Lab 257

2011-09-27T17:33:00.001-07:00

Depressed again. shit. i've tried everything to overcome this biochemical spiral, but apparently i haven't done enough. :( probably will die young.

Excerpt from a booke

2011-05-22T22:38:00.000-07:00

“What are you looking for?”

“I seek to displace the heartache I feel inside.”

“Do you live in your parents’ basement?”

“No one lives in my parents’ basement.”

“Does a faint odor of fried chicken emanate from your pores?”

“I’m not sure. That’s one of those things everyone else could say but I would not know. You cannot smell your own.”

When I closed the receiver on the phone sex operator I felt hollow like a fox must feel when it has been chased up a tree and resigned itself to death by slow starvation as an alternative to being ripped apart by dogs.

That night when I went to sleep I had dreams of large women who wafted the mild odor of fried chicken from their axillas.

I woke up drenched in sweet perspiration. The room smelled of ginger bread houses and sour milk. I got up from the bed far too quickly and felt a blood rush; saw spinning. When my head stopped throbbing and the floor stopped moving I walked off-kilter to the window and pushed the glass pane up along the frame, careful not to disturb the thick black curtain shutting out the light of day.

My hair follicles prickled as moisture wicked away from my skin and out into the early morning air. Sensing the dryness of my mouth, I lamented that I was not wearing a stilsuit. I stumbled to the bathroom, bemused by my complete lack of equilibrium, and lapped at the water gushing from the rusty tap.

Schoolyard days. I examined the deep blue veins sticking out of my pale forearms. My widows peak marked my face with the severe look of an unwashed medieval peasant in an execution crowd. It jutted awkwardly down towards a chaotic unabrow.

“Thank God it’s a down arrow,” I chuckled aloud. “There’s not much hair on the top of my skull. Don’t want people looking up there.”

Racing stripes stretching from the frontalis bone thinning greasily toward the occipital region.

Sometimes I have wondered if I should straight razor the thin paint streaks decorating the naked dome of my head. But each time I have shrugged and thought, why subject myself to the cold?

‘The less hair you have the more cold you are, if I could grow a beard I would.’

I stroked at the gray stubble on my face. The eyes examining all of this looked reminiscent of the eyes of a retarded sex offender in a photograph that circulated the internet a few years back.

I rubbed them hoping to dispel the morning glaucoma effect of puffy eyes and a splitting headache. I pissed fragrant brown urine. Got some on the floor where the pubic hairs accumulate. Didn’t flush. Didn’t wash my hands.

I left the bathroom and its corroding mirror in pursuit of a hot pocket.

I found one on the floor in the crevice between the refrigerator and a cupboard.

‘How long has that been there?’

I shrugged and jammed my fleshy hand down the dark crack and groped wildly for it.

‘I think I bruised my thumb.’

The pain made me work harder for my goal.

Finally I made contact with the savory frozen rectangle of food.

I delicately wrapped two fingers around its soggy crust. My mouth became moist with saliva. I could not fail now. Slowly, I raised my arm. The inverted pizza weighed two tons. I felt the pressure on my wrist. I knew, in some private chasm of my soul, that I could not fail. If I failed, I would have to go sit on the toilet and wrap myself in the darkest solipsism I could muster.

Finally it crowned. My mouth watered even more furiously.

And then it was on the counter. And it took a great deal of self-control not to perform mouth to mouth resuscitation on it.

‘Who knows how long it has been there…’ Silence in my mind. I stared into space, unperturbed.

Eat, or don’t eat? The question was suspended in mid-air and I was indifferent. A little ruffle in the fabric of time and space would sway my decision either way.

I scanned the room and caught the glimmer of an ancient toaster oven in the corner of my eye.

‘If you toast it long enough, it will be fine.’

I sat on the fraying plaid couch eating the charred remains of the hot pocket. I had managed to sequester it into a Toaster Strudel. The flavor combinations of salty and sweet, tangy and smooth, nut and tomato flavors, spread across my palate.

I fell asleep watching curry westerns on VHS. ‘They don’t run those things on T.V.’

Again the large women haunted my dreams. I tossed and turned trying to evade the grasp of their fleshy arms. I was disappointed that I could not detect the scent of fried chicken in the chilly October air.

The women drew nearer in a pagan circle, distended abdomens hanging grotesquely over brightly colored under garments. I supposed they wore lingerie but the effect of seduction was lost in the rippling of their distorted forms. Instead, their panties looked like brightly colored harnesses. I imagined the swathes of cloth were part of an elaborate grip hoist dangling from a crane, made to lift massive objects like pianos and the corpulent and take them long distances. I wondered if these creature-women could be lifted up and placed on the communist-issue hi-rise down the street.

Clubs appeared in their hoof like hands. They drew nearer. Some unseen force held my body still and I could not run away. Their clubs turned into shanks of meat, dripping blood down unfurled arms. I could not discern where their chins ended and their necks began.

The first blow hit the softest part of my belly. I wanted to collapse into myself but my body was rigid. I felt the pain ricochet from a central point and run up along my nerves and out through my hands and feet. No matter how hard I screamed they just kept coming towards me, smacking lamb shanks and ham shanks against my stomach.

I woke up gripping my body, curled tightly in the fetal position. The air was acrid with the scent of moist flatulence. I sat up as quickly as my tenderized core would allow me and tried to run to the toilet bowl despite the pain.

***

I stared down at one of only two pairs of pants I owned, holding them sheepishly over the bathtub. I dropped them and heard the heavy damp cloth slap against the porcelain. I got up and washed scat particles from my fingers and shook my head.

‘Fuck.’

Another wave of pain washed over me. I shivered and felt chills run up my spine. Sweat seeped out of my palms. This time the diarrhea did not come as fast, but it did escape the anal sphincter before I could evacuate it into the appropriate channels. It was a sort of half-hearted spurt of feces. I felt it hot, slipping out of my ass crack and down my left leg, finding a plateau somewhere on the thigh. The whole experience was very anticlimactic, despite the initial burst of pain. I was too shocked to feel disgusted by this meaningless act of primitivism on the part of my anal cavity.

‘I’m never going to escape.’

I smashed a jumble of toilet paper into my hands and made to wipe my leg clean. Most of the excreta had found its way to the floor. The paper got stuck to the leg and left little bits of itself plastered uncomfortably to my inner thigh. I cleaned up the mess of the floor and sprayed it with some toxic-excuse for a bathroom cleaner. Napalm Fresh. I opened up the window above the toilet, removed my soiled pants from the bath tub, and hurled them to the street below. They landed in an overgrown bush that had woven itself into a rusty chain link fence. The fence made a shuddering noise as the pants made contact with the shrub.

‘that’s an ugly bush.’

I turned the shower nozzle to hot. Heard the spurt of water coming from the shower head and watched steam fill up the empty space in front of me. I took off my shirt and stepped into the scalding current. I didn’t get out until I felt like my skin was blistering.

I walked into my room, looking for a towel. None to be found. I stood there dripping puddles onto the dirty wooden floor boards and felt the grit of dust and sand clinging to my wet feet. Steam surrounded my body. It was damn cold in the apartment. I interpreted the missing towel as a sign. It meant I should just stand there helplessly and maybe light up a cigarette to bide the time.

3 pm. I looked at the analog clock propped up against the far wall of the studio. The moment I saw its hands moving I became painfully attune to the ticking noise of the seconds going by.

Then I realized I did not have any cigarettes. Heartsickness gushed up to my eyelids and my lips began to tremble.

Stuck in a moment of helplessness. Nothing could nullify this pain. I thought over my usual channels of anesthetization.

No one to touch. No one to touch me. A sad fleshy log, suspended between two legs, lying flaccid and alone.

I looked around at the clothes-strewn floor. An archipelago of unwashed dishes and half-read books dotted the landscape.

‘I need to get out of this place.’

I stared at the stuffed monkey on my bookshelf, brass cymbals poised to strike.

