Category: Uncategorized

I’ve already put a hold on this book at the library: The Two Faces of Islam: The House of Sa’ud from Tradition to Terror by Stephen Schwartz.

I have a sort of sick fascination with the Middle East, which I’d rather not go into the roots of. Maybe this book will help me to learn some useful information.

I’ve always thought that people shouldn’t take electronic space so seriously.

I mean, who hasn’t gotten entangled in some kind of flamewar nazi paradigm online?

scap this, dogheaded boy!

alborn psyformica dreams…
(creeps on this)
what bitter wind blows the stragglers back to this new town? and why does it taste so sweet.

tappity tappity tappity she goes, and all the wor(l)ds spiral around her head. ya, this time the onceler’s got the thing.
(petty)

gargantuan mammoth growls have psycled through the yard. (can you believe that under the new moon I was born this very day? it’s a paradox, if you know the details) and while eating eggsalad sandwich cake and munching on delirious madcap orgami malted balls.

This kind of thing makes me weep for the state of professional journalism in this country. Not that’s ever been high-calibre, anywhere, ever.

Note especially this exchange (and I quote):

“Eric,” I said. “Matt Taibbi from The BEAST. We met this weekend.”

“Oh,” he said. “Hi.”

“I was wondering how you guys came up with that 30,000 figure. It seemed like there were a lot more people than that there.”

“Well,” he said. “That wasn’t me. That was [lead reporter Jerry Zremski]. I think he got it from a wire report.”

“Okay,” I said. “Why would he need a wire report, if you were there?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But if Jerry got it from a reliable source, then I’m cool with that.”

Jesus, I thought. This kid is barely out of college, and he’s already completely full of shit.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You were there. Do you think there were 30,000 people there?”

He paused. “I… I couldn’t give you a figure,” he said.

“Why not?” I said. “You can’t say if there were more or less than 30,000 people there? You don’t have your own opinion?”

“I… didn’t have a good view,” he said.

Jesus Christ. A good view?

“How can you call yourself a journalist,” I said, “if you can’t even make a determination, by yourself, as to how many hundreds of thousands of people there were at a public event?”

“It wasn’t my story,” he said. “It was Jerry’s story.”

“But your name went on it,” I said. “And it’s a fucking lie. I wouldn’t be comfortable having my name on something like that.”

After a brief pause, during which time Jerry Zremski himself obviously advised DuVall to hang up the phone, he came back on.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “If you have any further questions, the best you can do is send an e-mail to Jerry.” He then rattled off Zremski’s e-address.

“You realize,” I said, “that once you start giving ‘no comments’ to other journalists, it’s all over. Your career is over. I know you haven’t been in this business long, but once you take that step, you’re fucked. You understand that, don’t you?”

He again advised me to write to Zremski, then hung up. I wrote to Zremski. There was no answer, of course.

These seem like a weird/useful convergence of web art/tools.

ax me no questions: indeed, when the thing finishes up, what a sight we’ll see!

time growling like a hungry cat

Narbly narbly narbly. Wherefore do we contagious yawnkers lie? contraptions abound and no where moreso than the above, contraption, contraption.

it eeks us! it eeks us! it is like a braintickle forwards and backwards. who nose why the knows like to be rubbed.

yt slept for a million years last night, kept waking up to the sound of rummaging or pulsating domesticity: or maybe i didn’t either. maybe i just kept dozing through it all. and even though the dreamtime left me exhausted and bleary-eyed this morning, once the pumped-up morningdrug gets going, it’s all gangbusters now. what was that dream about anyway? i can’t even recollect it at all now. and after buckets and buckets of soup (just needed a bit of salt, that’s all; otherwise, perfecto; and garlic-buttered bread that expands to fill the house; and slow gulps of redred wine making the brain all spinnty and forgetting where it is and which side is which;; left or right? don’cha know)…

after buckets and buckets of soup, it was game over for me last night: one hopes that after typing and typing and typing (as opposed to writing, which yt never does) the thoughts will burble out in the right order )or mayb they’ll just burble out in an INTERESTING order; we’d settle for that( but had the first dream with s. in it last night, which is funny, cuz the dream wasn’t interesting in the slightest. dull, in fact, if not in memory. word that the cat–used to lay on my head, my head being a comfortable place to lay upon, apparently–is in deep trouble. yikes! could it be poison? even from miles away, the stormcrow just keeps circling. carlin’s pets as “little tragedies waiting to happen” and it seems so true and funny and horrible, like carlin. refrained from mentioning it even though it burbled in the head: s. was sad, didn’t seem worth mentioning, so made a silly face instead. and clutched at sleep.

traded one conundrum for another. sunday was a sunday birthday. the number’s right. looks like sunday was the day, but the new moon was on the twenty-somethingish. no where near… um, 30 at all. can’t recollect when i talked to my mom for hours. was that saturday? methinking it was.

reading heaps of books. amy hempel’s good. will update book list on the other side, soon. ya. about the only recall i have from dream is holding hands, and walking down a road. but what road? what road?

yikes.