Jan 30, 2004

Really interesting stuff in the second issue of SONAWEB (the least of which are my poems). Check it out!

Hot off the web-based press:

Sonaweb issue 2 featuring new/old writing by Ellen Baxt, Donald Breckenridge (including
an audio file performance), Julie Jensen, Mark Lamoureux, Dana Teen Lomax, Joanna
Sondheim. Edited by Jill Magi.

Support community-based art.
Enjoy yourself.
See www.sonaweb.net

More Nerval. I've done all of "Les Chimeres," but will only post one more here. I like this one the best, I think.


I think of you, Myrtho, divine enchantress
Of proud Posilipo of the million flames,
Your face flooded in the glimmer of the Orient,
Of the back grapes that stained the gold of your braids.

In your sharp cup also I drank debauch
& in the quick flash of your grinning eyes,
When at Iacchus' feet I was seen suppliant
Because the muse has made me sole son of Greece.

I know why there the volcano reerupts...
Because yesterday you stroked it with your expert foot,
& of a sudden the horizon buried in ash.

Since a Norman duke broke your terracotta gods,
Forever under Virgil's bay laurels,
The pale hydrangea & the green myrtle entwine.

Jan 29, 2004


Don't tell W., he'll be allocating funds to build a fucking TIME MACHINE...

Bumper Crop

Of search hits:

"where is cafeteria's origin?"

"revenant sweater pattern"


"scaly thing on lime tree"

If anyone knows anything about said "revenant sweater pattern," I think I'd be interested in that too. Your favorite revenant's birth(undeath) day is coming up quick(dead).

Jan 28, 2004

Sorry, Rachel, fatefully I got me some solid nuisances also. Things are tough all over babe.

Subject: Mark - : - I'm firmly convince these days he fatefully has solid nuisances! : - : XqiEU17jVKC3

Good day Mark!
I guess you know Bruce Makes? I guess he regrettably has difficult predicaments!
Try this homepage to help him!


With love, Rachel Kennedy.

First-rate express worldwide additional benefit from Diana or your chum and associate Victor
To ending from this very good unexpected global tips, send any email at At no cost here wonderful
Mark: mailto:mari76@online.com.ua

Jan 27, 2004

Watch Out! The World's Behind You

The long-awaited Sunday Morning Anthology (featuring work by Michael Carr, Amanda Cook, James Cook, Mark Lamoureux, Tim Peterson, Chris Rizzo, Joel Sloman, Christina Strong, and Joe Torra) is now available from Xtina Strong for $5. If you're interested, contact her and she will get it to you somehow.

Waitasec, Thomas Pynchon was on the Simpsons?

Did anyone tape this?

Jan 26, 2004

High profile guest at HBS.

Turns out the high profile guest is the guy who invented those sticky octopus things that you throw against the wall and they make a walking action as they slide down the wall.

"Don't ingest it," he tells the assistant to the faculty member he is visiting.

Apparently this guy has made lots and lots of money.

Maybe if I apply some sort of sticky coating to my books...

By the Medicated, For the Medicated

* Welcome to the gallery of the dolls... Vermont artist Devin Power's slick paintings of pills
explore the strange realm where life-saving/mind-altering drugs are given candy-like gloss by pharmaceutical companies promising a better life, a better you. Power's broad education in abstraction and tromp l'oeil has led to a series of paintings that mix hyper-realism with juicy, flat bands of color. The overall effect is part MTV, part Masterpiece Theater, with a high dose of wit.

* For at taste of what will be in the show go to www.gallery108.com

* 108 is located at 108 Beacon Street in Somerville. Phone 617-441-3833. www.gallery108.com.
Hours: Tues/Thurs/Fri 12-6pm, Wed 2-6pm, Sat 12-5pm.

Jan 23, 2004

Compact of Negation


Again the 13th; She's again the first
& always the only--or the only moment:
You are my queen. The first or the last?
Are you my king, are you the lone or last lover?

Love who loved you from the cradle in her tomb;
She who was my lone love loves me gingerly still:
She is death -- or dead. . . O ecstasy! O agony!
The rose she holds is the hollyhock rose.

Saint of Naples with your hands full of flame;
Purple-hearted rose; flower of Saint Gudula;
Did you find your cross in the barren sky?

Fall, white roses! You insult our gods:
Fall, white phantoms from your skies that burn:
The saint of the abyss is more holy to my eyes.