‘Inhabit. We all inhabit spaces in our own ways. My natural habitat is dirt and some fallen logs. Sunlight. By some strange, demented twist of fortune, I sit in a dark cell, dependent on a motorized vehicle, far from the centralized computing system but chained to the oppressive weight of industry and professionalization. An unemployed Atlas carrying the weight of the world.’

My stomach gripped again but nothing could come out of me. I was wasted.
Then I felt the seeping of saliva in my mouth; that feeling of knowing expectance that I was on the brink of vomiting.

‘What if I die?’ The thought scared me and appealed to me all at once. I walked calmly back to the bathroom, opened the toilet lid, bent over delicately, and watched chaos unfurl from my mouth. The juxtaposition of my graceful movements and the violence gushing from my gullet almost made me laugh despite the impossibility of the gesture.

Vomit in my nose. Chunks of puke wedged into the fold where the tongue meets the larynx. Mucous emerging from every orifice on my face. Watery eyes. Unexpectedly, relief.

I started shivering and realized I was still completely naked.

Through the window I heard my neighbor Jose hollering up to me.

<> I moved slowly to the window and peered out cautiously into the light of day. All 5’ of Jose stared up at me from the sidewalk. <>

I waved him away sheepishly and pulled my head back through the window.

2011-05-19T09:20:00.001-07:00

Estrangement from a cycle of violence and despair.

I am sitting on a stoop, listening. I am listening to M. One of M’s legs is, what one might call, ‘grossly deformed.’ It was not M’s leg that made me stop in my cycle of vanity and self-obsession, run to a five and dime, purchase a pack of cigarettes (which, by the way, are obscenely expensive as I learned from the total of my purchase) and scour the streets looking for him again. I first saw M hopping along down the street. He seemed strong and balanced; his acrobatics impressed me. I watched him hop to a cigarette butt receptacle, open it; pour through it seeking a smokable stub of nicotine and tar.

Some say we should ignore difference. Listen, asshole, M is different. That is just life. Ignore difference and ignore his existence, he still has to grovel through trash to feed himself. He still shits in front of old world pressed adobes.

No, pity did not make me stop for M. When I saw him hop across the street I thought he looked like an angel, someone who could float above the world and cut through traffic like a warm knife through butter. It was encountering him while he leaned under the alcove entrance of an arcade. I saw his face. A face that meant despair. I had never seen a face, a form, so filled with despair. His despair screamed out to my own crevices of longing and sorrow and pulled me towards him.

I sat, he spoke, he smoked, I listened. He told me I was an assassin. I told him there was no way I could convince him otherwise. I stared at the rough patches on his lame foot. How had it become so calloused?

“I don’t understand this world.” The heartbreak in a voice can drive one to instant insanity. I felt absurd, I felt ethnographic, I felt like M was on display for me and I was a Saturday morning talk show host. I felt like running away. I felt like an intruder. I felt like none of my pain was worth being in pain about.

Solipsism. I handed him half of my journal. I just tore it in half and gave it over.

“Is this world my creation or yours?”

I gave him my cheap plastic pen. I gave him the words inside that journal. I wish I had copied them down first. He was disturbed by my drawings. He told me they were dark and frightening. I can only imagine what he will think of the prose. Some rants about masturbation and retards.

eviscerate me and throw my organs in the street.

2011-05-06T18:02:00.000-07:00

love. lust. infatuation. it all sucks. it's all hard to sort out. i feel sad. i feel alone. i feel rejected. i feel awash in a maelstrom. flense the flesh from my fetid fecal forum.

SHIT

2010-04-21T21:07:00.000-07:00

i've been grappling with the sad, bloated suspicion that my efforts in compiling the smut of Lab 257 are too gauche. I think perhaps my fears have their roots in my boring html redesign. or perhaps I have been revising the form of the blog incessantly because its content makes me uncomfortable. i think the whole damn thing is too anti intellectual.

Regardless, i do need to focus on Division III. I have noticed a steady increase in posting frequency as I approach closer to the ultimate deadline. Fear of commitment much? I suppose so.

But look at this blog!

It's a fucking hot mess.

I think I am abandoning ship.

i am addicted to posting meaningless crap... so you will most likely see more from me... but my heart is no longer "in it."

also, i'm moving to tumblr. i'm going to assimilate into art theory intellectualism. i'm going to read books about art and shit like that. i am going to marry a guy named Franz. i am going to shed the last remnants of my trash Long Island upbringing and become absorbed by the big glowing orb of a pretentious echelon of le societe. i am going to speak french (starting tomorrow) and I am going to stop farting.

i will no longer watch videos about chimpanzees ripping off faces of ladies, eating their hands or on sting rays jumping up at people on speed boats and killing them.

fabulous, fabulist, fabulous.

please handcuff me to a highway guardrail and shoot me in the head.

negative pressure

2010-04-18T19:15:00.001-07:00

2010-04-18T14:11:00.000-07:00

Go away creepy boys, I do not, absolutely not, want to sleep with you.

Photo Credit: Emily Eastridge.

i may wear business casual, but i am worthless

2010-04-18T12:24:00.000-07:00

bird song. gray day.

2010-04-17T16:54:00.001-07:00

LOVE LETTER

2010-04-17T11:10:00.000-07:00

January 22, 2003

Sender Information:

J.K. Rowling

Sent by: Theodore Goddard

Theodore Goddard

London, EC1A 4EJ, UK

Recipient Information:
[Private]
www.psa.shadow-wrapped.net
Canberra, ACT, 2614, Australia

Sent via: email
Re: Harry Potter Adult Fan Fiction

Dear Sir:

Harry Potter adult fan fiction

We are a firm of solicitors (attorneys) in London. We have been consulted by our client Christopher Little Literary Agency, on behalf of Ms J. K. Rowling and by our client Warner Bros, in connection with the Harry Potter adult fan fiction and illustrations made available by you at URL http://www.psa.shadow-wrapped.net .

As you are aware, Ms Rowling is the author of the Harry Potter books. Ms. Rowling therefore owns the copyright in the Harry Potter books. The sexually explicit content of the fan fiction and illustrations available atwww.psa.shadow-wrapped.net, which are plainly based on characters and other elements of the fictional worldcreated by Ms. Rowling in the Harry Potter books, are a matter of serious concern to our client. In addition, our client Warner Bros, which owns the film and merchandising rights to the children's series of Harry Potter books, is concerned to protect the integrity of its Harry Potter properties. For the avoidance of doubt, our clients make no complaint about fan fiction written by genuine Harry Potter fans.

There is plainly a very real risk that impressionable children, who of course comprise the principal readership of the Harry Potter books, will be directed (e.g. by a search engine result) to your sexually explicit website, which you will appreciate most people would consider wholly inappropriate for minors. Plainly the warnings to the effect that children under 18 should not access your website do not in fact prevent minors from doing so. Indeed such warnings may well serve simply to entice teenagers to your site.

You have chosen to publish the material in question on the worldwide web where it may be seen by anyone with access to the internet. If you choose to publish to the world at large, then in our view you should conduct yourself accordingly. It is no answer to suggest that the fault lies with the children, or their parents, if they visit your website, whether they do so inadvertently or otherwise. We see no reason why online publishers should consider themselves relieved of the responsibilities and legal obligations accepted by publishers in every other medium, and the Courts of both England and Australia take the same view.

In the circumstances, our clients therefore request you to remove all such material and cease making it available lo the general public on the internet or by any other means. Would you please let us have your confirmation that you will do so by no later than 18:00 GMT on Wednesday, 29 January 2003.

Yours faithfully,

[private]

OH CANADA!

2010-04-16T21:29:00.000-07:00

how i feel right now

2010-04-16T20:51:00.001-07:00

The news is in rare form today!

