Shoeless

I'm Moving!

2008-03-08T17:04:00.013-05:00

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To a new url!

I'm now at Proclaim It Lost - a blog which will be much less depressing than its name suggests!

And I adopted a squirrel on Friday!

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Those Eyebrows!

2008-03-03T00:53:00.005-05:00

I did not do this on purpose. It was a mistake, and, for the record, I should probably never again superglue something to my eyebrows.

At least the picture came out sort of well.

Still:

2008-02-29T01:04:00.000-05:00

Fighting democracy with Gin!

8 Days Until the Texas Primary!

2008-02-25T19:03:00.002-05:00

Nan one month after being battered, 1984
© Nan Goldin

In the Garden, Elio and Isabella, St Rémy de Provence, France 2002
© Nan Goldin

Atlanta to Athens by Bicycle

2008-02-21T22:22:00.002-05:00

I'm trying to figure out the best way to make the trip. Keep in mind, the farthest I've ever ridden in a day is about 20 miles, and that was in 4 mile shifts.

But I've sort of set the Atlanta to Athens trip as a goal for myself. I'd like to be able to get up early Saturday morning, start biking, and reach Athens before sundown. In my head, I get to Athens about a half hour before the sun starts to set, then meet up with my friends at a restaurant to eat salmon and drink beer. Later, there's a concert and three to four naked ladies.

If I tell google maps to avoid highways, the trip is about 66 miles. Assuming I could maintain a good speed throughout the ride, it's actually doable.

After this, I'd like to try an Atlanta - New Orleans ride.

Obama

2008-02-20T19:43:00.003-05:00

Graphic designers love those cheekbones.

In the future, presidential candidates will be chosen by how well they show up on stencils.

Plato Was a Blogger

2008-02-17T20:52:00.002-05:00

"I went down yesterday to the Peiraeus with Glaucon, the son of Ariston, to pay my devotions to the Goddess, and also because I wished to see how they would conduct the festival since this was its inauguration."

That's the first sentence of Plato's Republic. In chapter two, he talks about how alienated he's been feeling lately, then writes an ordered list of his favorite Kids in the Hall skits.

My favorite:

I Forgot to Mention This Earlier:

2008-02-12T11:39:00.000-05:00

In New Orleans, they have bar/laundromats!!!

Piles of New CD's

2008-02-04T10:33:00.000-05:00

Not good ones, mind you.

I'm at my internship now, cataloging albums different bands have sent us over the last week. The pile looks good at first glance - lots of Team Clermont, which I tend to like, and something sent from Austin. Could be promising.

I put the first CD in, and realize I've been tricked. It's Brent Cash, described by his PR people as "sounding like a lost sunshine pop classic from the 60s... the sound of endless summers and good vibrations."

Maybe it's just the weather, but I'm looking for the opposite vibrations today.

Gonna Getcha

2008-02-02T18:34:00.000-05:00

My Parents and I

2007-12-14T23:03:00.000-05:00

We have this game we play where I pretend they're not going senile, and they pretend I'm not a shiftless layabout.

That's Boston's city hall.

Parts of the building "stick out" according to their function. The more important the room, the further it extends from the main building.

It was designed by IM Pei. The style is known as "Brutalism", from the French word for raw concrete, béton brut.

And this is Atlanta's city hall.

I believe the picture was taken in the 1970's.

Stylistically, it reminds me of the new Treasury building on Peachtree and 10th.

2007-12-01T17:56:00.000-05:00

I have less pairs of socks than there are days in the week.

The same is true of pants and t-shirts.

WTF?

Did I use to have more clothes? Where did they all go?

I find this very distressing.

Analysis

2007-11-26T16:10:00.000-05:00

Our Perimeters Were Secured by Police in Case Rioting Broke Out

2007-11-18T12:06:00.000-05:00

If we stepped outside of our allocated protest area, we were arrested.

Occasionally, helicopters flew low over the crowds.

I bought an organic muffin.

"Grassroots Gathering against Genetic Engineering: Resistance and Solutions to the Comodification of Life"

Soldiers trained by the United States killed 800 civilians.

They were carrying hawk kites.

The police video taped us, in case rioting broke out.

(Pictures from Saturday November 17, the School of Americas Protest in Columbus, GA. Organized by the School of Americas Watch.)

I Have Many Things On My Mind

2007-11-13T13:39:00.001-05:00

I was walking around the campus yesterday, and I heard a girl say to her friend, "...so I just bought a bottle of whiskey and spent the night drinking by myself". My heart skipped a beat, and I wondered if I had fallen in love.

-

A horrible, awesome proposal for future instant messaging services:

All conversations should involve at least 3 users. When a user chooses to send an instant message to a person, the IM service will choose another user at random from their online guest list, and create a three person chat.

-

Still sick. It was fun over the weekend, but I'm getting pretty tired of it. I stopped taking anti-flu/cold medicine; I'm pretty sure my germs will die before I do.

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In class this morning, the teacher proposed a problem in which an infinite number of guests were each assigned to an infinite number of rooms. At a signal from the hotel's manager, each of the infinite guests was to step out of their room and shift one room to the right, leaving the first room unoccupied.

I said, "I think I see a logical fallacy in this problem", the teacher said "yes?" I said, "if there's an infinite amount of rooms, and the Earth only has a finite area, so wouldn't the hotel have to be in space? And, if the hotel was in space, wouldn't the guests all asphyxiate from lack of oxygen as soon as they stepped out of their rooms?"

This approach can also be used to solve the Necktie Paradox or Monte Hall Problem.

-

The Hitchhiker's Guide Trilogy makes great sick-reading. Douglas Adam's has a brilliant sense of comic timing - interestingly, his dialogue and description have different, but equally comic, tempos. I might start read The Golden Compass if I'm still sick tonight.

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I hate how shiny and clean modern cgi effects makes everything.

There's a moment right before Daedalus goes to repent for sleeping with prostitutes. He washes his face before leaving the house, and looks at bowl of soup next to a candle sitting at his family's table. I'm reminded of that scene whenever I watch 300 or another one of those artificially clean movies. It's interesting to compare style differences between Waking Life and A Scanner Darkly.

14 Minutes of Awesome

2007-11-09T22:49:00.000-05:00

Nick Cave - Babe, I'm On Fire

I Like My Bike - Doot! Doot! Doot!

2007-10-31T22:17:00.000-04:00

I got to station NE8 as the Southbound train left. I started bicycling for the next station, and skidded around Buckhead's new old streets, and reached N7 (Phipps) in time to catch the next train. 9 Japanese tourists watched me lean against my bright yellow bike and read.

From station N5, I zig-zag'ed home through firemen and witches.

Dah!

I Think I Had a Dream About Semiotics

2007-10-18T13:36:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure what it meant.

2007-10-11T13:31:00.000-04:00

I think I agree with David T -- the act of creating new music is a valuable service that people are willing to pay for, even retroactively in the form of donations (as Radiohead is proving). It's the bits that have no value.

As one of the previous posters mentioned (who paid on the website but then downloaded via a P2P network) creating music and distributing music are entirely different operations. The first one is valuable, the second one isn't.

-stolen from someone's response on the some the pho mailing list.

I keep forgetting this blog exists..