Gerard de Nerval-- (My translation)

Gerard de Nerval's "Artemis," portrays a complex relationship between the narrator of the poem and the entity to whom the poem is addressed, presumably the goddess Artemis. A paradoxical dynamic exists between the narrator's 'self' and the 'other' of the poem, as well as the relationship between the narrator and the work itself.

The choice of Artemis as the narrator's subject is extremely relevant in the light of the psychological issues at play in the work. As the brother of Apollo, Artemis can be seen as representing the feminine aspect of the Apollonian portion of the Apollonian/Dionysian dichotomy. She is at once feminine and authoritarian, indeed, it was said that no man could look upon her naked form. Those that did suffered various punishments; this makes her a fitting subject for a poem that operates around the notion of unrequited desire. If one regards the purpose of poetry as a kind of "hunt" for a sympathetic reader, then Artemis again is an apt choice as goddess of the hunt and sister of the patron of poetry. Artemis's role as goddess of the moon, with its associations with insanity, is also relevant.

The poem is framed at the outset by the "13th," hour, an hour outside of time which transpires when the mundane hours have run their course. Within this time Artemis ("she") is "again the first / & always the only." Nerval's use of "again" is relevant insofar as it indicates a sort of pattern or nausea associated with the events which transpire. The "she" being the "only," and the moment in question being the "only moment," offers a kind of paradox which interacts with the repetition implied by "She's again the first." The temporality of the poem can be thought of as a kind of blanket moment superimposed on normal narrative. Nerval contrasts the female goddess of the poem with the Christian God with the phrase "The first or the last?", playing upon the notion that the Christian God is "alpha and omega, the first and the last," An interesting confusion of gender occurs when the narrator asks "Are you my king, are you the lone or last lover?" Which instills a kind of hermaphroditic quality to the figure being addressed, being at once queen and king, a lover of it/herself. The "lone or last" question implies a kind of gravity manifest in the situation.

As the poem progresses, the identity of the address figure begins to become more and more ambiguous. The second stanza opens with the apparent question "Love who loved you from the cradle in her tomb;" This statement can be seen as pertaining to the hermaphroditic quality of the addressed which has been established in the first stanza, or as pertaining to the narrator of the poem himself. The "cradle in her tomb" is relevant if the act of writing or naming is thought of as a kind of death, the narrator's "love" as manifest in the desire to laud or address by way of the poem exists in a kind of birth/death state which is lifeless, but also in a sense generative, hence the "cradle in the tomb." Faced with the prospect of uttering the poem as an expression of desire and also as an archive, the narrator is at once and infant and also dead. And the addressed, as the object of desire, shares the same fate or identity of the narrator "She is death -- or dead. . . O ecstasy! O agony!"

The poem represents the synthesis of identity which occurs when the unity of desirer and desired is achieved. This state is fatal and timeless, and can be seen as being represented by the writing itself; the only space whereby such a completed compact can be achieved. It is a state of bliss and also torment and a loss of self. It is Apollonian also, as it represents a kind of stasis or order, and a kind of sinister beauty. No one may look upon it and not be changed.

The "hollyhock rose" which the Artemis figure holds is relevant insofar as the hollyhock is a plant of many buds, symbolizing the many flowerings of identity in the poem, and the many identities of the poem's subject. It also refers to the inherent inaccuracy or insufficiency of language or naming, as the hollyhock flower is not a true rose and is thus a kind of misnomer, having acquired its meaning by way of convention. The subject of the poem holds this power of naming and flowering of disparate identities in her hands. She is an Apollonian patron of poetry, a destroyer ("she is death") who is also rendered lifeless (" -- or dead...").

The third stanza further expounds upon the identity of the Artemis character, casting her as the "Saint of Naples." This is appropriate in the light of the association of Italy with the mystical or mysterious that often appears in the work of Nerval's contemporaries. Her hands are "full of flame," reinforcing her role as a destroyer. However, as with every identity in the poem, this too is fluid, as the figure is subsequently identified as "Saint Gudula," who the notes to the poem inform us is the patron saint of Brussels. Thus the addressed is the patron of the North and the South, the known and the unknown, civilization and the unknown.