2010-04-16T14:47:00.000-07:00

April 16, 2010 3:16 PM

Matthew Clemmens Shows Fan Appreciation in Disgusting New Way - By Puking on Cop's Kid, Allegedly

PHILADELPHIA (CBS/AP) Matthew Clemmens might have had a bad time at the Wednesday night Phillies game, but not nearly as bad a time as the 11-year-old he (allegedly) threw up on - intentionally. Allegedly.

Police say that the 21-year-old Clemmons shoved his fingers down his throat and vomited on the 11-year-old daughter of off-duty Easton Police Capt. Michael Vangelo, then allegedly slugged the cop in the head several times.

"It was the most vile, disgusting thing I've ever seen," Vangelo told the Philadelphia Daily News. "And I've been a cop for 20 years."

The display was apparently the climax to several innings' worth of vile behavior and harassment from Clemmens and his cohort, who was ejected from the stadium right before Clemmens regurgitated on the young girl, according to the Daily News.

The trouble started "the minute we sat down at the game," Vangelo said. He said Clemmens and his friend were seated in the row behind him and his family cursing loudly until Vangelo's 15-year-old daughter asked them to stop, according to the paper. That's when things really started to get ugly.

"One guy started spitting . . . first it landed on the back of my daughter's chair. Then it landed on her hooded sweatshirt," Vangelo recounted Thursday.

Vangelo reported the behavior to an usher who promptly kicked the spitter out. But the harassment didn't stop with him, says Vangelo, claiming he saw Clemmens stick his fingers down his throat and lean over his family. He says he tried to move his family out of harm's way but didn't quite move fast enough.

Philadelphia police say Clemmens also punched Vangelo and vomited on an arresting officer.

Clemmens is in custody on charges including assault and harassment. Bail is $12,000.

HIV deemed biological weapon.

2010-04-16T14:33:00.000-07:00

They're Trying to Call HIV-Positive People Bioterrorists?

HIV-positive Daniel Allen was charged with 'possession or use of a harmful biological device' after biting his neighbor during a neighborhood fight.

April 16, 2010 |

YOU LIKE WHAT YOU READ?

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pukey pukey pukey mucous lalalalalalalalala unicorns & popsicles lalalala hysterical Wizard.

The body of a 44-year-old man is a bioterror weapon, according to a Michigan county prosecutor who is charging Daniel Allen, with "possession or use of a harmful biological device" for biting his neighbor during a neighborhood fight. Allen is African American and HIV-positive; his case is believed to be the first in the nation where prosecutors are linking anti-terrorism laws to an individual's HIV infection.

On October 18, Allen and his neighbor, Winfred Fernadis Jr., got into an argument that quickly turned violent. Allen contends he was the victim of a hate crime -- Fernandis allegedly taunted him about his sexual orientation after a stray football landed in Allen's yard -- and he has filed a complaint with the FBI. (He also filed a personal protection claim against the Fernandis family.)

Fernandis, however, suffered a severe bite through his lip, as well as bites on his ear, nose and neck; he was hospitalized for his wounds. Allen too suffered injuries. At an early hearing on the case, Allen's lawyer presented 37 photographs of his wounds, including bite marks on his body. Allen was initially arrested on assault charges, but when Macomb County Prosecutor Eric Smith discovered he was HIV-positive from his disclosure on a local news broadcast, he decided to additionally charge him with using his body as a terrorist weapon.

In court on April 8, Allen refused a plea deal offered by the prosecution, which would have obligated Allen to plead guilty to "assault with intent to cause great bodily harm less than murder," a charge that carries a 10-year-sentence. In exchange, Smith would have dropped the charges of "assault with intent to maim" (another 10-year felony), and "possession or use of a harmful biological device" -- the "device" being Allen's own body. This last charge -- a 15-year-felony -- would apply a state anti-terrorism law that was broadly rewritten in the wake of the 9/11 attacks.

The American Civil Liberties Union of Michigan has filed an amicus brief in Allen's case that urges the terrorism charge to be dismissed. TheMacomb Daily reports that Allen's lawyer, James Galen, intends to further file a motion to dismiss the charges. The case returns to court for final pre-trial hearings at the end of April.

To read more, see the full article at alternet

Ode to the Hampshire College library, home of my heart

2010-04-16T13:10:00.000-07:00

the drug addicted hipsters
sit on the first floor
discussing the weather
and twirling their curls

the guy that looks like william shatner
struts back and forth
i drink a diet pepsi
and feel no self worth

Technical Services,
you ladies are so nice
I hope that Mark Spiro
Gets infested with lice.

The kids at the desk
are always so nice
except for ______
He can be cold as ice.

the reference librarians
can be chatty or catty,
depending on how they feel
or if you are bratty.

A man at IT
so timid and thin
i think you are lonely
drowning sorrow with gin

the guys at media services
are all in bands
they make funny noises
and sit on their hands

the usual suspects
crowd the public computers
feeling the Div stress
touching their cooters

another guided tour
breaks through the quiet
shattering concentration
makes me want to riot

diarrhea,
clogs the first floor toilet
there's a doodle that's witty,
the poop fumes spoil it

I told you I love you
under florescent light
we had sex in the media basement
then got in a fight

this place is filled with memories
most of them dumb
but I'll never forget it
no, never, old chum

as i sit here in stripes
smelling so bad
i wonder if i'll graduate
or get stuck in undergrad.

the vacuum of my heart
will suck you down inside me
and as i get older
i'll tell the library story--

--to my kids to my grandkids
to my pet narwhal
this place here is special
for me and for all.

Hausu- never fails to make me chuckle

2010-04-15T23:35:00.001-07:00

Nothing can stop me now.....

2010-04-15T22:42:00.001-07:00

BLACK NO 1

2010-04-15T22:13:00.000-07:00

R.I.P. Petrus T. Ratajczyk,
king of poo poo.

She's in love with herself
She likes the dark
On her milk white neck
The Devil's mark
It's all Hallows Eve
The moon is full
Will she trick or treat
I bet she will

She's got date at midnight
With Nosferatu
Oh baby, Lilly Munster
Ain't got nothing on you
Well when I called her evil
She just laughed
well cast that spell on me
Boo Bitch Craft

Yeah you wanna go out 'cause it's raining and blowin
You can't go out 'cause your roots are showing
Dye em black
Dye em black
black black Black no. 1

Loving you was like loving the death

Little wolf skin boots
And clove cigarettes
An erotic funeral
For witch she's dressed
Her perfume smells like
Burning leaves
Everyday is Halloween

Loving you was like loving the dead

Bad ideas in the history of mankind

2010-04-14T20:14:00.001-07:00

The Ford Nucleon: A concept car from 1958. A nuclear powered car.... hmmmm.

Change is on its way

2010-04-14T18:00:00.000-07:00

Whether I like it or not,
change is on its way.

Graduation is a-coming.
This little life I've built up for myself
will be broken open
and I will have to start from square one.

I think I will be OK in the real world.
I'm applying for Gov-ment jobs and some random exploitative internships.
I also have a position with ____(union)____ waiting for me.

The action plan:
I'm thinking about 6 months to a year of conservation work, 1 to 2 years of union organizing, then grad school. I've got a three to 5 year plan laid out for myself and it fills me with dread.

Why does life after college have to be so transient and chaotic? It's like I'm emerging from a secondary birth canal.

I've gotten to know this valley pretty well and I am beginning to love it here. Now I must leave iiiiiiiiiiittttttttttttt :( :( :( :( :(

Option B: Go to Boston, be a bread seller, stay silently in love with my boss and reopen some crappy wounds, pour salt on them, and then pass out in a ditch.

Option C: Live a vagabond life and take up a drinking habit. (see figure at right)

Option D: Come to terms with the fact that I am just mediocre and mostly dumb. Let myself die in a field.

Option E: I make it as a writer. I get a house keeper and a bartender, I lie on my back for the next 40 years thinking about all the things I could be doing if I weren't so busy being leisurely.
---------

I do plan to write a book when I graduate. I've already started it (see other Sputnik blog "I don't have a name" for more info).