If I was going to tattoo something to myself, it would probably be a list of things to always remember, like:

7: Always make bad decisions.
8: Don't trust teenagers.
9: Wake up early. Shower. Dress.
10: If you have to hide all your easily stolen electronics and drugs before a girl comes over, it is a sign that the relationship doesn't have much of a future.

I Love the Internet

2007-10-09T21:53:00.000-04:00

"First and foremost I am a Christian . I am and will continue to be a virgin until I get married. I am an extreme Conservative as well. Yes, I am looking for my prince charming, and he'll probably carry both a blade and a gun. He'll be a gentleman, but willing to back up what he says and protect those things he holds dear. Please note, I am not going to sleep with you! I do not care if you have 2 inches or 10 inches it's not going to happen. Forget it, move on!"

Days Like This

2007-10-04T12:50:00.000-04:00

I'm trying to write some sort of Nietzchian critique of golden-age Greek cosmology. And I'm about done. And then my friend asks if I've read Nietzche's The Birth of Tragedy. Which is apparently his critique of cosmology. Which I, of course, haven't read.

Damn it.

I'm gonna go chug energy drink until my earwax tastes like Guarana extract.

Things Which Make Me Sleepy:

2007-10-01T02:13:00.000-04:00

Knitting
Pirates
Ninja
Notes From the Underground
Graffiti
Skulls
Facebook
The Sun

An Overheard Conversation

2007-09-27T17:36:00.000-04:00

"Are you planning on grad school?"
"I was thinking of creative writing, but I haven't been able to get anything published yet... with all the writing I have to do for college, I just don't feel like writing more when I get home."

You bastard. Don't go to grad school. Please.

THE DISCIPLINE OF THE US GOVERNMENT RELIGIONS ENFORCEMENT:

2007-09-16T17:53:00.000-04:00

There is some concern about the U.S. Government Religions enforcements. I will enforce the U.S. Government Religions enforcement regulating its enforcements itself with its regulations pertaining to itself and according to its enforcements.

Need a Ride to Athens, September 21-23

2007-09-12T11:02:00.000-04:00

Anyone driving to Athens between September 21st and 23rd? I can pay for gas. And juggle.

Who Are You People?

2007-09-06T22:36:00.000-04:00

I think I've forgotten what everyone's face looks like over the summer. Maybe I'm blind or something, but I've got no idea who the hell I know on campus anymore - sometimes I say "hey" to people, and they're someone else entirely.

Sometimes they're freshmen, and then I run away.

Making new friends freaks me the fuck out.

Anyway. If you know me, or feel you should know me, try saying "hey" next time we pass in the hall. I promise I'm not a freshman.

Ho ho ho

2007-09-02T12:57:00.001-04:00

I apologize for not having more to say here.

Keep in mind, I'm not usually real talkative.

Maybe I need more drugs.

PS: The comic is from here.

Found My Next Halloween Costume

2007-08-25T11:25:00.000-04:00

Ow.

2007-08-22T14:24:00.000-04:00

I did not realize feet could go like that.

(happily stolen from Warren Ellis)

Something That Happened in London

2007-08-16T20:23:00.000-04:00

I was in London for a weekend, planning to meet up with a friend by some station named after a bridge or possibly a gate. It was in a hilly and trendy part of town, on the West side of that ring the tube follows - the one that goes through Piccadilly Station. Really, I didn't know where the hell I was, but I had a change of clothes in my pack along with a few books, so I figured everything would turn out ok, even if the friend didn't turn up.

She did turn up eventually, just a half hour later than I expected.

But I had been looking at museums and tall streets all day, so I got to the station early, hoping that she would turn up early too.

The light was fading quickly, so I sat down legs crossed over each other on the pavement against the window of a pet store which had already closed. The street lights were lit, and I could make out most of what my book said, though I was paying more attention to the homeless men leaning against the wall of the shop to my right. They were drinking one of those sweet liquors, and I could smell it even on the windy night.

Within a few pages, the larger of the two men walked over to my spot carrying his Strongbow. He politely and loomingly explained that his guys were collecting change here, and that I wasn't welcome.

I explained my own reason for sitting on the street, and my friend joined me a half hour later, still occasionally watching the beggars under their street light.

PS: Strongbow is a type of beer. It is often sold in 2 litre plastic bottles.

Seeking A Monogamous Long Term Relationship

2007-08-09T15:48:00.001-04:00

I Am Seeking A Single, God Fearing, Professional Only, African American Male. (Big&Tall) A Plus! Must Be Financially SECURED, No CHILDREN !!! I Am Willing To Travel With You And Be Your Person Assistant! Please Provide Photos.

Yeeeees. She is the woman for me. I always wanted a personal assistant/monogamous long term relationship.

Shootin' Stuff

2007-08-02T12:30:00.000-04:00

My brother and friends. Living the thug life.

I Love You

2007-07-29T15:50:00.000-04:00

Pictures of Photographs From Istanbul's Platform Garanti Contemporary Art Center

2007-07-22T12:56:00.000-04:00

Until returning to Atlanta most recently, I hadn't realized how much kudzu shapes the city. It reminds me of when I first learned how overwhelmingly humanity is outnumbered by insects; I feel as if we are closer to a construction of negative than positive space.

In The Airport

2007-07-16T22:16:00.000-04:00

I hate you.

More news Tuesday evening.

I Don't Particularly Remember Being Born Here

2007-07-12T15:14:00.000-04:00

"I just remember thinking to myself, I just brought terror to someone else under the American flag, and that's just not what I joined the Army to do."

- Staff Sgt. Timothy John Westphal

It's a good article. Very long, very detailed, sickeningly graphic.

The funny thing is, every time I start getting homesick, I read something like this.

Poof!

Homesickness-b-gone!

Colonial Matters

2007-07-07T04:06:00.000-04:00

I'm writing this now because I'm still not sure I understand it.

Two days ago, I was swept into the company of a huge white Zimbabwean. I could describe him in some deeply lyrical way, but it would be easier for both of us if I only listed the most important facts of him:

On his left arm there was a tattoo of the word “Rodesia”, Zimbabwe's old colonial name.

On the other side of that arm, there was a tattoo of an empty crucifix.

On his right leg, he had given himself a “tribal” style tattoo.

There were more tattoos on his back, but I don't remember them.

I never talked to him when he was sober.

I only talked to him once while I was sober.

He was in the British Army's paratrooper unit, until he was kicked out for fighting too much.

From there, he entered the French foreign legion, but deserted when he realized they would make him learn French.

Currently, he works as an electrical engineer in London's Tube.

His London girlfriend dumped him by email the day we met.

Over the two nights I drank with him, we were kicked out of three bars, one restaurant, and two clubs.

He had been injecting himself with steroids ever since arriving in London 5 years ago.

He wore a pair of sandals he'd stolen from another backpacker while staying in Southern Turkey.

So, on the second day that I knew him, it was 3 pm, and I was writing in the shade outside our hostel. Behind me, a pair of workers were using pickaxes against sidewalk pavement.