The figure is then asked "Did you find your cross in the barren sky?." Again the author is playing with Christian imagery with "cross" and contrasting it with ideas of paganism, the stars or heavens being the realm of the figures of mythology by way of the names of the constellations. Also, these heavens can be seen as a place of immortality, the stars standing in for a narrative that is written in the sky for all time, referring metaphorically to writing. The figures of the heavens can only be seen from within a certain context, thus they are immortal but also dependant upon the viewer or the viewer's perception of their own narrative.

The "white roses" of the final stanza allude to the hollyhock mentioned previously in the poem, but can also be seen as referring to the stars in the heavens. The author bids them fall, and speaks of them as "white phantoms," invoking once again a state of death-in life. Having uttered his poem, the narrator seeks the absolution of silence as he knows there is no fate for the synthesized self and other. The skies "burn," the narrative itself is charged with the destructive fire that the Artemis/Saint character holds in her hands. Insofar as human utterance or narrative achieves a sort of immortality or death-in-life, this is offensive to the gods as this is a privilege theoretically granted only to the gods themselves. In uttering human desire for a deified figure, and realizing that desire by way of poetry, the narrator has doomed and lost himself, his 'self.'

The poem closes with a negation of sorts when the author states that the "The saint of the abyss is more holy to my eyes." This abyss can be thought of as silence or emptiness, and is the author's true project. But we have already learned that the subject of the author's desire is the queen of death and silence, at once the patron of poetry and the destroyer of it. The narrator is not condemning her, but rather the archiving property of the stars insofar as they metonymically represent a narrative, literature. Thus the narrator is begging for the final union with his beloved, to be made silent and dead and immortal. Thus the poem negates itself, and negates its author, becoming a kind of paradoxical "empty record," the document of an impossible synthesis. It exists only in the aforementioned "13th" hour and is thus timeless and simultaneously nonexistent, indeed a kind of "Chimera."

NASA gets new signal from Mars rover

"Ack-ack-ack. Last time we dumped OUR trash on YOUR planet we blew up Tunguska. Ack-ack-ack."

Jan 22, 2004

Apparently as an "Ultimate Beautiful Woman," I'm not much different.

So goth you're dead!
You are every goth-kids dream!

Which Ultimate Beautiful Woman are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Since I don't have the ability to post (only link to) images, you'll have to take a walk on over to the Famous Monkey for a sneak preview of "29 Cheeseburgers."

Copies will be available at the book release party at Gallery 108 in Somerville on Saturday, February 7th from 5:30 to 7:30. (If you're dying to see it before then, and you promise to come to the party, get in touch with me and we'll see what we can do.)

I assume that the Romantic Poets Quiz does not have James Thompson. Ergo, I'm, not taking it...
Happy New Year Everyone!

Jan 21, 2004

Another ghost message. That's a stiff request, ghostie...

Why should I?
Cough. Cough. Cough.



It's nice of W. to reach out to bulemics tonight.



Jan 20, 2004

This from James:

from George Bowering on the Buffalo Poetics List:
The language is much larger, much older and much stronger than I will ever be. That is a reason for profound respect. If it lets me talk about a recipe for beef stew, I am thankful. If it lets me venture into the kind of experience that poetry is for, my eyes are wide open like those of a kid who has just seen a ghost. In fact, when you consider where Yeats, Shelley, Blake, Rilke, Duncan and Blaser say that their poetry comes from, one would be a fool not to be scared. {Add Spicer, no? Add, also, Mark Lamoureux.}

The place scares me but I live there. The German word for "Uncanny" also means "of or pertaining to the home."


I'm going back to bed.

For about twenty years.

Jan 17, 2004


In preparation for the impending Mars fiasco, it seems W. has cut funding to the Hubble Space Telescope... Why do something realistic and useful with NASA money, when you can plan for something expensive, absurd, utlimately pointless, which will probably never happen anyway.

On the subject of space, how about all those movies where space aliens invade Earth to ultimately save us from our destructive folly (ala "The Day the Earth Stood Still")?


Please invade before it's too late! We'll even take the "Visitors," even that would be an improvement over the current situation!

Jan 16, 2004

I live in Boston and I write poems. Some of my friends are poets. They don't always get along with each other. Sometimes my friends write poems that I really, really like. Sometimes they write poems that I don't like very much. When they write a poem I like, I usually say "I like this poem." When they write a poem I don't like I will more often than not not say much about it, unless they ask me specifically about the poem, at which point I will try and offer my opinions about how the poem could be improved, based on my understanding of what the poem is trying to do.

