Wednesday, May 16, 2001
I drive, you drive four a.m. simple too. Along the paths called roads and ways called streets the city towns and states, black and blue micro maps that reach out far above and away from the land of country and western songs that broadcast real low on an a.m. radio. Sorry, (insert primal grunting sound here) switch channels you say with minor inconvenience, your lips hot and salty from sweat and a deliciously horny summer. Your handsome features glow on, then off, then on, then off, first amber halogens under bridges then vapor blue headlights shining. Zipping, ha ha you laugh, funny words, I laugh, past the house with 1-800-dial-thevirginmary. Too fast to see, blurred vision, and down around the foreground of red tv-radio transmitters and green directional signage. You speak Ukrainian and teach me some, lived in Argentina, fascinating and therefore you are an odd mixture of the two countries. You always looked so rugged and cool, visions of you with your sleeves pushed up standing in front of the cigarette machine, swaggering, my shirt is soaked with perspiration and the beer tastes bitter and good, I rock on my heels. You know, you smoke too much, trailing off in sentences, that band is playing, a sentence interspersed with some drunk laughing so loud the staccato breaks my thought. I like your shoes and you have odd habits but the Jam and All Mod Cons make up for anything annoying. No I don't like to be sleepy, I don't want to miss anything, a sense of urgency is strange, I need to slow down, I always drive too fast these days. I love Zoviet France too, and I wait to exhale, with that next breath the moment escapes.
7:29 PM :

Prophocies That The National Enquirer Refuses To Publish from Rob Brezsny's Free Will Astrology
1. Junk Food Sex, a new chain of convenience stores, will appear. Customers will watch pornographic movies and live sex shows in private booths while eating imitation food prepared in their own private microwave ovens.
2. Nintendo will shock its target audience with the release of its "NirvanaStorm" video game, the first-ever model with socially redeeming value. In it, kids must negotiate all eight levels of Buddhist enlightenment with a grinning, bespectacled, red-robed character who resembles the Dalai Lama.
New brands of mental disturbances will arise:
Persona-lite Victims suffer from the uncontrollable urge to seek out plastic surgery that will make them resemble their favorite celebrity.
Mediapocalypse Victims, believing the media is the psychic equivalent of nuclear weapons, are terrified to read newspapers...more
3:24 PM :

Tuesday, May 15, 2001
Abstraction and reflection on suburban socio sexy lo-fi bands, foaming shower gels, disco muscle boys and more. Part one, the shower gel foams to a dreamy consistency, hmmm...most auspicious! Part Two, Soundtrack Du Jour, Ladytron's 604. Connections, refusals, mathematics, Ladytron is Super Socio Sexy StereoLab + Human League's Dare + Gary Numan - Eighties Metropolis Machine Anxiety, computation complete = Addictive. Part Three, Armisted Maupin's Tales of the City, a writers command of period specific colloquialism, example: Dr. Jon to Michael Mouse. 'I Happen to Like You Turkey'. Part Four, Trophime Bigot and Saint S�bastian Soign� Par Ir�ne, adore! adore! adore! Part Five, happy humpy Bushwacka remix of Depeche Mode's Dream On. Part Six, exiting dance floor shirtless and sweaty nets free bottled water.
10:42 AM :

Monday, May 14, 2001
mots press�s, mots sens�s,
mots qui disent la v�rit�
mots maudits, mots mentis,
mots qui manquent le fruit d'esprit
it's okay, I've overslept
it's just my wordy rappinghood!
mots press�s, mots sens�s,
Four-letter words I cannot say
Panty, toilet, dirty devil
Words are trouble, words are subtle
Words of anger, words of hate
Words over here, words out there
In the air and everywhere
Words of wisdom, words of strife
Words that write the book I like
Words won't find no right solution
To the planet earth's pollution
Say the right word, make a million
Words are like a certain person
Who can't say what they mean
Don't mean what they say
With a rap rap here and a rap rap there
Here a rap, there a rap
Everywhere a rap rap!
Allow me to pick up where I left off....thanks to the Tom Tom Club's Wordy Rappinghood, please forgive any liberties taken with lyrics....
Time zones never make any sense to me, intercontinental phone conversations with tipsy people drunk on a 4:00 a.m. Paris, cigarettes and liquor. Cafe Cocks and that name always cracks me up, people are sick of House, Pop exhibit at the Pompidou, and yes, they really do take their dogs everywhere! I love that concept! Here it is Maggio, beloved May on a Lunedi, evening early, quiet around here, silence bringing to mind something I once overheard at the Italian grocery: 'I grandi dolori sono muti' or 'great griefs are always mute'...and how, sometimes, silence makes me uneasy. Ahhh but I am stretching a little, shopping for a school that just might be insane enough to allow me to earn a PHD. Just shopping, just thinking, still looking, nothing definite...Escapist fantasies dominate:
Psycho Killer
Qu'est-ce que c'est
fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away
Psycho Killer
Qu'est-ce que c'est
fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run run run run away
Venice?...the Bridge of Sighs anyone?
9:35 PM :