I am intent on being disciplined in the work that I do, to engage in physically demanding tasks, and to push myself as hard as I can for as long as I can. Then, well, I'll think about grad school.

BUT AHHHHH! Tonight, as I watched the bats dance in the sky, the sunset turning everything periwinkle, I knew I could not leave.

Everything is hurtling by at a frightening pace.

A review of the book about Lab 257, by the creator of the Lab 257 blog

2010-04-14T14:25:00.000-07:00

I was just thinking, because this blog is called "Lab 257" I should write a bit about the actual lab on Plum Island, New York. But because I am lazy, I will write about a book a guy wrote about Lab 257.

Lab 257: The Disturbing Story of the Government's Secret Plum Island Germ Laboratory, is by a righteous dude called Christopher Michael Carroll. Before you run from the prospect of reading an academic book, this particular book has PICTURES IN IT.

The book basically defines correlations between the Lab and everything from the West Nile Virus to Barbra Streisand's infectious voice. I guarantee a juicy conspiracy theory, or your money back.

You get 10 consumption points if you actually go ahead and purchase this book. If you happen to break a limb or run down an old woman during your consumer frenzy, you get 1000 gold doubloons- they're magically delicious. You get 2000 consumption points if you purchase it on your Kindle. Slap on an exponent of two to that score if you purchase it on your Kindle with gluttonous cheezy-puff covered fingers.

Poetry in (E)Motion

2010-04-14T12:25:00.000-07:00

Its been awhile
Since I've sat at this carrel,
Racking my brain
Lower back in pain.
My eyes have become bloodshot,
Hollow and sad,
In my leg there's a bloodclot,
that's probably bad...
But I don't have the time
To get this shit checked out
So I'll sit here and whine,
Whimper & pout.
You might think I'm lame,
Or mostly insane,
So I'll paste on a smile,
And let you stay in denial.

The Origins of Data

2010-04-14T07:55:00.000-07:00

"Dialog in "Datalore" establishes some of Data's backstory. It is stated that he was deactivated in 2336 on Omicron Theta after an attack by the Crystalline Entity, a spaceborne creature which converts life forms to energy for sustenance. He was found and reactivated by Starfleet personnel two years later. Data went to Starfleet Academy from 2341-45 and then served in Starfleet. He was assigned to the Enterprise under Captain Picard in 2364, after two prior ship assignments. In "Datalore", Data discovers his amoral brother, Lore, and learns he was not the first android constructed by Soong. Lore fails in an attempt to betray the Enterprise to the Crystalline Entity, and Data beams his brother into space at the episode's conclusion."

-Data (Star Trek) Wikipedia Page

What's Hot? Nerdism and the new DaDa

2010-04-14T07:42:00.000-07:00

Carpal Tunnel.

So, I've been doing some reflecting. When I think of the way my brain works and the socially awkward crazy freak I am, I can easily get down on myself for being a slug. A lot of people that know me think I am super sociable sally. WRONG. My natural state is a one of introversion and introspection.

My phone has a recording device in it. Sometimes it triggers and records my day. When I listen to the accidental records of my life, 75 to 90% of them are of complete silence or white noise.

Which is odd, because my mind is constantly going and I never feel "quiet."

It's like when people type their thoughts on chat roulette. You see them just sitting there, but something is going on upstairs (although, with the selection of individuals that use the service, I cannot vouch for the amount of brain activity they utilize).

One time my friend and I used an instant messenger service while sitting across from one another. We stared at each other meaningfully while we typed, and then a message would appear. It was almost like we were using ESP. I felt like an elf of Rivendell in the LOTR movie.

TANGENT.

My point is that I tend to default to "mask mode." I have an autopilot sociable persona that goes around making bad jokes, asking the right questions, and using the appropriate inflection of voice. Don't get me wrong, there are moments when I am totally there with the people I am communicating with. There are moments when I can get into a deep belly laugh and feel real human. but most times i just make this annoying Fran Drescher noise that I refer to as "laughter."

Maybe I'm mildly sociopathic? I dunno. I do feel. Many times the feeling is anger and sorrow, but I do experience moments of intense happiness and contentment.

I think a lot of people experience the world in a similar way - through the broken goggles of mania- but I bet they'd be the first ones to call me a freak if I articulated this in person.

The flip side of this whole deranged post is that I am just overworked, stressed out, and living at a constant extreme of LIFE= SCHOOL WORK; WORK; BASIC LIFE FUNCTIONS.

Days where I give myself enough empty time, just being time, I tend to be more emotive and more connected. Perhaps my whole generation is undergoing social desensitization. I know a lot of theorists write about this phenomenon- as says house mate EMV.

Is desensitization a necessary outcome of rapid increases in economic production; consumption cycles? Is it the inevitable consequence of a rationalizing society? Is life going to turn into an episode of Star Trek? Will dudes like Patrick Stewart one day be considered "humorous, social swinging deviants?" Will we turn into Vulcans or Romulans?

Ultimately, no matter how disconnected we get from our emotional/ hormonal intricacies, we are beholden to our rage and motivated by anxiety.

Data: "There was a rather peculiar Limerick, being delivered by someone in the shuttlecraft bay. I'm not sure I understand it... ”There was a young lady from Venus, whose body was shaped like a..."

Capt. Picard: "Captain to security, come in!"

a hyperlinked love letter, to you my friend!

2010-04-13T17:09:00.000-07:00

For you:

Sketchy bunnies, with dogs.

With love,

D

Jan Svankmajer --- Meat Love

2010-04-13T16:13:00.000-07:00

everything you ever wanted to know about chaos, destruction, and more.

2010-04-13T10:35:00.000-07:00

Major Extinction Events

hounded

2010-04-12T17:50:00.000-07:00

Harlan Howard

He was born and raised around Jacksonville. A nice young man, not the kind to kill.

But a jealous fight and a flashing blade sent him on the run to the Everglades. Runnin' like a dog through the Everglades.

Now, the posse went in and they came back out. They said he'll die and there ain't no doubt.
It's an eye for an eye so the debt is paid. He won't last long in the Everglades. A man can't live in the Everglades.

Where a man can hide and never be found and have no fear of the bayin' hounds.
But he better keep movin' and don't stand still. If the 'skeeters don't get then the 'gaters will. Runnin' like a dog through the Everglades. (Last time - Skippin' like a frog through the slimy bog. Runnin' through the trees from the Everlys.)

Now, the years went by and his girl was wed. His fam'ly gave him up for dead.
But now and then the natives would say they'd seen him runnin' through the Everglades.

Now, he never heard the news on the radio. He was deep in the 'glades so he'll never know.
His runnin' and hidin' didn't make much sense for the jury had ruled it was self-defense.
Running like a dog through the Everglades.

some of us are cursed

2010-04-12T11:35:00.000-07:00

some of us are cursed to be dumb nerds.

vomit in the key of blech

2010-04-12T10:39:00.000-07:00

how many times will i have to pee? so much coffee so much water. as my kin has pointed out, our family is notorious for our small bladders. roadtrips are hell.

aforementioned kin also once told me that he/she inherited a leaky asshole from our dad. I don't know if my asshole is leaky. I don't really pay attention to these things. If it aint broke, don't fix it.

Lesson to the wise: go out and play. It's much better than sitting around fingering your asshole.

"Wise man say, man who go to bed with itchy bum wake up with smelly finger."

- A Dysfunctional Sicilian Proverb

Dredges of the Amherst College Library

2010-04-11T19:25:00.000-07:00

Doing work surrounded by prancing pastel polo shirts.

Two young 'women' behind me began to comment to one another in whispers on the fact that my companion and I were smelly and dirty looking.

My companion and I got into a loud conversation roughly 10 minutes later detailing the lice infestation at the "preschool we work for" and how we suspected we could have gotten lice. I would once and awhile reach up to scratch my head vigorously and shake my hair around.

We discussed in gory detail the repercussions of lice infestations. Having to use rid, having to shave your head, etc.