He sat down and offered me a beer, which I took. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and spent some time explaining how Istanbul's population reacted to his shirtlessness throughout the earlier portion of that day. I showed him the writing I'd been working on, and a piece which was recently published, neither of which he cared for. We chatted, and he sent a Swede to buy us another four pints of beer. Then, we spent some hours watching the roadwork behind us, until finally deciding to “find some girls”. He put on a shirt, and we left the hostel carrying our unfinished beers.

We first struck out for the University section of Istanbul, got lost, and decided against that portion of town entirely. Eventually, we found ourselves only a few blocks from the hostel. The Zimbabwean mentioned a mob boss he knew in the area named Ismael, so we decided to find him. Finding the boss was very easy, even given our drunkenness, as every Turk we asked immediately switched from Broken Tourist English to their actual (still patchy) English, giving us precise and respectful directions. When our journey had begun, I was convinced that the Zimbabwean had never met the boss, but the natives' responses to his name quickly erased my doubts.

We eventually found Ismael in one of his shops, a very empty room which allegedly sold leather goods. He has two sons and one daughter. The son, who is an ex-boxer, served the three of us tea while the Zimbabwean arm-wrestled Ismael. This was their way of saying “hello”, and my wrist still hurts from attempting to say “hello” back.

We had a long conversation, covering Turkish politics, European politics, why Jews didn't die in the twin tower attacks, and Ismael's philosophical transition from Turkish nationalism as a young man to his present Humanist Islamacism. Occasionally, the Zimbabwean would point out that I was both Jewish and had studied at Oxford. Each time this happened, Ismael would continue smoking his cigarette, then nod to indicate the truth of both these facts.

By nine, the three of us had gotten sick of each other, so we left.

The next hour was spent walking from Ismael's shop to Istanbul's fashionable section, where we began what would turn out to be an entire night spent being kicked out of clubs. The problem was the Zimbabwean, and I wish I could blame it on the Zimbabwean and the massive amount we drank, but it really was just the Zimbabwean.

There was one club that we were kicked out of twice, and it was the only place I regretted leaving that night. You see, if you asked a certain type of Turkish man (never a Turkish woman, who would only ignore you) for directions to a specific club, he would offer to take you to an even better one. The three of us would walk until we reached an alley on the very edge of the district. We would discuss how cheaply the Turk could provide us with cocaine or hash. I don't remember what the different Turks wanted for hash, but they were always selling a kilogram of coke for one hundred Lira.

So, we got to this Turk's club, went inside, and found a small blacklit room, completely deserted except for the bartender, five bouncers, and a limp handful of Russia's most hideous prostitutes. We sat down and looked at the prostitutes. The bouncers looked at us. A waiter appeared and asked if we would like anything to drink or eat. After we had declined both offers, the bouncers gently escorted us from the club.

This happened twice.

There were other bars and clubs we were kicked out of, but that was my favorite.

Eventually, we realized that talking to Turkish girls led to us being kicked out whatever place we were drinking in, so we stopped doing it. Then, we realized that looking at Turkish girls also led to our removal. After we realized that dancing within twenty feet of a Turkish girl was also forbidden, we gave up. Sharing a third bottle of wine, we began walking back to the hostel. The sun almost rose while we were walking, but Istanbul's streets were still deserted.

The next afternoon (today) I woke up and realized these things:

I was very hungover.
I would not drink for at least another two days.
The Zimbabwean had been kicked out of the hostel sometime between returning to his room and breakfast.
When he left, he took my sandals.

2007-06-25T03:42:00.000-04:00

First day in Istanbul:

I was woken sometime around dawn by the call to prayer. The hostel's sandwiched between three big mosques, and I sleep on the roof, so I'm usually woken up a few hours before I'm ready.

An hour or two later, I managed to really wake.

About half those bunks are occupied at night. Now, they're all eating breakfast downstairs.

This street is pretty good. Every hour or so (during the day) a pickup truck drives down carrying cans of gas. It plays a really catchy song.

Something like: Dun du duuuuh dah dooooooOOOOoooooo doh

I'm not sure why it plays music.

Street level, where very short women bring us tea (or coffee), bread, and veggies.

I figure we'll go see tourist type stuff in the morning, then do stuff I like in the afternoon.

Cool?

'K. Our first stop, a somewhat unimpressive entrance to the very impressive Topkapi Palace:

This is the outer garden. Very laid back, like much of Istanbul.

AKA "Gift Shop"

I like models.

We've past through the first courtyard, and are currently in the fancier gardens. This is where the king kept his harem, and a special room built for circumcision ceremonies.

Also, deformed trees.

The bridge between two of Istanbul's sections.

I was standing right next to that circumcision chamber when I took this photo. Can't believe I missed taking a picture of the murals inside.

I have nightmares about those murals.

One more picture before I leave:

We have reached the outer gardens, home of 17 million Japanese tourists.

They're really cute - like that scene in 101 Dalmations where more puppies keep showing up in random places.

Oh. I guess most of the people up there were European tourists. Not really so cute, more along the lines of "please stop being so goddamn smug about your trendy sneakers. Also, your bags are stupid."

Anyway. After the palace, I went walking towards a more modern section of Istanbul. I got lost between the million streets that look like the one below.

I eventually figured out where I was. For my exceptional daring, I awarded myself the "pathfinder" merit badge and a sammich.

From there, I walked in the general direction of a bridge to the city's modern section.

Then I saw a cool mosque.

With a tomb next to it!

An indoor tomb!

Taking pictures might have been a bit rude.

Anyway, after defiling some graves, it was pigeon o'clock.

Then walking across the bridge pictured.

There's at least 100 old people fishing off each side. They sell their catches to the restaurants below, where they are grilled and sold to tourists at outrageous prices.

I got to the other side safely, and started wandering towards the tall glass buildings.

Then I got distracted by this awesome street.

As far as attention spans go, me and the pigeons have a lot in common.

There was a tower at the top, which turned out to be another popular tourist attraction, so I climbed it.

If there is a stone wall, dogs will sleep against it.

Shleepy dog.

And those tall buildings are where I'm walking to.

A pirate!

It's good to know that people are still civilized in Turkey.

I finally reached the base of Taksim (the modern district) Hill.

Walk walk walk.

My boots started falling apart halfway through. Seriously.

Resting in the park.

Pretty good, but no Hyde, Central, or even Piedmont.

Sweet mother of mercy. Someone alert G8 and G-Dub.

Through clever detective work, I eventually discover the culprit:

I would have taken more building pictures, but they weren't too impressive.

Instead, check out this wheel!

They use it to lower trains from the Taksim hill into the rest of Istanbul.

From the train down, it's a short tram ride across the water into Sultanahamet, where I'm staying.

A Narc, with his dog. They're both pretty sleepy.

Back home, I walk past the Blue Mosque into my neighborhood. The Hagia Sofia is right behind me.

Mavi Guesthouse.

If you're ever in Istanbul, stay here. The owner's super-nice.

I mess around with email, read a bit, and take a nap.

Then one of the hostel employees offers to take us to his neighborhood Turkish Bath, so we all share a cab down.

They take the two dames to a seperate bath.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to take any pictures inside the bath. I figured it might look sort of strange, wearing nothing but a towel and a camera.

But! If you get a chance to experience a good traditional Turkish bath, you should. If only for the architecture. The ceilings of that place were huge vaulted things, and everything was covered in marble and etched designs. Very cool.

