Sunday, December 31, 2006


for a minute there (or maybe 30 minutes) i almost felt like tearing my skin right off.



Wednesday, December 27, 2006

"It's fun to dream." (a post-modern academic blurb)

So then the badger creates a cyclic Cycladean sphere from the clay found on Mílos, for a dollar. The sphere has hidden candies in it and everyone from the area eats and eats, sugar after sugary mouthful, the delicious treats from the Antiquity B.C. (based on current archaeological recoveries)

"...but with the exception of Naxos the soil is not very fertile: agricultural produce includes wine, fruit, wheat, olive oil, and tobacco. Cooler temperatures are in higher elevations and mainly do not receive wintry weather.

"A distinctive Neolithic culture amalgamating Anatolian and mainland Greek elements arose in the western Aegean before 4000 BCE, based on emmer wheat and wild-type barley, sheep and goats, pigs, and tuna that were apparently speared from small boats. Excavated sites include Saliagos and Kephala (on Keos) with signs of copper-working. Each of the small Cycladic islands could support no more than a few thousand people, though Late Cycladic boat models show that fifty oarsmen could be assembled from the scattered communities, and when the highly organized palace-culture of Crete arose, the islands faded into insignificance, with the exception of Delos, which retained its archaic reputation as a sanctuary through the period of Classical Greek civilization." (where is the "sanctuary" today?)

soft cell

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Sunday, December 24, 2006


Dead, a man’s best friend.

They picked his head, they stuck his feet in mud, they ran rivers over his back. He still could not hit a golf ball to save his life. Still, his best friend was dead, deader than Dan Quayle’s political career.

It appears his life was not exactly fit for foraging for compliments inside his wallet. His gestures were too subtle to be noticed by anyone, save his own mind and maybe the eccentric friend. But he knew only the crying game, the nude sculpture, and the lost-mold technique. Having seen him in deadly predicaments prior to his current eviction, I sent him candles: wick and wax in a box full of newspapers. He lights candles, jumps over them and places a piece of fabric underneath where his right foot lands. The fabrics are all chosen carefully based on hue, material and susceptibility to flame. He rhymes colors with genders.

Like genders, he is usually happy or sad. Two of the same means two different things to him. I first saw his inner conflict when he left a house with no sex. He walked straight for the nearest tree and burned it down with his Zippo. He planted a new tree within a fortnight. After leaving the house, sexless and disgruntled, he wanders to a liquor store, buys a fifth of vodka, usually, and drinks only one shot, vehemently. The remaining ethyl is then poured on a flower, usually a rose if he can find any, or else, as I have observed during later outbursts, a tulip, someone’s lawn, the windshield of a car, a pile of garbage, a fjord, a dog, a man, a little boy, a sparrow, a woman or a stop sign will take the place of the rose. The empty bottle is then filled with milk shakes and he mails the bottle to his failed lover. He sometimes, as he has told me, writes an original poem on the bottle; ties are permanently severed upon deliverance of the bottle. This does not always occur, this iterative tirade. His severance is usually followed by intervals of isolation. I once did not see him after he mailed a fifth of Smirnoff (filled with strawberry milk shake) to Leonard St. for one month and four days. When I do see him again, he is in denial of anything, carrying on his business without faintly any indiscretions, as if he had been working at the market for the entire month.

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Wednesday, December 20, 2006

reeling and walking

i try to ignore the holiday (i.e. Christmas) bonanza/fiasco that occurs every year, and with a lot of work it is easy to ignore almost everyone and everything. but not that the main initial thrust of work and lucubrations has ceased, it became apparent i had not delved, dived or degraded myself to the commercial task of seeking out thoughtful gifts (the replacements of the original "presents" under the tree, psilocybin mushrooms) for loved ones. i accomplished this task in one day, and to get my mind off the crowded streets, pushing shoppers and oggling tourists (why come to NY during the winter/fall holidays is beyond me) i am back in Brooklyn-seating-cross-legged, writing and reading. to get my mind off the mayhem and the smelling obese guys who crowd the aisles by the Star Trek DVDs, (all I wanted was to buy a Sid Caesar DVD for my pops) i sit down in the afore mentioned cross-legged position and play some classic Doom, remembering the late summer days some months ago when i first sat in Binghamton-chair-corss-legged, wondering what i had to do and why i was not swamped.

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Sunday, December 17, 2006

i find the return to be more promising than initially expected. the drive back south is something to be looked forward to even moreso than the return. i know i will be disappointed upon returning, so i will only be enthralled by the journey. the light fades as the solstice approaches.


Wednesday, December 13, 2006

final touches

i finished all my requisites, yet i still can't sleep. i'm truly without any schedule. i live until i can no longer stand, then i collapse and wait to wake-up. i fear that the mountain will fall hard, or i can ride the avalanche made of the talus which i built. things do become clear with time.

i suddenly remember walking along Bleeker and going into Porto Rico to buy tea. i think of the tea she would like, but i cannot answer. i just look at the clerk fill each bag from innards of the urns. i buy too much tea, and only one small bag of coffee, an order that was placed to many hours ago for me to remember exactly what roast, what bean, the amount to get. i hope i have enough money. i'm left with $4.68. not enough to get anything decent to drink. i had only 2 smokes left. i give some people a call. no one answers. i walk around, as i usually due, summer, winter, autumn, spring, dusk, rarely dawn, in a hurry, without haste, meander, incise a path to no destination. i think of the circles i've walked in, search every corner, being fond of some places yet forgetting why exactly. I will eventually sit anywhere i choose that seems welcoming, or have a certain ambience i am particularly fond of. i sit and wait for my thoughts to flocullate, to gather around a single point and build. i will eventually dry out in laughter, or laugh at my own misfortune.

i miss looking for public benches no one sits in anymore. i like putting the old commodities and services we've taken for granted to use. old letter shoots i buildings sadden me. light fixures with push-buttons. old library cards with DUE DATE written on top. the seems past forgets itself.

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Sunday, December 10, 2006


major flooding in june (main drainage channels)

major flooding in mid november (tributaries to main channels)

minor flooding late november (week prior to freezing temperatures (small tributaries and creeks)

little sleep for the for stalled papers.

wish to just lie down and never get up again.

lost the hunger, slept for 13 hours. lost time, found a drive for keeping.

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Saturday, December 02, 2006

dead, but Alive...(dead, not alive) be dead again?

woke up, found i had been writing a small bio on a certain band last night. it must have been late, and after i had gotten home; i do not remember writing it. Even in a drunken stupor, i must say, i could make sense out of most of it. i think i'll finish it...maybe.

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