When I meet someone I've never met before, generally I prefer to be polite and friendly to them. Sometimes I meet people who have published books. Sometimes I meet people whose poems I've read for a long time and like very much. Sometimes I meet people whose poems I don't like as much. Sometimes I meet people in bars who sell aluminum siding, or vaccuum cleaners. Generally speaking, I prefer to be polite and cordial when I meet all of these people. This way, they are more likely to be polite and friendly to me. Which, generally speaking, is how I prefer to be treated.

Sometimes people don't like my work. This can hurt sometimes, but I believe in my work and everyone is entitled to their own aesthetic opinion. I have a number of friends who often do not like my poems. Sometimes I wish they liked my poems more, but this does not tend to lessen the experience of hanging out with them. Many of my friends like Cock-Rock. I personally cannot stand Cock-Rock. I never listened to Heavy Metal in high shcool, and I still sort of hate it. Sometimes these friends and I have funny arguments about Cock-Rock.

I've been writing poems for a long time and hope that my poems can find their way into the hands and brains of anyone who's life might be somehow enhanced by having read them. I wish this for anyone who feels compelled to write poems. The world is lonely enough as it is, it's better if people can be connected to things that make them feel less lonely.

Thanks to Shaw Izikson for an AudBLog of my "New Year's Day 2004." A very emotive rendering of the poem.

It is always interesting to hear one's work read by another, often inspiring new ways of looking at one's own work. I have a tendency to de-emphasize emotional tone when reading, preferring to try and let the words themselves carry the emotional resonance of the poem. So it is interesting to hear one of my poems read in a more tonal manner.


Jan 15, 2004

You all are gonna have to stop that right this second, or I'm turning this car around and we're going straight home, you hear me?
Does anyone know anything about Apple Airport cards? I'm trying to figure out if I can use and Airport card to connect to a D-Link Wireless Router that my roommate bought... If anyone knows anything about this, please email me.


Nobody told me God had donuts... I may have to restructure my view of the universe.

Jan 14, 2004

Tribe of 2 Sheiks: "America's Favorite Hummus."

So the motherfucker wants to go to the MOON. Apparently he's not happy just fucking shit up on this planet. No, he wants to FUCK SHIT UP on neighboring planets too. I guess he won't be satisfied until he's RUINED THE ENTIRE GODDAMN SOLAR SYSTEM!

What's Wrong with this Picture?

"WASHINGTON - President Bush (news - web sites) proposed on Wednesday to develop a new spacecraft to carry Americans back to the moon by 2015, and to establish a long-term base there as an eventual springboard to Mars and beyond.

Bush would withdraw the United States from the International Space Station by 2010 and retire the space shuttle fleet at about the same time. Details of his proposal were released by the White House in advance of a speech by the president at NASA (news - web sites) headquarters. "

Umm...if he gets re-elected in 2004, he only rules until 2008...

'Withdraw from the International Space Station," well, I guess if we don't need allies on Earth, we don't need them in space, either. Can we send Bush to the moon?

Without a spacesuit...

Received DVDs "Spritis of the Dead: Three Tales of the Macabre by Edgar Allen Poe," and "By Brakhage: An Anthology." The former was an impulse buy, the latter I've wanted for a long time.

Jan 13, 2004

Public Policy Crush List

#3. Jeffrey Record, Army War College Professor

Fish may rot from the head down, but it seems that the academic branch of the military (I know, sounds like an oxymoron doesn't, it) has at least some semblance of sense left. In a paper, Record calls the Iraq war a " strategic error," and a misuse of U.S. military resources. "'The United States may be able to defeat al-Qaeda, but it cannot rid the world of terrorism, much less evil,' Record writes. "

Story here.

#2. The ACLU, for defending Rush Limbaugh's right to privacy.

He may be an asshole, but he's citizen, ergo the Bill of Rights applies. Yep, Rush, by "humans" they mean black people, white people, homosexuals, immigrants, ignorant scumbags like yourself, and everyone else with a pulse...

"It may seem odd that the ACLU has come to the defense of Rush Limbaugh," the Florida chapter's executive director, Howard Simon, said in a statement. "But we have always said that the ACLU's real client is the Bill of Rights and we will continue to safeguard the values of equality, fairness and privacy for everyone, regardless of race, economic status or political point of view."