Also, everyone who worked there looked like the guy on the left. Except the masseurs were bigger.

Anyway. After the bath, a big hairy guy pushed me into a little room and told me "you sleep ten minutes". I said "okay".

Dinner.

From left to right:

French girl whose name I forget, Catalan girl whose name I forget, French guy whose name I forget, and Turkish guide whose name I forget.

(but they're all completely awesome)

Too dark to take many pictures on the way back.

This machine shop was tucked away in what looked like an old cistern.

Finally, I got home and headed straight to bed. These two pictures were taken from my bunk:

Goodnight internet. I've gotta go practice the Turkish words for "you are very beautiful", "I love you", and "In America I have many skyscapers".

First Story Accepted

2007-06-11T14:05:00.000-04:00

Dear Ben,

Extremely cool piece - I love it! Perfectly written,
artistic and lots of fun to read. So glad you found
the site!

"Iron-On" will make its debut on Monday the 25th.

Welcome to 6S!

Sincerely,
Robert McEvily
Editor, 6S

-----------------------------

I'm pretty excited. The story's only 128 words long (Brit - not a coincidence), the magazine's online only, and I had too much caffeine running through my system to remember much of what I wrote. But, still very happy. I wish my cat was around so we could do the celebrated "Victory Dance".

It mainly involves her trying to get away, and me calling her the best cat, and a lot of jumping.

First, second, and third rejection letters. I've got four more magazines I'm waiting to hear from.

phiLOLsophers

2007-06-07T06:13:00.000-04:00

More phiLOLsophers.

Awesome.

Fuck Forever

2007-06-06T03:35:00.000-04:00

What Im saying, what i'm saying
Whats the use between death and glory?
I cant tell between death and glory?
Happy endings, no, they never bored me
Happy endings, they still don't bore me
But they, they have a way
They have a way to make you pay
And to make you toe the line
Sever the ties
Because I'm so clever
But cleverly wise

Fuck forever
If you don't mind
Oh fuck forever?
If you dont mind, dont mind,i dont mind,i dont mind

- Written by our favorite junky, Pete Doherty

How death or glory becomes just another story

n every gimmick hungry yob digging gold from rock n roll

Grabs the mike to tell us hell die before hes sold

But I believe in this-and its been tested by research

that he who fucks nun will later join the church

From every dingy basement on every dingy street
I hear every dragging handclap over every dragging beat
Thats just the beat of time-the beat that must go on
If you been trying for years-then we already heard your song

More News As This Story Developes

2007-06-02T16:49:00.000-04:00

Before I started spending time on this "Internet", I had realized that the majority of people were basically braindead. Then, I started reading interesting websites written by interesting people, and I changed that opinion. I began to think, since I was able to find so much damn cool information on this "internet", maybe people weren't as stupid as I thought!

Then, I spent even more time on the internet, and I realized that I had merely been selective in my sampling of the Internet. The vast majority of them are really. Really. Stoopid.

Do you realize, people exist who write the word "lol" after every sentence fragment they type? This is to let the reader know they are joking, or perhaps "laughing out loud". But, the funny thing is, they aren't actually making any jokes, or even making something that might be a joke if I was drunk enough and they were pretty enough. It as if they wished the reader to be aware of their generally jovial nature. I am reminded of this guy. He is jovial. Jovial and fucking retarded.

The Internet: Collecting stupidity since '91.

Yrs, Ben

2007-05-31T19:59:00.000-04:00

I am working on a theory which compiles all behaviors and all nationalities.

In the meantime, please watch Primer.

Harmony

2007-05-26T20:23:00.001-04:00

There was a drunk guy playing the harmonica below my window a few minutes ago - I opened my window wide and leant out.

Drunk guy sez: Sorry 'bout that mate, just playing my harmonica
Me sez: No! Keep on - it sounds good!
Guy: Don't mean to cause a disturbance...
Me: I like it - really!

But the guy left, and I feel horribly bad.

Do you know what it is to hear a good harmonica on a rainy stay at home night?

14 Days

2007-05-22T12:07:00.001-04:00

Whoooosh.... Boom!

2007-05-22T08:29:00.000-04:00

Holy shits!

One-way flight from London to Istanbul, only $176 with tax included! On British Airways!

Time Management

2007-05-16T18:19:00.000-04:00

Ideally, I would be writing about what trees look like.

Right now.

Instead, I am resheeting my bed and pillows.

A good compromise.

New Words

2007-05-15T12:39:00.000-04:00

I don't think day-dream is a good word.

Possible replacement: future-memory?

That imaginary series of images which one might generate while looking out of a classroom window. Unlike a dream, which is almost definitely jammed full of symbolist bullshit, aka "meaning", a future-memory is the mind's way of positing a simple future action which is basically identical to past actions. These past and future memories are generally simple: walking through the snow, napping under a tree, playing frisbee on the lawn. The only difference between the two is which has occurred - future memories, unlike dreams for the future, are almost always probable actions, separated from past memories only by the time or place they occur.

2007-05-13T16:47:00.000-04:00

The next day the wrinkled woman was back, and she still seemed to believe I was in terrible danger.

“You are in terrible danger!” She said.

I said “really?”

She paused and looked at the picture of Tibet behind me. It was labeled "Tibet". The correct response still had not materialized.

It appeared that the conversation had reached a stand still, so I went back to counting out the register. The customers had no respect for their money, the sheets were folded, curled, and torn. Most of our customers were students or obviously too wealthy to be buying Chinese food for the third night in a row. During the warmer months, we'd get illegals on their way in to town for a movie and a few beers. Unlike the other customers, I never got to recognize their faces. I think that's why I've always assumed they lived happier lives than the rest.

“How much is a soda?”

“A dollar even.”

She grabbed one of the new fruit flavored ones from the fridge. I looked again. Was she having trouble with the door? Her fingers seemed to flicker around the coke. It was like looking into a strobe light - I couldn't tell if they moved too fast or too slow.

“I am coming to you from your past and future.”

I counted out change for her crisp five. “Yeah?”

She was ready for it this time. “Yes. Both at the same time. It is a function of our quantum crystal matrix, we must go back to move forward, and vice versa.” Her fingers did that dancing thing again as she drew back the sheaf of soy sauce smelling ones.

“Do you know if I ever go back to college?”

---

That was the part I finished up on Friday. It needs a good deal of editing, and any advice is much appreciated.

This next bit was written today, and, is crap. I'm not saying that to be modest either. It was one of those situations where I just needed to put words on paper, and let my brain work in the background.

Voila:

---

“It depends – will you travel forward with me?”

“In time?” She watched the menu behind me closely. “Did you want anything else?”

“Don't think of it as moving in time... it's more like taking a vacation in a third world country. Of course, in this example, your time is the third world.”

I looked around the store. She was right – I probably couldn't get away with skipping mop-up tonight. The cooks were already cleaning up in back, so I turned off all the signs outside. The woman had uncapped her coke, and I wondered if she planned to drink it here.

I Really Like This Comic

2007-05-12T11:34:00.000-04:00

Aren't We All?