About three hours later, as I leaned back to stretch, a funny thought came into my mind regarding the nearer of the callow Amherst pea brains: what if I reached back and grabbed her head?

Of course, I wrote the idea down on a piece of paper for my companion to see. My companion fell into a fit of hysterics, I had to run to the ladies room to laugh aloud and calm down. Then, well, I thought I was OK. I left the industrially tiled room and re-emerged into the stacks. With each step I could feel the tension building. I took a deep breath and said to myself "be an adult."

I walked over to the table where my companion was sitting. I sat down at my seat, hiding my uncontrollable grin behind my shirt sleeve. I managed a straight face and made firm eye contact with my companion. I watched as her lips began to tremble, her shoulders to convulse, and a squeak of suppressed laughter peeled from her throat.

"You bastard!" I hissed.

Then once more I was running to the bathroom to laugh aloud and calm down.

Rinse repeat, I went back to the table. This time, with a steel resolve, I grabbed all of my belongings and found a seat at a distant study area.

My companion sits far away from me now, but I can still sense the hysteria of suppressing a gaff in a quiet library.

2010-04-11T17:34:00.001-07:00

i forgot about my shrine to Billy Mays

2010-04-10T15:27:00.000-07:00

Our Mother the Mountain

2010-04-10T15:08:00.001-07:00

My lover comes to me with a rose on her bosom
The moon's dancin' purple
All through her black hair
And a ladies-in-waiting she stands 'neath my window
And the sun will rise soon on the false and the fair

Singing Too-ra-loo-ra-li

She tells me she comes from my mother the mountain
Her skin fits her tightly
And her lips do not lie
She silently slips from her throat a medallion
Slowly she twirls it in front of my eyes

Singing Too-ra-loo-ra-li

I watch her, I love her, I long for to touch her
The satin she's wearin'
Is shimmering blue
Outside my window her ladies are sleeping
My dogs have gone hunting
The howling is through

Singing Too-ra-loo-ra-li

So I reach for her hand and her eyes turns to poison
And her hair turns to splinters,
And her flesh turns to brine
She leaps cross the room, she stands in the window
And screams that my first-born
Will surely be blind

Singing Too-ra-loo-ra-li

She throws herself out to the black of the nightfall
She's parted her lips
But she makes not a sound
I fly down the stairway, and I run to the garden
No trace of my true love
Is there to be found

Singing Too-ra-loo-ra-li

So walk these hills lightly, and watch who you're lovin'
By mother the mountain
I swear that it's true
Love not a woman with hair black as midnight
And her dress made of satin
All shimmering blue

EPCOT CENTER like you've never seen it before.

2010-04-09T20:19:00.001-07:00

Don't shake me lucifer

2010-04-09T19:56:00.000-07:00

This post is dedicated to Remy Z and Doran W.

First off, let me say I am experiencing some of the worst flatulence of my young life.

Second, let me wish you both a heartfelt congratulations on graduating. That makes two of us.

Third, what do you think is happening in this picture?

Fourth, a blessing on your homes .

Fifth, i cannot wait for my surprise.

Sixth, think of this face when you're feeling glum:

fifteen minutes of fame

2010-04-09T19:05:00.000-07:00

Thank you to Allitron for alerting me to my 15 minutes of fame. Although the video is 20 minutes long, i am obscured for roughly five minutes. good times.

MY MOM'S FACEBOOK STATUS:

2010-04-09T18:57:00.000-07:00

Dear Lord it is mY will to surrender to you everything that I am and everything that I'm striving to be. I open the deepest recesses of my heart to you and invite your HOLY SPIRIT TO DWELL INSIDE OF ME.on Thursday

in the dark

2010-04-09T14:44:00.000-07:00

If I needed you would you come to me,
Would you come to me, and ease my pain?
If you needed me
I would come to you
I'd swim the seas for to ease your pain

In the night forlorn the morning's born
And the morning shines with the lights of love
You will miss sunrise if you close your eyes
That would break my heart in two

The lady's with me now since I showed her how
To lay her lily hand in mine
Loop and Lil* agree she's a sight to see
And a treasure for the poor to find

*The name of Townes's parakeets.

correspondence

2010-04-08T07:41:00.000-07:00

from G

to		D
date		Wed, Apr 7, 2010 at 10:04 PM
subject		If only you were here

10:04 PM (12 hours ago)

to hear my fart-on my god so loud. I had burritos with cheese at dinner. My tummy is soo unhappy. Gummy bears and bridge cookie not the best remedy.

On 2nd floor of library, so much div and just went to see Katrina's Div it was sooo hot in the studio theatre :)

How are you?

That guy that you know that walks around reading is wearing short shorts right now, like really short cut off jeans. He has sexy legs! Very pale but surprisingly well formed.

Cushmans soon!? YEs.

:)

g

div iii diaries

2010-04-07T12:16:00.000-07:00

today i rubbed my legs down with vegetable oil--- a fancy name for soybean oil.

then i went outside and my skin was scorched off.

i walked to my division iii meeting.
i talked to my member.
i played with my member. (joke).

now i am sitting in the aftermath of 3 cups of English Breakfast Tea and too much sun exposure.

Today I signed away my organs. I keep doing that. Oh well, there will be an interstate war over the rightful home of my kidneys. I made a lot of puns during my conversation with the woman who wanted my organs harvested. she didn't think they were funny. i didn't think they were funny. pissing her off was funny.

You know what? as I contemplated my death I imagined how my family would feel if my body were whisked off to some laboratory and plucked and pinched for the cause of scientific progress. I wouldn't care, I'd be dead.

But I bet my mother would care.

You know what they used as the original crash test dummies? Cadavers. They put them in spandex leotards and drove them into brick walls. Also, I hear they ran them down with pick up trucks. I just think the whole thing is hillarious.

OH LORD, Apparently they still do it!

DRUG HABIT (GET IT?!?!?! HEEEHAAWWWW)

2010-04-07T04:56:00.001-07:00

Chernobyl Blues

2010-04-06T22:34:00.000-07:00

I was blown away by Paul Fusco's photo-documentary project Chernobyl Legacy. His accompanying narrative was very raw, uncut, and evocative of his emotions, which enhanced the photos in certain ways. However, I found a great deal of his commentary to be overwhelmingly problematic. Fusco referred to the disabled youth as "monsters," claimed that they appeared to be of a "different race," and compared their situation to that of pack animals (right after making the race comment). I feel he could craft a better frame of the photographs without dehumanizing the children we see in them. While these "deformities" and "mutations" were the tragic outcome of man's self-serving single-mindedness, there are people who are naturally born with similar disabilities.

Within the "first world," we talk about wanting to eradicate the disease, find the cure, make people better, etc. We shun difference. We send individual "anomalies" that cannot 'mainstream' to institutions. For those who exist outside of the confines of whitewashed walls, they live lives filled with peer ridicule; stairs barring entry and egress; physical, psychological, and sexual abuse; feelings of inadequacy and shame..

As a society we value changing the people to conform to the built environment and to blur into established social norms. One day we might hear, "I'm sorry Jew, your nose is too big to ride the Ferris Wheel."" Mankind has the ability to manipulate its environment with tools to facilitate ease, convenience, and species-propagation. Why the hell can't we install wheelchair ramps more often than not.

To project the eugenics-rhetoric onto the Belarussian victims of the Chernobyl meltdown is a sad card to play. It is almost like Fusco completely misses the point of his own photographs and of his own experience in the country. He talks about the human qualities of these kids, makes comments of how they seem internally active and youthful, rails against the failure of the USSR and the repercussions of its haughty tyranny, and shares the tender moments he witnesses in the hospital. But while giving us some of the human elements of the sad aftermath, he favors sticking to a shock & awe rant on the horrors of these scarred bodies...He waves deformed limbs around like a Freak Show Carnival

just patch it up with some duct tape.