#1. Brazil

Apparently in reatliation for U.S. legislature stating that all Brazilian visitors to the United States must be fingerprinted, Brazil has instituted a policy whereby all visitors from the United States to Brazil must be fingerprinted. What's good for the goose is good for the gander, yankee. The Brazilian government has not backed down despite the fact that Rio is complaining that it will affect the tourist trade.

Story here

Jan 12, 2004

For the further adventures of Barbie, see The Chatlelaine's Poetics


Smoke clumps in sluggish bunches,
taxicabs creep abreast,

Platinum smell of snow,
the peal of the alarm
clock, the sound of my own heart

Tyrants in the winter,
all the old games.
My thoughts fall,

She opened her skin
for the Colonel, the Colonel
who did not speak
a language.

Behind the hood
of the sun
is a Wendigoo &
he swallows us all

January chiroscuro,
bouillion days, dial
random numbers
on the phone for
to say all these things
make me
think of you,

the plaster of these
walls, that's not mine,
either, how

space abhors those
who must go without:
food, shelter, sex or
what have you.

Generalissimo, I
arrange an army
of trinkets, which in these
blankets are
harder than diamonds.

Just back from Messiaen's "Quartet for the End of Time," at the HBS chapel, which really is a lovely building. It's too bad it is tucked away in the Death Star that is the HBS campus. The circular building provided good accoustics for the piece, amplifying the sustained blasts of "Abyss of the Birds" which invoke air-raid sirens and the drones of B-52's. It's a drag that the cultural significance of the piece was probably missed by many of those in attendance. But Messiaen's apocalyptic are as relvant today as they ever were in 1941, the only difference I suppose being that presently it's performed on high-end instruments in the relative comfort of the HBS campus, as opposed to beaten ones and a broken piano in the midst of a prison camp. The music itself, however, is the same.

Jan 11, 2004

I am satisfied with these results.

You are Arthur Rimbaud - a vital, cannon-changing poet with a flare for tantrums.  You tend to write in a fever, and have a liking for the disordered mind.  Don't expect people to un
You are Arthur Rimbaud - a vital, cannon-changing
poet with a flare for tantrums. You tend to
write in a fever, and have a liking for the
disordered mind. Do't expect people to
understand you, for you are ahead of your time.

Which Dead Poet Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Jan 10, 2004

To the ghost who left me the little message by way of the Google search, thank you.

Leave Barbie Alone

For some reason, I always seem to wind up rooming with guys who like to do things to Barbie dolls. Last night I came home and found occupying the kitchen shelf a Pabst Blue Ribbon can to which had been affixed a pair of Barbie doll legs and arms. Fortunately there is no chance that anyone else will come in my apartment until I can discuss with my roommate the notion that this newest piece of apartment be relocated to the privacy of his own room where he and his girlfriend can exclusively enjoy Pabst Barbie.

My previous apartment was home to Punk Barbie who had been constructed with duct tape, black magic markers and I think some kind of glue. Admittedly Punk Barbie was a little less disturbing than Pabst Barbie. But I believe Punk Barbie had to go away when one of us actually began seeing someone, I think. Though honestly, I don't know what has become of Punk Barbie.

For the record, I've never done anything to Barbie.

Poor Barbie, violated by hipsters, hated by feminists, quite obviously Ken's beard...

If I stick up for Barbie does that make me a meathead?

Hey you, leave Barbie alone!

I'm sorry that had to happen to you. Don't cry. Here, let me buy you a drink...

Jan 9, 2004

Jan 8, 2004

In 1940, Olivier Messiaen (1908-92) was interned in a German prison camp, where he discovered among his fellow prisoners a clarinettist, a violinist and a violoncellist. The success of a short trio which he wrote for them led him to add seven more movements to this Interlude, and a piano to the ensemble, to create the Quartet for the End of Time. Messiaen and his friends first performed it for their 5000 fellow prisoners on January 15, 1941.

If the plain facts of the work's origins are simple, the spiritual facts are far more complex. Messiaen's religious mysticism found a point of departure for the Quartet in the passage in the Book of Revelation (chapter 10) about the descent of the seventh angel, at the sound of whose trumpet the mystery of God will be consummated, and who announces "that there should be time no longer."

According to the composer, the Quartet was intended not to be a commentary on the Apocalypse, nor to refer to his own captivity, but to be a kind of musical extension of the Biblical account, and of the concept of the end of Time as the end of past and future and the beginning of eternity. For Messiaen there was also a musical sense to the angel's announcement. His development of a varied and flexible rhythmic system, based in part on ancient Hindu rhythms, came to fruition in the Quartet, where more or less literally Messiaen put an end to the equally measured "time" of western classical music.