2007-05-09T19:16:00.000-04:00

I AM JULIET BRUCE ,22YRS OLD I AM A SERIOUS MINDED LADY I AM NEW TO ONLINE DATING AND I AM SEEKING FOR MARRIAGE AND SERIUS RELATIONSHIP WITH TRUE LOVE MAN.

I Hate Your Eyes

2007-05-09T03:42:00.000-04:00

1. What do your shoes smell like?
Leather, feet

2. If you were drafted into a war, would you survive?
Ideally, I'd leverage my religious heritage into a position as a supply clerk

3. Do you sleep with the TV on?
never

4. Have you ever drank milk straight out of the carton?
Nope. I'm not a goddamn barbarian.

5. Have you ever won a spelling bee?
Never competed in one, afraid of making other people look bad.

6. What is your longest fight you had with one of your friends?
[I'm considering my brother a friend for this one] Probably almost 20 minutes. It started slow, and then just escalated until eventually we were throwing furniture and punching through drywall. It was pretty awesome.

7. Are you a fast typer?
Yup.

8. Are you afraid of the dark?
Depends where I am. But no, not usually.

9. Do you like the sun?
Fuck yes. Radiation is awesome.

10. Who can you always turn to?
Whiskey?

11. When's the last time you chose a bath over a shower?
Never. Again, not a barbarian, do not want to wash in own filth.

12. what are you listening to?
Birds chirping, street noises.

13. Are you drinking anything right now?
Coffee.

14. Do you think you're attractive?
In the right light, maybe, if you're squinting your eyes.

15. Why?
Because my face is pretty much average. To be fair, my eyeballs are fucking amazing.

16. When is your birthday?
May 3rd. Holy fuck. I think I'm 23 now. Damnit.

17. What do you want for Hanuka?
Nothing, I'm doing fine.

18. Do you know the muffin man?
You mean Stuart, who lives on Drewry Lane?

19. Do you talk in your sleep?
Apparently!

20. Have you ever flown a kite?
yeah, not so much recently.

21. When was the last time you went swimming?
Two months ago? I miss swimming every day.

22. Do you brush your teeth 3 times a day?
Twice, if you're lucky. I've also started flossing more.

23. Do you consider yourself successful?
Within my limited definition, yes.

24. How many people are on your contact list of your cell phone?
Dunno. 30-40?

25. Have you ever asked for a horse?
Why? Fuck horses.

26. Plans for tomorrow?
Same thing I do every day, read, write, walk.

27. What's your middle name?
Vogel.

28. Missing someone right now?
Not so much. I could stand to see all my friends back home, maybe my brother.

29. When's the last time you told someone you loved them and meant it?
A few years ago. I don't tell a person I love them unless I mean it. Funny story actually, ask, and I shall reveal.

31. How are you feeling today?
Lame. Bright-eyed and fire-tailed.

32. Have you ever been suspended or expelled from school?
Suspended in high school.

33. Have you ever gotten a referal at school? If so what for?
huh?

34. What are you looking forward to?
Istanbul? Though I'm also perfectly content with Oxford. Could use more naked female company, but life's tough, you know?

35. Have you ever crawled through a window?
All the fucking time.

36. How many names do you go by?
Benjamin to my family, Ben to everyone else. "The Beast from the East" to Elizabeth and Jeremy.

37. Have you ever eaten dog food?
I keep meaning to.

38. Can you handle the truth?
I don't know yet.

39. Do you like green eggs and ham?
I don't eat swine.

40. What 3 things do you always bring with you to places?
I almost never carry things with me.

41. Any cool scars?
Yup, just recently, on my nose.

43. Is it Coke or is it Pop?
Coke.

44. Do you get your nails done?
nope

45. How often do you talk on the phone?
haven't used the phone for a few weeks.

46. Do you believe in love?
Not sure

47. Is there something you want that you can't have?
Have I mentioned the lack of naked girls in my life? I would also like a better bed.

48. Three things about the preferred sex that you first notice?
Face (first eyeballs, then mouth, then chin), chest, and a tie between ass and hands

50. Who did you last hug?
Beccah

52. Where is your phone?
In Atlanta, 5,000 miles away

53. What was the last thing you ate?
Sausage pasty

54. Favorite Color(s)?
Fuck you.

55. Last movie you watched?
Deadwood?

56. LAST SONG YOU HEARD?
The rap/country soundtrack from "Dead and Breakfast"

57. What do you want?
When do you want it?

58. What is your favorite thing to do?
Walk, break into buildings

59. What t.v. show are you watching?
Deadwood (downloading season 2 now)

60. Post-its or Index Cards?
What the fuck are you talking about? This is the 21st century - paper is for losers.

Mysteries

2007-05-07T17:12:00.000-04:00

If you want to seem smart, just wait for the other person to stop talking, then tell them why you aren't sure. Wait for them to stop talking again, and repeat.

This One Goes Out to All You Art History Majors

2007-05-04T03:43:00.000-04:00

According to Brueghel
when Icarus fell
it was spring

a farmer was ploughing
his field
the whole pageantry

of the year was
awake tingling
near

the edge of the sea
concerned
with itself

sweating in the sun
that melted
the wings' wax

unsignificantly
off the coast
there was

a splash quite unnoticed
this was
Icarus drowning

William Carlos Williams, [couldn't find the date], written immediately after seeing Breughel's Landscape With the Fall of Icarus.

Iraq Forever

2007-04-29T21:02:00.000-04:00

A friend of a friend was killed in Iraq a few hours ago. It keeps happening, this is the third.

I don't know him, I barely know the friend... but... why?

I wish we could sit and look at trees.

Bikes and Bridges

2007-04-27T06:01:00.000-04:00

I was at this cafe the other day, sitting under that painting, reading and writing, as I tend to do. This girl sits down with some sort of weird cheese and tomato based English sandwich at the next table over. The Bodelein's opening in a few minutes, so I start packing to leave.

"You're not from here, are you?" Says the girl, in an American accent modified by a year or two in Oxford.

"Nope, the States actually. How'd you guess?"

"Well. You aren't wearing any shoes. You've got a 'North Face' backpack. And your computer's using an American adapter."

There's some small talk as I finish packing up, meticulously. She's a full time student here, studying Philosophy and something like History of Religion. I couldn't really keep my mind together during the conversation, as I had the paper due in a few hours, and hadn't really written anything except a paragraph or two in the cafe. She's got a pretty good smile, and an eagle's approach to maintaining eye contact. Anyway, I left.

I generally assume that interesting people (or interesting to each other at least) tend to meet up again and again. So, that's something to keep an eye out for.

Did you know I won some sort of poetry award recently? I asked the school for more information, but they're not talkin'. Do they realize that I didn't actually submit any poetry to the Tower?

Would one of you mind turning in one of my stories for this semester's Tower?

Radio Gaga with Prisoners

2007-04-24T18:16:00.001-04:00

This video was recorded and posted by a Filipino prison warden. He's got a few more of his prisoners dancing.

The Philippines are a happy country.

I Am the Internet's Gift to You

2007-04-20T21:28:00.000-04:00

Turned in my first paper at 11 this morning, discussed/debated for the next hour.

Got home, drank celebratory 2 glasses of wine with lunch. Finished watching Enter the Dragon. Thought about starting Stephen Hero. Estimated plan for day = read hundred pages of Stephen Hero, make notes, eat meager dinner, meet up with people in way East Oxford, go to pub with people, wake up the next morning.