2010-04-06T21:23:00.000-07:00

Cyber Incident Blamed for Nuclear Power Plant Shutdown

By Brian Krebs

washingtonpost.com Staff Writer

Thursday, June 5, 2008; 1:46 PM

A nuclear power plant in Georgia was recently forced into an emergency shutdown for 48 hours after a software update was installed on a single computer.

The incident occurred on March 7 at Unit 2 of the Hatch nuclear power plant near Baxley, Georgia. The trouble started after an engineer from Southern Company, which manages the technology operations for the plant, installed a software update on a computer operating on the plant's business network.

The computer in question was used to monitor chemical and diagnostic data from one of the facility's primary control systems, and the software update was designed to synchronize data on both systems. According to a report filed with the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, when the updated computer rebooted, it reset the data on the control system, causing safety systems to errantly interpret the lack of data as a drop in water reservoirs that cool the plant's radioactive nuclear fuel rods. As a result, automated safety systems at the plant triggered a shutdown.

Southern Company spokeswoman Carrie Phillips said the nuclear plant's emergency systems performed as designed, and that at no time did the malfunction endanger the security or safety of the nuclear facility.

Phillips explained that company technicians were aware that there was full two-way communication between certain computers on the plant's corporate and control networks. But she said the engineer who installed the update was not aware that that the software was designed to synchronize data between machines on both networks, or that a reboot in the business system computer would force a similar reset in the control system machine.

"We were investigating cyber vulnerabilities and discovered that the systems were communicating, we just had not implemented corrective action prior to the automatic [shutdown]," Phillips said. She said plant engineers have since physically removed all network connections between the affected servers.

Computer security experts say the Hatch plant incident is the latest reminder of problems that can occur when corporate computer systems at the nation's most critical networks are connected to sensitive control systems that were never designed with security in mind.

Specifically, experts worry that vulnerabilities were introduced into the systems that regulate the electrical grid as power companies transferred control of generation and distribution equipment from internal networks to supervisory control and data acquisition, or SCADA, systems that can be accessed through the Internet or by phone lines, according to consultants and government reports.

The move to SCADA systems boosts efficiency at utilities because it allows workers to operate equipment remotely. But experts say it also exposes these once-closed systems to cyber attacks.

"Part of the challenge is we have all of this infrastructure in the control systems that was put in place in the 1980s and '90s that was not designed with security in mind, and all of sudden these systems are being connected to [Internet-facing] business networks" said Brian Ahern, president and chief executive of Industrial Defender Inc., a Foxborough, Mass.-based SCADA security company.

Joe Weiss, managing partner at Cupertino, Calif.-based Applied Control Solutions, said Hatch is not the only plant that has suffered this type of unusual event. But he said it is one of a handful of public events of this type because the Nuclear Regulatory Commission documents all unusual events, in contrast to non-nuclear facilities that do not make their unusual events public.

"Consequently, it is expected that non-nuclear facilities have experienced similar events," Weiss said. "The Hatch event illustrates the unintended consequences that could occur when business information technology systems interconnect with industrial control systems without adequate design considerations."

dear google hot trends

2010-04-05T13:56:00.001-07:00

who the hell is chris kanyon and from where did he come out?

EDITOR'S NOTE:
This is Chris Kanyon:

He killed himself.

back to div iii.

sum 1 like u

2010-04-05T13:55:00.000-07:00

DEAR MYSPACE JOURNAL:
TOTS LET ME TELL U HOW MUCH I LUVVVZZZ UUUUU.

Yesterday Toni TONI Toni told me toni told me that i wuz his best luvvverrrrrrrrrr.

wwwwwuwufuifuaifjaipjfiajfjfpafjif as

so then i went two merican pparel. and then i walkedd 2 the deli and it wuz delicious FTW!

u no wut? in 50 yearz colloquial english will b more efficient. the way i rite will sound like old people speak. seriously seriously seriously

my mom calls my sister Rebecky.

Two girls, one cup.

2010-04-05T05:45:00.001-07:00

SPORTS

2010-04-04T15:51:00.000-07:00

thoughts

2010-04-03T14:50:00.001-07:00

2010-04-03T13:08:00.000-07:00

Chittagong Airport

Cemex Cement Factory

Thanks to

Creative Laser Design

Development Design Consultants

phobia

2010-04-02T07:51:00.000-07:00

walking to the library this morning I noticed the dew upon the grass.
i then realized it was unusual for two reasons: 1. it was dew, not frost. 2. i was outside of my house before noon.

in some pre-caffeinated psychosis, i found myself trying to be afraid of the dew. really, don't ask.

then, I remembered:

DAWN MARIE SINGS! SHE HAS GLASSES!

2010-04-01T20:26:00.001-07:00

shame on you Dawn Marie

2010-04-01T20:22:00.001-07:00

I-JAMMER!

2010-04-01T18:38:00.001-07:00

sweet child of ...... cthulu

2010-04-01T17:53:00.001-07:00

Learn how to live while waiting around to die.

2010-04-01T17:43:00.001-07:00

Lamebook is in rare form this week!

2010-04-01T17:25:00.001-07:00

In all seriousness, Jack is my hero and Jaymie's a cunt.

outlaw party with a murderer

2010-03-30T23:13:00.001-07:00

2010-03-30T23:08:00.000-07:00

do you really nomi?

2010-03-30T22:59:00.000-07:00

pheromones

2010-03-30T18:08:00.000-07:00

Dymaxion Map--- A compromise map

2010-03-29T13:34:00.001-07:00

2010-03-28T21:23:00.000-07:00

water works

2010-03-28T19:01:00.000-07:00

http://www.waterworkshealth.com/howto/video.html

It looks like you need to press refresh to get the image to work properly. Trust me, you'll feel refreshed.

2010-03-28T18:55:00.000-07:00

2010-03-28T18:38:00.001-07:00

I love how the audience laughs about Todd banging a crippled woman's legs against the floor.

Dear Daniel Scheer

2010-03-24T09:43:00.001-07:00

FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME

love

dee dee l'amour

2010-03-24T06:37:00.001-07:00

http://didtheypasshealthcarereform.com/

2010-03-22T10:06:00.001-07:00

puli puli puli puli puli puli

2010-03-21T20:22:00.000-07:00

2010-03-21T20:11:00.001-07:00

sensory overload.

2010-03-21T10:01:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to see Seijiro Murayama, Liz Tonne, Jake Meginsky, & Jack Callahan perform at Greymatter Books in Hadley, MA.

First, let me tell you, I love the location. It's all about the location. LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION!
Second, I have warmth in my heart for the majority of the people attending events there. If I do not have warmth in my heart for them, it is because I have not met or distantly observed them before and will soon probably have kindled warmth in my heart for them as well.

Third, I like how the guys from Greyskull have matching hair.

Fourth, the performances were TEAR JERKING. I mean, seriously, they brought on the water works. Here's a slightly pretentious review, motivated only by the fact that I enjoyed the evening so well.

Jack Callahan opened with a dynamic piece involving a snare drum, a bow, a cymbal, a thumb cymbal, a snoogly (aka, a piece of polystyrene) and some other household objects. He sat silently, hands on knees, waiting patiently until he felt he was ready to play. This recalled to my mind childhood piano recitals and the cautionary words of my former piano teacher Ruth "always wait until you're ready to play." Jack's was a formidable stand-alone piece with its own subtle dynamics and intricacies, but it was also the perfect warm up set for the rest of the evening's performances. It involved a slow build from unpredictable scraping to dissonant, ear-piercing, cymbal-bowing. The center piece (I feel) of his work was an improvisational duet with the squeaky opening and closing of the front door.