The architecture of the Quartet is both musical and mystical. There are eight movements because God rested on the seventh day after creation, a day which extended into the eighth day of timeless eternity. There are intricate thematic relationships, as for example between movements two and seven, both of which are about the angel; and stylistic and theological relationships, as between movements five and eight.

In a preface to the score, Messiaen commented on each of the movements:

Liturgy of crystal. Between three and four o'clock in the morning, the awakening of the birds: a blackbird or a solo nightingale improvises, surrounded by efflorescent sound, by a halo of trills lost high in the trees...

Vocalise, for the Angel who announces the end of Time. The first and third parts (very short) evoke the power of this mighty angel, a rainbow upon his head and clothed with a cloud, who sets one foot on the sea and one foot on the earth. In the middle section are the impalpable harmonies of heaven. In the piano, sweet cascades of blue-orange chords, enclosing in their distant chimes the almost plainchant song of the violin and violoncello.

Abyss of the birds. Clarinet alone. The abyss is Time with its sadness, its weariness. The birds are the opposite to Time; they are our desire for light, for stars, for rainbows, and for jubilant songs.

Interlude. Scherzo, of a more individual character than the other movements, but linked to them nevertheless by certain melodic recollections.

Praise to the Eternity of Jesus. Jesus is considered here as the Word. A broad phrase, infinitely slow, on the violoncello, magnifies with love and reverence the eternity of the Word, powerful and gentle, ... "In the beginning was the Word, and Word was with God, and the Word was God."

Dance of fury, for the seven trumpets. Rhythmically, the most characteristic piece in the series. The four instruments in unison take on the aspect of gongs and trumpets (the first six trumpets of the Apocalypse were followed by various catastrophes, the trumpet of the seventh angel announced the consummation of the mystery of God). Use of added [rhythmic] values, rhythms augmented or diminished... Music of stone, of formidable, sonorous granite...

A mingling of rainbows for the Angel who announces the end of Time. Certain passages from the second movement recur here. The powerful angel appears, above all the rainbow that covers him... In my dreams I hear and see a catalogue of chords and melodies, familiar colours and forms... The swords of fire, these outpourings of blue-orange lava, these turbulent stars...

Praise to the Immortality of Jesus. Expansive solo violin, counterpart to the violoncello solo of the fifth movement. Why this second encomium? It addresses more specifically the second aspect of Jesus, Jesus the Man, the Word made flesh... Its slow ascent toward the most extreme point of tension is the ascension of man toward his God, of the child of God toward his Father, of the being made divine toward Paradise.

Strangely enough, I intend to go to this work event. "Quartet for the End of Time" is one of my favorite pieces. Anybody who wants to come out to HBS to see it, I'm sure I can get you in under my auspices, and you can get yummy HBS cafeteria food (the cafeteria is really good, I'm serious)!

Concert in the Chapel: On Mon., 1/12 at noon, the Kaleidoscope Chamber Ensemble will perform "Quartet for the End of Time" by Messaien. This free performance is open to all.
I don't really see the connection:

I am The Hierophant

The Hierophant often represents learning with experts or knowledgeable teachers. This card also stands for institutions and their values. The Hierophant is a symbol of the need to conform to rules or fixed situations. His appearance in a reading can show that you are struggling with a force that is not innovative, free-spirited or individual. Groups can be enriching or stifling, depending on circumstances. Sometimes we need to follow a program or embrace tradition, other times, we need to trust ourselves.

For a full description of your card and other goodies, please visit LearnTarot.com

What tarot card are you? Enter your birthdate.

Month: Day: Year:

I knew it, I knew it:

Money Can Buy Happiness

I love Boston. I hate Boston. I love Boston. I hate Boston. I love Boston. I hate Boston. I love Boston. I hate Boston. I love Boston. I hate Boston.

How many dysfunctional relationships do I need in my life, anyway?

Jan 7, 2004

I suppose waitress-fixations do not quite reach the level of this fellow. However, I am curious as to where one can procure blue roses...

Jan 6, 2004

None of the other porno spam in my bulk mailbox was nearly that interesting.

Uh... [SIGH]

That was probably a *BAD* idea...
Anyone interested in making little Arnatto Death Fire Canvas Makers?