Instead, I fell asleep. Wine, sunshine, and kung-fu all combine to make a sleepy Ben.

Woke hours later, made dinner.

Walked down to way East Oxford with roommate, met other people. Climbed onto roof of their house, demonstrated proper way to jump from rooftop to ground. bought some beers at Tesco's. Drank beers. Convinced group of guys that beer was for sissies; lead group to pub.

Got some whiskeys, sat and talked to drunk philosophy majors and homeless people. (Basically indistinguishable)

Insisted I could find my way home. Asked kind stranger to point West, started walking in that general direction. Got hungry, started eying rubbish bins for food. Search proved fruitless. Instead of food, found unchained bicycle and unbroken bar glass. Took these items home, stashed them away from prying eyes.

Got naked, checked email.

Am currently writing this thing.

Stars n' Bars

2007-04-17T08:43:00.000-04:00

Increasingly, as I sit under trees in foreign parts, I wonder what I'm doing living in America. I don't agree with my country's politics, I don't agree with most opinions held by the majority, and I'm not particularly attached to my home city of Atlanta.

Really, the only thing tying me to America is the superiority of the State-side music scene, vague worries about antisemitism abroad, and my coveted group of great American friends.

Am I missing something?

Why shouldn't my senior year at Oglethorpe be the last one I spend in the States?

So It Goes

2007-04-12T09:33:00.000-04:00

Vonnegut's dead. And he's looking down on us from heaven.

Archive of Vonnegut's contributions to In These Times.

This is an exerpt from another great American writer's work:

And the Bird was blowing a final chorus, high, and the set wouldnt end, but the Bird would slowly fade and you would never know when he really stopped and the sounds would hang and roll in your ear and all would be love - Quoth the Bird Evermore - and the flames bowed and licked the edge of the candles and even Harry didnt fight lethargy and try to break the spell and Georgette lowered the books to her lap with full dramatic presence and the final words still whirled with the light and stayed in the ear as the sea in a shell and Georgette sat on a wondrous throne in a wondrous land where people loved and kissed and sat silent together, holding hands and walking through magic nights and Goldie got up and kissed the Queen and told her it was beautiful, simply beautiful and the guys mumbled and smiled and Vinnie struggled with the softness he felt, trying honestly, for a second, to understand it, then let it slide and slapped Georgette on her thigh, gently, as one does a friend, and smiled, at her - Georgette almost crying seeing the flash of tenderness in his eyes - he smiled and groped for words, battling with his boundaries then saying, Hey that was alright Georgie boy, then the knowledge of his friends being there, especially Harry, forced its way through the bennie and the mood and he sat back quickly, took a drink and grabbed a smoke from Harry.

-Hubert Selby Jr, Last Exit to Brooklyn

Zack, I think you'd really like this guy.

Oxford, Continued

2007-04-11T08:45:00.000-04:00

An American who'd been teaching at Oxford for the last 40 years gives a speech about the difference between our two countries.

His assesment of the lower classes:

"They just expect to get taken care of by the government. This crisis with our troops being captured by Iranians is great for them, like someone just delivered a big box of Viagra to their door. Hmmmm... eh... Yes. Yes. Using them of course, the Viagra I mean. That is what you do, I'm given to understand."

About half of his speech was composed of him mumbling "hmmmm" or "ehhh" or agreeing with himself by mumbling "yes, yes really".

That was the highlight of the speech, but he's also president of the program, so I'm sure we'll be hearing from him again.

I ate a pasty for lunch. It was meat, potatoes, and onions inside bread. I think I've died and gone to heaven.

Need a Shower

2007-04-10T04:59:00.001-04:00

I'm in London, in a park. Coffee houses here don't give me free internet.

Fuck I'm hungry.

Where does one go to get cheap food around here? Everything is the same price as in
America, but they use pounds, so their 1.65 cup of coffee works out to something like 3ish dollars. Foreign countries use foreign currency?!?

Need a Shower

2007-04-10T04:59:00.000-04:00

I'm Back (Soon)

2007-03-28T16:26:00.000-04:00

Note Found Under My Windshield Wiper:

2007-03-26T09:51:00.001-04:00

THOUGH THE STREETS ARE PUBLIC, WE WOULD APPRECIATE IF YOU DID NOT PARK SO INAPPRORIATELY ON OUR BLOCK. IT IS RUDE AND DANGEOUS TO TAKE UP MUCH NEEDED SPACE AND TO BE STICKING OUT INTO TRAFFIC. IF YOU ARE UNABLE TO RESPECT YOUR NEIGUBORS PLEASE FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE TO PARK.

THANKYOU AND GODBLESS!

-----------

What a great way to start the day.

Also, all green lights on the way to work!

Additionally: I've got a project I'd like to work on some time: I'd like to create a large theremin and hide it under a piece of sidewalk, complete with concealed speakers loud enough to transmit sound from the theremin to the pedestrian "playing" it.

Very First Draft

2007-03-21T15:24:00.000-04:00

I actually overheard the conversation I'm describing in this story. It was one of the scariest things I've ever heard, and I hope to capture here a bit of the desperation I've felt since.

-------------

Virginia Woolf wrote an essay titled "A Room of One's Own". I haven't read it yet. I will eventually. I'm trying to keep my mind clear of the meanings Woolf associated with the phrase, at least until I've finished telling you this.

I've also been worrying about something I overheard yesterday:

A senile woman in a wheelchair suddenly speaks up, loudly, "is there a chair behind me?"
"No Margaret." Says the nurse filling out reports.
"Is there anyone behind me?"
"No Margaret."
The nurse glances towards me, sharing the desk on her right. This floor smells like washed out urine and apple sauce; other residents occasionally moan phrases much less sane than Margaret, and the sound seems perfectly in tune with the smell of carpet and sharp overripe fruit.
"Has the nurse come yet? She's supposed to be here in fifteen minutes."
"No Margaret."
The nurse was originally from Trinidad and Tobago, but she only spoke in the accent with other nurses from small islands in the Caribbean. Occasionally I would come upon a group of them riding the elevator up or down (there were two male nurses - if you met a nurse in that place, even with your eyes closed, you would know that she was born on a small island in the Caribbean, wore a shapeless uniform almost as deep red as her skin, and was profoundly tired. This was true at 9 am, at lunch in the cafeteria, and even sitting on the benches outside as we left for home. The two men were never seen outside the third floor), and the women would ask me about the lunch menu or new equipment they needed in just barely a hint of the accent they spoke in only seconds before.
"This is all trash isn't it?"
"Your nurse will be here at 3 Margaret."
"Just trash, trash words."
We were both carefully avoiding the old woman's voice. I expected the nurse to be better at it, but neither of us knew what to do.

I just read Woolf's first few paragraphs. She writes with a much better voice than I could ever use.

The thing about this other woman, this senile woman wearing jewelry older than me, the thing is that I still can't imagine living in her world. Right now, me talking, for me, is My World. And that world just can't live with the simultaneous existence of an insane world.

