout another substance which are too small for resolution with an ordinary light microscope but are incapable of passing through a semipermeable membrane b : a mixture consisting of a colloid together with the medium in which it is dispersed <smoke is a colloid>- col·loi·dal /k&-'loi-d^&l, kä-/ adjective- col·loi·dal·ly adverb

2005-05-20T12:13:00.000-04:00

I'm seeing a lot of Labanotation in my day's work, and I like it. It's a form of notation for choreographic works developed Hungarian Rudolf von Laban (1879-1958.) I should get down to it, and learn more about it... especially when I find sentences that read:

Labanotation is a system of analysing and recording of human Movement.

The scores are kind of nice looking, they remind me a lot of Earle Brown's graphic score from the 1950's, here's an example of labanotation:

The importance of imposed erraticness:

2005-05-20T11:17:00.000-04:00

John French from here. What's funny is that I think the point here is that Mr. French did not enjoy the effects of being dosed, but if you do listen to the Mirror Man session, it's some of the best drumming he did, primarily because of loose-erraticness to it. Also the dosing during recording, which certainly did not take place before or after the Mirror Man session, might also explain the 19 minuts of Tarotplane, and the 15 minutes of Mirror Man. I'm listening to 'Kandy Korn,' for the first time in easily over a year, (I'm careful with this shit,) and again the tears are flowing on point.

...What place did drugs esp. hallucinogens play in the recording of the early works?

Don was taking a lot of LSD during my early months of tenure. Needless to say, it was difficult to work with him during this period. Confusion seemed to reign supreme. I explore this topic and try to offer my insights into the behaviour I witnessed and what effects it had upon the music, both lyrically and musically.

I was given LSD before recording some of the Mirror Man sessions without my knowledge by Don’s girlfriend, Laurie Stone. I suspect that this was at Don’s suggestion, and he could be quite persuasive. Part of the reason the drumming is so erratic in places is because of my state of mind. I feel also that there was LSD put in my tea on other occasions, but in very small doses. Just enough to keep me confused.

2005-05-19T14:57:00.000-04:00

Recovering via Duke Ellington's "Afro-Eurasian Eclipse," which has an album cover of note:

For "The Afro-Eurasian Eclipse, " Ellington took his cue from a line in Marshall McLuhan's 1967 book, The Medium Is the Massage." "Mr. McLuhan says that the whole world is going Oriental and that no one will be able to maintain his or her identity, not even the Orientals," Ellington said adding that in his band's world travels, they had noticed this statement to be true.

It's highly digable, to the point that I am not sure what a person could amount to without a listen. It should be shared. I'm glad I came to it, the cymbals of 'Rufus Jones' won't stop, and that is good... & Not this Rufus Jones, who wrote this sermon seriously my minds is a landscape of urns and ball bearings, people simply have to hear the drums on Afrique to understand, ug

Today:

2005-05-19T12:58:00.000-04:00

New first rule of reality whereby rules are strictly non-rules, and elsewhere in mind contain words whereupon spokenness will bring about enchanted, solidified states of mind, often called beliefs, supporting the reality of goodness and the pursuit of goodness for all. These rules as non-rules of thinking are for those who are interested in goodness and not disease and ruinment of the possible purity of conception in the thought of humans.

I. Supreme being and supreme good must be conceived as identical to the limit-point of the forward march of conciousness...highest being and absolute value...thus be conceived as the absolute negation of every possible determination of individuality

I do not exist. In this way, and for this brief moment, all self-promotion efforts are equalized equally behind enemy lines, and should be considered dangerous territory if we are to want to remain concerned with goodness as highest being and absolute value. The disease of man is NOT the constant self-referal and cravenous-safety-lust-remorse-response familiar, (that familiarness remains only so) But rather that the step to self-negation remains difficult in the mind of the self-promoter-positor. It is possible to be a non-self-promoter, and leave behind excellent effects of desire, but most actors of non-self are best conceived in the past, as their actions are produced desires. In the present these types fall into the fold of excellence, such as witnessing a tree blow in the wind and realizing that there are many more trees doing the same thing that you cannot possibly witness simultaneously. To say then: "I know wind + tree" is to self-promote in a way opposite of highest being and absolute value Efforts taken toward 'all encompassment again' are the ones needed.

2005-05-18T11:12:00.000-04:00

"you can't observe it, you must subserve it" I can't believe that I haven't ever read these words, in this order before. It's such an obvious rhyme, so much so that I'm excited, I gotta be on the lookout for it, until that point that I can call it my own, I gotta mouth too.

New favorite call to arms: & get ready; "Individuality is limited to the life-cycle of the species." Wooh, that feels good to say. "Individuality is limited to the life-cycle of the species." A call to arms, for sure. Personality is too often only a recurrence of an established type!! Oh yeah, c'mon say it again now.

The question becomes; Does the fact that our culturo-time-society passes information along through generation to generation mean that we are advanced over societies that do not pass along such learnedness? Would it be better to begin each generation with the freeness of their own? I suppose there's no point in this question, because, because of cause we are stuck with our information-legacy-appraisals always unto, causally speaking, I am speaking be-cause.

Now: Working on digging up some digital files of Arthur Lee's 'Vindicator' for young Sco. And I'm more then just merely honestly-integrally-maturely-yonderly mindfully-at-prime about finding a copy of 'Horse Cock Phepner' [1987] to listen to. It's like a key to a warp dimension bastard a la "a bush recording."

C'mon now. Ok, more shrapnel.
T>

Archives in action!

2005-05-16T15:48:00.000-04:00

How Public Housing Transformed New York

A nice photo collection displaying the intellectual heritage of the development of what would become 'The Projects!' Good times, learning about the past. Visualised time transformations for all! There are many selections to learn from, but this one shattered my heart the most, East 7th St. at Ave. D looking east. Oh my,

2005-05-10T22:48:00.000-04:00

A recent fun surf brought me from this

The Psychedelic Review Archives 1963-1971

to this

The Sociology of the Now, by Ira Einhorn

to this

Ira Einhorn's long, strange trip

to this

For Ira Einhorn, a fate worse than death

Octoplus

2005-05-10T12:58:00.000-04:00

Octoplus

In the world of sound there is much to chose from, but if I was going out like that, I would only want this with me.

Friday's only post

2005-05-06T12:47:00.000-04:00

My amazon order of The Gospel of Scholarship: Pierce Butler and A Critique of American Librarianship finally showed up. Does anyone else find used books ordered through Amazon Marketplace can take up to a month to arrive at one's door?

Anyway, I dug into it only but a little, but what was dug into was immediately mind-blowing. It contains a reprint of Pierce Butler's classic An Introduction to Library Science, of which I have before only read parts of, in a photocopy handout almost 4 years ago. More to come on this reading in the future. Also, the post below this one still needs a lot of work. One thing is for certain: Pierce Butler is one of the coolest dudes ever. One of the last true pragmatic christians, before the blood was mixed!!

Check this line out: ...In his concern for these emotional values the librarian has come to conceive his office as a secular priesthood, administering a sacrament of cultural communion to individual souls. At every suggestion that his activity be examined as an objective social phenomenon he draws back in terror because he fears that this can only be done by a sacrifice of all spirituality..."

Wooh! That is hot, sounds like a masthead of what AHM has turned into!!! Ok, I gotta work dammit. PS. Mastheads are stupid.