"Arnatto death fire canvas maker" may need to be the title of my next book.

Or the name of my firstborn...

More Langpo Porno Spam

You know, this email does turn me on. But not in the way it's supposed to.

"From: "Jeremiad I. Dortmund"
Subject: wenlockian fame-thirsting deermouse

We have erotic footage of Jessica Simspon and her hubby from her newly weds series. Believe me when I say you must see this

Not now

caricaturisation credendum antineutron bitternut faradize decimal place band brake aedes boutique epiphytism baudekins diluvions cattle pump anticlimaxes arnatto death fire canvas maker colonnaded axiomatization's anteater earth chestnut assubjugate alternatives ypurinan wrestlers bank barn epiplastron eelshaped forksmith car mileage caesium clock cabin boy wildrick cosmonautically discussion flenches bangster fundraiser wagnerite crown daisy epigonation"

Eelshaped! Eelshaped!

I need to go clean up now...

Some People Like Baby Humans

But I....

AWWWW....Look...it's so *CUTE*...just look at its little dial!

If I am still thinking about waitresses by March or so, I'm going to have to be put down...
And I'm starting to develop fixations on waitresses who look like ex-girlfriends again, which bears an uncanny resemblance to the winter of 2003.

Thinking about waitresses at all is a sure sign that I need a long vacation somewhere.

I'm not really like this. It is my environment that has made me what I am today.

I have a jittery feeling about this 2004 business, but I am easily spooked.

However, 2003 is still driving carbombs into the headquarters of the new administration.

Looks great, when do we leave?

Jan 5, 2004

I've always envied the enthusiasm and the pomp which ensues for Tolkein Geeks, Star Wars kids, video game enthusiats, pirate fetishists or other groups of fanboys (and girls) are afforded when the latest filmic version of their obsession hits the big screen. One would think that my hour has finally arrived with the announcement of Troy: The Movie, were it not for the fact that I'm certain that it is going to be an execrable piece of garbage.
Strangely enough, I don't seem to mind being back at work.

Jan 4, 2004

You'd think if I was architecture I'd be making alot more money...

You are Architecture.
You are the most functional art form and rarely do
anything without some practical purpose.
Although you are capable of easilly outstaging
the other arts, you usually prefer to go

What form of art are you?
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Jan 2, 2004

Langpo Porno Spam

I got a porno spam from the following address:

From: "Shintoisms K. Goalkeeper" (crashcar@nctta.org)

Bearing the Subject Heading:

Subject: defilingly epithetically

The text of the message itself was more or less disappointing, however. Especially since I don't think the 19 year old girls were *really* waiting for my, well, you know...

Jan 1, 2004

No New Year's Day is complete without a Tu Fu ripoff:

New Year's Day, 2004

Wake to the new year alone, all
my old lovers in others' arms, as is
their nature, go to the mirror
& find more silver hairs, my stomach
always sour from wine & all those
doctors' useless pills. The infant
year, the new sun Phoebus Apollo thrusts
his bright lance thru the plum
of my heart, Apollo Lykeios who spit
in Cassandra's mouth to give her visions
is ridden by her own weeping ghost thru
my dreams, her barren womb
beside my thighs, giving birth to dire prophecies,
my priestess who shrieks in Apollo's temple:
these years pull us closer & closer together.

Watching the old year pass with friends & the children
of friends. Michael's Lucy draws bright
cats with rows & rows of wicked claws
& huge green eyes. I want her life to be
better than mine. I grow drunker & then
at last sleep, the voices of friends still
sorrounding me like a shimmering cloud.
This year my books my own young will go
into the world, I will give them shivs
& subway maps, tell them that someone
loves them.
Well, here we are in the other side of 2004. I am very glad that 2003 is behind us. I hope not to have another year like that one for some time to come. Not that the year was entirely bad, but it's highs and lows were precipitous and uneven. Hopefully 2004 will offer some shade of predicability and stability.

Currently I am most decidedly not in New York. Given that I feel like, well, how one would expect someone the morning after drinking on the hour, every hour, for ten hours or so, I don't imagine I am going to make it to New York, either. A fantastic, even if child-filled, party at James and Amanda's in which it seemed that every available surface was occupied by something delicious to eat.

Definitely an improvement over past New Years which were spent breaking up with people in public places. Perhaps not having done so will bode better this year relationship-wise. There is certainly nowhere to go but up in that department.