New Cities

2007-03-19T10:43:00.000-04:00

One bad thing about moving to a new city: Friendwise, you start over at square one - the equivalent of Freshmen year of college, except, unlike college, where new students are all eager to meet other new people and learn important lessons about sexually transmitted diseases, everyone here already has friends, and couldn't care less about having an extra random guy hanging around.

So that's not too great, but I've managed to meet a good collection of interesting people in these parts so far, most of whom can be distinguished by the amount of hair they've got. Seriously. The range goes from mohawk (!yay!) to troll-doll-esque (in a good way, of course). If you're reading this, you probably know how bad I am with names. Also, you problem noticed how, for the first few weeks I knew you, I never once said your name because I was worried I would say the wrong one.

That's another thing I miss about having a good group of friends - it's really hard to establish a posse in this town. I mean, some nights, when the weather's nice, you really need to be able to make some calls and eventually end up downtown, on the roof of an abandoned building, with a few good friends and a fifth of whiskey. Or, in the woods roasting marshmallows. Or just walking until you run out of street. The important thing is numbers and trust.

See, it takes a good bit of time to get to the point where there's enough trust between you and a friend to break laws together. And it takes even longer to get roughly that same amount of trust with a good group of kids. And, longest of all is the amount of time it takes to convince people that responding to the random phone call will definitely lead to fun or at least interesting times.

Marginalia is a good word

2007-03-19T04:26:00.000-04:00

I was buying gas a few days ago, or, more accurately, waiting in line to buy gas. This old pyramid shaped guy sort of showed up out of the corner of my eye and said I looked "ectomorphic".

Fortunately, I was also buying some candy bars and a coke. I waved them at him as I scampered as if to say "I promise I eat food!"

Another Song for the "Band"

2007-03-16T08:38:00.000-04:00

Doo doo doo
Making hotdawgs
doo doo doo
dee dee
Eating them for breakfast!
bu doo doo dee!

[repeat for 2:30]

A Story for the First Day of Spring

2007-03-13T14:47:00.000-04:00

“I had to sell my drum machine to make rent. Dunno why I bought it in the first place.”

“Where should we sit?”

“I like here, right between these two sidewalks.”

“Too much mud.”

“We should stay away from edges.” I pointed to the muddy tracks along our stretch of sidewalk, then looked for higher ground. It’s difficult to find high ground in Chicago, in a park, next to a pond.

“We should stay away from sidewalks in general. How about under a tree?”

“Or many trees. Let’s head towards that copse.” I paused and started taking off my boots. “In a second.” The other boy’s hands filtered through his guitar’s strings as I pulled at my cement scarred boots. The girl, Nicole, moaned softly against the boy’s chords, a melody more for fire-lit nights than afternoons in the park.

New Story, Alpha Build

2007-03-08T10:07:00.000-05:00

Things Which Are Fascinating:

Curved mirrors
The placement of snow on trees
Cats
Hooded jackets in the wind
Cab drivers

The boss says a number in her slightly emphasized mode of speaking, so I make an “I'm writing this important number down” motion on my legal pad. The boss's slightly emphasized mode of speaking is reduced by a half step, and I think of virgins sacrificed to volcanoes. Now she is using her normal meeting tone, which is warm, slightly smooth, and contains a sprinkle of two and three word phrases like “deployment phase” or “currently conducting negotiations”. I suspect, if I listened carefully enough, I would discover that each speech the boss makes during these meetings is actually a formed from a pre-assembled diagram. The names of our clients are changed monthly, the numbers and statistics are products of a formula she keeps on one of her spreadsheets.

Varieties of Boss-Speech:

Whispered confidential in hallway
Theatrically confidential in office or (slightly louder) conference
Normal behind closed door
On phone with family
On phone with client
This is important (office mainly, hallway/cubicle rarely)
Slightly emphasized mode of speaking (meetings only)

The meeting ends and I push a chair in on my way out. I hold the legal pad close to my body, worrying that the others will realize why I'm so careful.

Things I'm Careful About:

Venereal diseases and pregnancies
Stop signs
Client confidentiality
Easily confused words
Microwave settings
Cooking chicken or eggs (always overcooked)

There's an hour of work left after the meeting, enough time to tally my hours from the last two weeks, respond to emails I've gotten over the last two hours, and finish up the first page of a new analysis. I started building a rubber band ball earlier, and it keeps rolling into my right hand as I type.

2007-03-07T14:37:00.000-05:00

Pretty good review of the new Kundera thingy.

I'm trying to think of a name for this story I'm trying to get published. Turns out names are the hardest parts. The only names I can think of make fun of the story and its' themes.

Another Snowy Night, and Me Home Washing Dishes

2007-03-04T02:55:00.000-05:00

Yah, posting an old IM transcript. Don't blame me, I'm still recovering from my cold.

I find the thought of me naked pretty hilarious. Or, at least more hilarious than me with clothes on, which is only good for an occasional chuckle.

I'm "Backpfeifengesi" (short for backpfeifengesicht, the German word for "a face which makes you want to slap it"), and Anonymous is the gal, who is anonymous.

If I can be bothered to use instant messaging, this is the stuff I usually write. Which is why I don't usually use it. Plus, I don't think many people are interested in hearing about how pretty I am. Except you, oh citizens of the Internet.

Backpfeifengesi: oh man, if I could find the connecty cord for this camera, I'd so be sending you and everyone else on the internet naked pictures of myself
Backpfeifengesi: I'm like a lil dynamo of sexy
Anonymous: but i already know what you look like naked
Anonymous: quite well actually
Backpfeifengesi: yeah, I'm just saying, I look better and better each day
Backpfeifengesi: like fine wine
Backpfeifengesi: not fine cheese

Awesome. And completely true. Even though I'm deathly afraid of growing older, I find myself mysteriously handsomer each day. Somewhere, a picture of me is gaining wrinkles and gray hair.

I Have Your Pen

2007-03-01T23:30:00.000-05:00

Currently listening to Office.

Music here. Myspace here.

They're good indie-pop fun, and some of their songs incorporate typewriters. Hopefully seeing them in a week or so.

Thinking About Maxwell, Lot 49, Etc

2007-02-26T12:07:00.000-05:00

It is difficult to drive to work on cold mornings just after the night’s Snow Storm has become a Light Flurry.

A Light Flurry means that it is barely freezing, though this doesn’t matter to the imp in my Windshield Wiper Fluid Dispenser, who keeps the Fluid Nozzle firmly shut against my attempts to dispense fluid onto my windshield. Sometimes, on those winter mornings, it is a Light Flurry with Freezing Rain, and I especially need to use the Dispenser. This does not matter to the imp, and it continues to restrain my Windshield Wiper Fluid Dispenser.

When I press the button which, on other cars I’ve owned, would spray soapy fluid over my windshield and activate my wipers for a short time, I often find myself cursing behind my dirty windows as I imagine the imp reclining against the stopped gears, perhaps leafing through the imp version of Popular Science.

The imp functions unerringly on warmer days. I travel a good deal, so my warmer days can be grouped as Days I Was in X State, as follows:

Georgia, Florida, Alabama: March through May. Windshield Wipers and Dispenser used infrequently with no errors.

