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The New York Review of Books: The Way We Live Now by Tony Judt

if wishes were horses…

ya, whar’s my self-taught monkey? and when’s he goin’ to? sprinting outwardly. or vice verso, you cold shoulder. when the aesthetics please, what then, and when does anything…

*note* look in public domaincicle. *note*

under the new coat of paint, where’s the rust now?

Tranced out in the weekend silo: keeping up with the worldy and watching things spiral like a mad dream. there’s something crawling.

“The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.”

fearfully disjointed and weakend by slow lunar cycles. can we all laugh at escalators anymore? jacob dreaming of them. where all the angels tread the stair. listen to the hissing of the cold cream. my bruises are there for all to see. mon oncle, ya, he’s got his own despair. crackling in the silent deeps of space. (when we will fly to mars again? or maybe when the steppes and plains of neptune explode in countless orgies of splintering desire? eats his childers? will he? or will the stones be sewed inside his thigh, or something?)

if i had to pick a monsoon season, it wouldn’t be now. but when things were done too quick, might not a rain of heaven seem like the thing to muddy the works and make things slow?

to be sure: who ever appears the way you want them to? there’s some kind of cracked mirror. ya. mired in selfspec.

I’ve wanted to learn about Linux for some time now. This seems like a pretty unique tool to do so. Linux desktop through a browser? $10 a month? Accessible from anywhere with an internet connection? Sounds pretty reasonable to me.

I’m reminded that I keep meaning to read more of his writing.

RAW always seems to have original things to say. Which is what it’s about, anyway, creating new and groovy ways of seeing and dealing with the wacky things that go down every day. What kind of bizarro-future world are we constructing RIGHT NOW and how do WE get in on that?

I’ve decided to put up some photos that my great-uncle took while he was travelling in the Middle East back in the 60s and 70s (?). My own family has some bizarre and deep connections with the Middle East and the current administration, which I’d rather not get into now.

You can read about him if you google: Peter Kilburn. Most of the entries on the first page relate to him.

Perhaps, as Mr. Davis says, we need to let our imaginal forces out to play.

It’s something to do while whiling away the dark corners of the night, anyhow. I also didn’t know where to put this exactly. I’ve been too weighted in my own spurious irrationality these days. It might be time for a break from that.

Especially, considering that my own incantations or weirdnesses seem to be blooming lately. Relearning: it’s dangerous to summon things willy-nilly…

lifts or escalators or whatever

(thanks susie!)

tinkering with the spiteful grimace on his face and growling out the uncontrolled words which pushed their way forwards, granting all the punishment that had been meted out in all the hollandaise or holidays before the quagmire of health and mental scarcity broke upon the shoals of quickly retreating camera angles and despairing monkeys that wallowed in the recesses of all the minds and qualitied folks who liked to stand and sit drinking their maitais and cosmopolitans, their tom collinses and milky dewdrops: which if examined closely would have been repulsed with disgust. to be sure, there was nothing to be said and only a distant few had focussed their attention on what?to be sure?had turned into a lengthy and problematic discourse on freedom and goodwill, which shattered into thousands of logistical and dialectical bits, eager to pronounce a thing good or bad, yet neglecting the simple and simply disquieting facts (or FAQs) which lurked in the foreground or background. the quiet press of cold flesh around him, eyes crinkling in cold regard, kept him pinned to the rhetorical prison that he had erected around about himself and he could feel his face tightening and thoughtful architects constructed ramps for him to flee upon. intuitively, several by-standers urged away sideways, prompting several flies to wave up into the air. ?where?s a conspiracy when you need one, he said, chortling and gulping down his cheap brandy. no one replied. he was caught in a pool of cool disregard and felt his autonomy and presence sliding into a black hole of social rejection? –might as well have been talking about dried monkey dung?.

sowry, sowry for that deep quick sift to the neck. ya, eat eat eatsit. but the dinner’s groaning cold. poiled rice and greamy cornswaryps. try believing nuttin and evrytin at the same time–see where it getsya.
“…around the corner behind a door…”
globalbrain going through pubeythroes? boils burstin out all over t’place? micro vs macrocosm? what’s reflecting what, anyway? and who’s the crazy fucker sterring this bus anyhow?

feels like riding a rampaging cow over a cliffty sauce. ut dies ut dies. wheep! there a cushion down there?

cauldron burn and cauldron bubble. or maybe the sweater’s caught on hook and the tension of the moment before it all aravels. aravelling aravelling we go, high-ho aravelling. what new thing’s being knit?

basically i’m …..

hey, we’ve got a time machine here: books from the future flying in. what ould ya. how much longer can the strain go?