Liz Tonne and Jake Meginsky unexpectedly collaborated on a piece. Their performance was expressive, uncharted, intimate, and deeply emotional. I found myself swaying along with the sounds, sometimes eyes closed other times being jarred into open-eyed awareness by a throaty twang from Tonne's vocal chords. The pulsing of multi-colored holiday lights rounded off the atmosphere of the piece. Meginsky fiddled (almost literally) Timpani and percussed metallic objects suspended on the drum head. Tightening and loosening the drum, he manipulated the register of the sounds. Everything seemed perfectly crafted, like a journeyman set diligently on his work. One unguarded moment he jarred a cymbal, and it was conveyed through his body language and the distinctness of the resultant sound, that he neither anticipated nor appreciated the error. I thought it was a great moment, demonstrating that even in the loose and transcendent world of 'noise' and free form improvisation, there are certain constraints that artists may impose on their work. Liz Tonne's vocal manipulations are life altering. I recommend you get your ass to the Hampshire College dining commons this Monday (3/22), to hear her perform once again, but this time with Chris Cooper.

Seijiro Murayama, known for his work in Absolut Null Punkt (ANP) gave a riveting performance. Like Jack Callahan, Murayama began the set with his hands on his knees, finding his center, hovering over a snare drum. This time the performer was illuminated by a green library desk lamp. Did Callahan steal Murayama's thunder? While my doubts began to gnaw at me, he quietly opened into guttural throat singing. He began to build. Then stopped. Then the HVAC unit roared to life. He sat quietly again, chopstick in hand. Then a roar of noise as he scraped the eating utensil across a bent, ribbed rod and pressed it to the drum. Whirring and scraping, teetering. Then nothing. Then once again, whirring and scraping and teetering. I'm not sure how or when it happened, but there he was holding a drum stick and brush, striking rhythms. then nothing. then fingers and hands flying, then stillness. Wonderful. Then another transition. Cymbal in one hand, saw in the other, he carved away at our ear drums. I imagined how painful it must have been when he first ran metal against metal, sending waves of nausea to the brain like nails on a chalk board. The sounds were beautiful. The throat singing reemerged. A friend described the ebbing and flowing, meshing and twisting of his voice with the cymbal as losing track of the distinctions between man and machine. While Meginsky/Tonne's performance seemed motivated by emotion, Murayama's came off as much more methodical, rational, and calculated. I cannot explain in words the complexities of each sound he made. The distant professionalism of his work made it no less powerful, it was truly a dynamic and wonderful experience.

The end.

Reflections from a Corporate Shithole.

2010-03-20T13:42:00.000-07:00

A man is talking on the phone about his uncle Mike, mentioned in a war book called All the Way to Berlin he has just stumbled upon in the Hadley Barnes and Noble.

Everyone dresses the same here.

It's comforting.

It's like I've stumbled into an awkwardly placed enclave of Long Island..... in New England.

Persephone's Dream .... continued

2010-03-19T15:20:00.000-07:00

Enjoy this riveting continuation of Focus on the Band: Persephone's Dream- the faces of mystery, likewise accompanied by enchanting purple text.

"As an astrophysics student and astronomy enthusiast, Rowen looks beyond the familiar to ponder the mysteries of space. As a musician, he goes beyond the expected to explore the complexities of time. "

"But it was the intoxicating rhythms of distant lands like Morocco, Spain, Tangiers, Tibet, the Ivory Coast and others that encouraged him to start collecting world percussion instruments in the mid-1970s. "

"She’s also a 1st Dan Black Belt in Tae Kwon Do, Hosin Jitsu. Given Kelly’s past, releasing a CD with the word “Pyre” in the title is something of a dicey proposition."

Ashley missed the photo shoot because she was too busy checking Myspace.

"Sinuous, intimate, masterful, haunting, uplifting, unforgettable. All are adjectives that describe Jim’s piano, organ and synthesizer work in Persephone’s Dream....By turns atmospheric and exotic, provocative and evocative, Jim’s keys are the key to the latest PD sound."

"The acronym ESP is particularly apropos, since he still provides ESP in PD: an Extremely Solid Pulse from an Exceptionally Supportive Player. "

"Strobe was asked to do lighting for a live musical/theatrical show titled Rhythms of the Land, a tribute to J.R.R. Tolkien’s imaginary world written and performed by JT and former Persephone’s Dream drummer Ed Wiancko."

"As a member of the very popular Belarusian band “Why Not” at the beginning of 90’s, they released the album “The Burning Tree”.... After coming to the U.S., Roman played gigs with a number of great musicians in the U.S. and Canada until he finally found himself a member of Persephone’s Dream. His favorite Rickenbacker 4001 still remains his signature sound of art-punk-rock bass lines."

Focus on the Band: Persephone's Dream

2010-03-19T15:06:00.000-07:00

In today's Focus on the Band, I have chosen to focus on Persephone's Dream: Mysterious Music for the Mind. While I generally stick to audio media as part of my music critiques, I have to confess I have never actually heard Persephone's Dream play. Regardless of their level of talent, I feel that it is rewarding in of itself to take a visual tour of this group's endeavors, accompanied by enlightening purple captions and also in purple, song lyrics of this legendary band. These photographs were taken at the Springdale Veteran's Association.

"I'm reactive

So distracted

I'm erotic

Life's exotic"

"Betrayed by my true love

I decide to thrust my steel

Into the spine of the dragon

Ending a life that wasn't real

Powerless on my own

My strength comes from the dragon... "

"Soft illusion, smooth terrain
Pulsar rhythm in an alien brain "

"Circuits are on, all switches thrown

What is shared isolated, all alone?

Compilation begun, syntactic breakdown

Breakdown"

on furry fandom and souther baptists

2010-03-17T23:04:00.001-07:00

HAIR DANCER DYNAMITE

2010-03-15T19:56:00.000-07:00

As seen in the News of the Weird (only reason I pick up the Advocate).

2010-03-15T16:21:00.000-07:00

Laurel and Hardy jailed on drug charges

Crystal Beth arrested for ties to Crystal Meth

Sound Test: Matt Krefting vs. the Martyns.

2010-03-15T12:57:00.000-07:00

One of the great things about living in the Pioneer Valley, which I will miss, is having GREAT music in my backyard. Granted, Hampshire College once put on a pretty decent live performance of Hair in my backyard, but I am referring to the space beyond the soccer field.

Here, listen to John and Bev Martyn sing John the Baptist.

Now listen to Matt Krefting, local artist and HC graduate who I see wandering the HC library every once in awhile. Seriously, I felt chills (that only Barbra Streisand can elicit) when I heard this cover. The band is awesome too. They have this great grunge/ alt-country sound.

Why pay at least fifteen big ones to see some random half-ass show at The Elevens or the Calvin when you can go see Krefting & Band play on 'donation' at the VFW?

Neil Horan- Worse than the IRA

2010-03-14T11:02:00.000-07:00

In an effort to spread his message of encroaching doom and the end-of-the-world, former priest Neil Horan interrupts the British Grand Prix, 2003.

Here he is again, interfering with a Brazilian runner at the Athens Olympics, 2004.

Somehow Horan managed to make it through the ranks of Britain's Got Talent, 2009.

To see more, watch the video.

Michelangelo Merisi violence and sexuality.

2010-03-12T12:49:00.000-08:00

I love the muscles of his arm

I love her teeth, the wrinkle in her brow, and the realism of her right (our left) eyeball.

Embracing the devil.

Trampled

ISAAAACCCCC STOP!!!!!! and so, we have the archetypal schizophrenic Bukowski-esque father figure.

Narcissus and his dark, inward reflections.

Holofernes beheaded by a girl with the wrong facial expression for the deed... watched over by an old crone.

Baby's first serpent trampling.

in the decanter, the reflection of the artist painting the canvas. i personally cannot see it.

secret faces of me.

2010-03-09T22:43:00.000-08:00

letting my hair down

2010-03-09T22:39:00.001-08:00

2010-03-09T22:33:00.000-08:00

¿¿lamp or bikini??

2010-03-09T19:06:00.000-08:00

This is the manifesto of fetishized cyber sexuality!

2010-03-09T19:05:00.001-08:00

2010-03-09T17:50:00.000-08:00

⁴ My lover thrust his hand through the latch-opening;
my heart began to pound for him.

⁵ I arose to open for my lover,
and my hands dripped with myrrh,
my fingers with flowing myrrh,
on the handles of the lock.

⁶ I opened for my lover,
but my lover had left; he was gone.
My heart sank at his departure. ^[a]
I looked for him but did not find him.
I called him but he did not answer

fast talkers

2010-03-08T20:06:00.000-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FtCFdzPA1ko

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gzy9YLLcOig

2010-03-06T12:19:00.001-08:00

facebook politics

2010-03-06T04:50:00.000-08:00

Upon logging into Facebook this morning, I discovered a message from my oldest sister in my inbox. It said something to the effect of "did you see mom's facebook status? OMG!"

As the page loaded, I pondered the potential content of mom's facebook status.

Maybe she had relapsed into some new frontier of open aggression over the internet. Maybe she had said something racist. Maybe she had written some weird obsessed diatribe about my father.

I sure as hell did not anticipate this:

come come like you promised Oh God Come come like you promised.

Sure, my sister is a pervert, I've always known this. And my mom's born again christianity is a given that does not phase me. but damn, the ascension and unavoidable sexual tones in one Mom Facebook status, unbeatable in providing laughs.

It will be a great day after all!

2010-03-04T08:05:00.000-08:00

Robert W. Service, 1874-1958

There are strange things done 'neath the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold.
The arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold.
The northern lights have seen queer sights
But the queerest they ever did see,
Was that night on the marge of Lake LeBarge
When I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tenessee
Where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the south to roam
'round the poles, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold
Seemed to hold him like a spell,
Though he'd often say in his homely way
That he'd sooner live in Hell.

On a Christmas day we were mushing our way
Over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold, through the parka's fold
It stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze
'til sometimes we couldn't see.
It wasn't much fun, but the only one
To whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night while we lay packed tight
In our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'er head
Were dancing heel and toe,
He turns to me, and "Cap" says he
"I'll cash in this trip, I guess.
And if I do, I'm asking that you
Won't refuse my last request."

Well, he looked so low that I couldn't say no,
Then he says with a sort of a moan,
"It's the cursed cold, it's got right hold
'til I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet tain't being dead, it's my awful dread
Of an icy grave that pains.
So I want you to swear that foul or fair,
You'll cremate my last remains."

Well, a friend's last need is a thing to heed,
So I swore I would not fail.
We started on at the streak of dawn,
But, God, he looked ghastly pale!
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day
Of his home in Tenessee,
And before nightfall, a corpse was all
That was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death,
And I hurried on, horror stricken.
With a corpse half hid, that I couldn't get rid,
Because of a promise I'd given.
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say,
"You may tax your brawn and your brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you
To cremate these last remains."

Now, a promise made is a debt unpaid,
And the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, 'though my lips were dumb,
In my heart, how I cursed the load.
In the long, long night by the lone firelight
While the huskies 'round in a ring
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows
Oh, God, how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay
Seemed to heavy and heavier grow.
But on I went, though the dogs were spent
And the grub was getting low.
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,
But I swore I would not give in.
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing
And it harkened with a grin!

Then I came to the marge of Lake LeBarge
And a derelict there lay.
It was choked with ice, but I say in a thrice
It was named the "Alice May".
I looked at it, and I thought a bit,
Then I turned to my frozen chum,
And "This" said I with a sudden cry
"Is my crematorium!"

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor
And lit the boiler fire.
Some coal I found that was lying around
And heaped the fuel higher.
The furnace roared and the flames they soared,
Such a blaze you seldom see.
Then I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal
And I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like
to hear him sizzle so.
And the heavens scowled and the huskies howled
and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled
down my cheeks, I don't know why.
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak
went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow
I wrestled with grisly fear.
But the stars were out and they danced about
'ere again I ventured near.
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said
"I'll just take a peek inside.
He's probably cooked, it's time I looked."
Then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cold and calm
In the heart of the furnace roar.
He wore a smile you could see a mile,
And he said "Please shut that door!
It's warm in here, but I greatly fear
You'll let in the cold and storm.
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tenessee,
It's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done 'neath the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold.

The arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold.

The northern lights have seen queer sights,

But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake LeBarge

I cremated Sam McGee.

blurb of the day:

2010-03-02T10:44:00.000-08:00

D: What exactly is a Face Book?

R: Beware the Necronimicon

D: Abdul Alhazred, founder and CEO of facebook.

holy mole

2010-03-01T10:45:00.000-08:00

sitting in the library
clutching a bright orange hot water bottle
to my uterus
praying for
my future offspring.

a part of me is self-conscious about walking around with this pretty open declaration of stomach upset/ menstruation.

the other part of me is in too much pain to care.

cowboy boots, do-rag, and an amazing long winter coat. who is this woman i keep seeing everywhere?

gangly boy in a white man tailored shirt. glasses. walks around flexing his body.

i should probably do that too.

Somewhere in Time

2010-02-28T22:53:00.000-08:00

"somewhere in time"
a Lab 257 Original

media:
one congested human respiratory system
one straight pin
one cone of scrap looseleaf paper
some scotch tape
one turntable
one Ferrante & Teicher: Feelings album
one gif of silk worms eating leaves stolen from the internet, looped for the entirety of an audio track
one recording device
some hands
a strong helping of nostalgia

Lady Gaga in Highschool

2010-02-28T14:48:00.000-08:00

Lady Gaga in High school

Now that I have lured you in with my google hot trends key words, feel free to take a look around. Eh, you might resent me for a loss of 20 seconds of your time. Apologies in advance.

bowery bowery bowery boys.

2010-02-28T14:43:00.001-08:00

so amazing.

2010-02-28T07:02:00.000-08:00

Fat Gurlz Ruuuuullllleeee

2010-02-27T21:47:00.001-08:00

sat Ur daze

2010-02-27T09:56:00.000-08:00

I am sitting in a place that smells overwhelmingly like 10 billion tons of bacon. olfactory receptors so overwhelmed i am afraid that i will find a chunk of pork fat in my esophagus.

it doesn't count if it's inhaled second hand.

children everywhere. this is unusual for this place. I know, I've been here pretty much every Saturday these past few months. It's like parents suddenly discovered it. Maybe it is a public school holiday treat. the way they gesture and speak brings a different energy to this place. The way they run instead of walk between tables and doorways.

Contingent workers on the brain. I hear the boss here is a JERK.

the bacon scent just soured. wow, the place is weeded. Line cook looks up through saloon doors in a state of frantic fright.

put em up buddy.

i just read an article in Harper''s Weekly about books. I hated the run on sentences. Does every employee of that fucking publication write in over scripted, thesaurus-obsessed cantos?

Thou aint Dante Aligheri, baby. Reading your book review put me in the 7th circle of hell.

the end.

taboo spotlight

2010-02-24T19:44:00.000-08:00

I compiled a list of taboos and linked them to the dark crevices of the internet. Only for the strong of stomach!

This all started when i google searched "what do you do if you lose your close friend" in a moment of desperation and discovered a link to the UK Daily Telegraph from a woman who had had sex with her brother and was not guilty about it. I have become completely fascinated by the idea of people using the internet as a means to reconcile their deepest psychological dilemmas. I was looking for consolation, camaraderie in my misery-- instead I found people finding liberation in the anonymity of endless advice forums.

The internet reflects deeper consciousness, deeper fears, deeper social taboos and psychological conflicts. Rapid media interchange yields heightened hedonism and heresy. Can you believe a man killed his 100 year old mother? This is a miserable world.

I had sex with my brother

Cannibals Anonymous

I had sex with my mom while she was asleep.

Masturbating in Public

I had sex with my minister an hour before church.

I ate my cat

Omg i walked in on my friend having sex with my dog plz help!!?

Son kills 100 year old mother.

I'm sexually attracted to small boys