Western Louisiana and the entirety of Texas: May through July. Windshield Wipers and Dispenser functioned as needed. Curiously, as temperatures rose, Dispenser was often fired without my input, suggesting that the imp is able to trigger the Device from within its home. Given the high temperatures, I hypothesize that the imp uses the Wiper Fluid Dispenser as a cooling device.

New Mexico and Arizona: August. Again, the Dispenser was frequently fired by the imp. Temperatures were often higher than in Louisiana or Texas.

I was recently reassigned to work with the school districts of Southern Wisconsin and Northern Illinois. I’ve kept the imp, and the car. When they work, both imp and car are dependable and efficient.

From Junky

2007-02-21T13:41:00.000-05:00

"The Valley is like an honest dice table where the players do not have the vitality to influence the dice and they win or lose by pure chance. You never hear anyone say, "It had to happen that way," or when they do say it they are talking about death. an event that "had to happen that way" may be good or bad, but there it is, and you cannot regret it or rehash it. Since everything that happens in the Valley - except death - happens by chance, the inhabitants are always tampering with the past like the two-dollar bettor on the return train from the track: "I should have hung on to that hundred acres on the lower lift; I should have took up them oil leases; I should have planted cotton instead of tomatoes." A nasal whine goes up from the Valley, a vast muttering of banal regret and despair."

-From William S. Burroughs' Junky

Written a few paragraphs after Burroughs first describes the Valley as "America concentrated".

Interesting Tidbit: Burroughs original title for the novel was "Junk" - his publishers changed the title, against Burroughs' wishes, to "Junkie: Confessions of an Unredeemed Drug Addict".

Dames

2007-02-20T11:54:00.000-05:00

This is what I can remember from a conversation between Jeremy and I at about 10 in the morning, while wandering lost in residential New Orleans, after driving several hours to the city the night before, putting our brains through various chemical and situational wringers, then waking after a half hour's sleep and walking some more, which is how we lost the car in the first place.

Jeremy: We need some dames.
Me: Dames?
Jeremy: Yeah, lots of 'em.
Me: Dames with maps.
Jeremy: Dames with maps and coffee.
Me: Driving cars, so we can get back to our car.
Jeremy: But dames... yeah, dames...
Me: With swords!
Jeremy: What the fuck?
Me: Valkyrie dames, creating swords of mythic might! With maps, and coffee, and who also have cars!
Jeremy: Or - dames who are cars!
Me: With wheels for legs, and hammers for hands!

The conversation went downhill from there, as is often the case when discussing magical sword dames.

Portrait of a Hangover

2007-02-18T02:47:00.000-05:00

A Warm Story for Cold Weather

2007-02-14T19:03:00.000-05:00

When you see the immediate aftermath of a car crash in movies, there's always a bit of soundtrack in the background, tinkling urgently along to let you know the car's about 45 seconds away from going up in a big burp of flame and special effects.

It was summer, and the sun was hanging a bit behind the actual time, still barely throwing shadows even though we had stopped for lunch two hours ago. We'd gone through something like three, maybe four tanks of gas so far, staying on the road all night, talking past the point we got sick of each others voices and letting the road just flow through us like the cold coffee Jamie took black and I drank with less sugar each time we stopped for more.

It was like being on the docks again, this sun burning into arms we let hang out of open windows – I had driven since the first leg of our trip, a straight shot up to one of the Carolinas that hadn't taken more than 6 hours, but I'd had my left arm hanging out the window the entire time, tapping a beat to whatever Jamie put on, and, half watching my arm take up the radio's rhythm now, I could see that it was no darker than the rest of my body. We really were baked. Jamie was lighter than me, but I was sure, if he had dragged his arm back into the car, it would be just the same crisp color as the rest of his body.

The highway was two lane, and a line of slow motion seemed to run through the cars ahead of our own. They bunched, caught a whiff of uncertainty, and slowed as we started to climb a gentle rise. The sky was the sort you got on long car rides through South Georgia, which was about where we were, one of those sections where the real towns had been shriveling for the last million years. Someone had crashed into a drainage ditch a few car-lengths past us. The truck ahead of us blinked sunlight off fresh washed metal details as it slid left, and Jamie followed.

V-Day, Misogyny

2007-02-13T11:43:00.000-05:00

I keep forgetting that my parents occasionally read this blog. Which isn't too much of a problem, except when I title a story "I Became a Counselor So I Could Tell Rape Victims They Asked For It", which, on reflection, is a bit of an alarming title for a completely unrelated piece of fiction if you don't know the title is actually stolen from the title of an Anal Cunt song.

Other Anal Cunt song titles:

"Everyone in the Underground Music Scene Is Stupid"
"I Got Athlete's Foot Showering at Mike's"
"Sweatshops Are Cool"
"I Ate Your Horse"
"Domestic Violence Is Really, Really, Really Funny"
"Dictators Are Cool"
"Deadbeat Dads Are Cool"
"Being Ignorant Is Awesome"

Which all lead to a call from my mum the other night, and a lecture about why I shouldn't be a misogynist. Personally, I think that being a misandrist, tends to balance out any misogyny pretty damn well. I don't really see a tendency towards hating on womenfolk in my writing, except maybe when I talk about my love life, and, even there, any negative things I say about dates or partners or etcetera seems like an equal condemnation of myself, right?

[By the way: you should probably read those Wikipedia links even if you know the definitions of misogyny and misandry]

You should also realize that I'm laughing as I write this. The idea that I hate or dislike anyone based on their sex is pretty damn funny to me.

Actually, just as a guide for further reading; it's important to keep in mind that any criticism I write aimed at a person or group of people is intended to show my belief that those persons or people are capable of being better than they are currently. Also, any time I use a broad generalization, specifically the words "always" or "never", you shouldn't be taking me seriously.

In non Ben-Hates-The-World related news, Chicago's in the middle of the first big storm of winter, I saw Ira Glass do a reading last night, and I'm visiting my grandparents for Valentine's Day. [Interesting Fact: they stay at a Conservative Jewish nursing home, so the home calls it "Love Day". I think there's going to be Old People Dancing and other Special Events, and I imagine I'll end up telling Elizabeth about it Thursdayish, and she'll make a little awww sound and call it "cute".]

Hm. And there's no one in the office except me today, which means I really shouldn't be wearing any pants. Also, I'm not sure if I mentioned this before, but I usually try to spend one week out of every month without caffeine or booze or anything else that makes life worthwhile, and it's going pretty damn well so far. Nights are sort of slow, but I've been drawing stuff on my walls, so that's good. I've got a date with a bartender on Thursday, and I think we're meeting at a bar, so I'm not sure whether I'll cut the No Booze restriction short for that night.

Shit, I've been typing lots of words.

Local

2007-02-11T16:02:00.000-05:00

Not taken in Chicago, not my photograph.

Lif

2007-02-10T22:19:00.000-05:00

It is surprisingly hard to convince myself to do things I don't want to do.

Your thoughts?

Futures

2007-02-08T11:52:00.000-05:00

The more time I spend in offices, the more sense Rousseau makes. Not that I think the guy's anything short of completely batshit, but I suppose he's useful to read as a sort of reflection of his times + how he influenced Marx.

I think, in 100 years, the invention of the office, as in the physical environment, the box we store people in, the cubicle - these images will be the stereotypical pictures of our time, just like pre-civil war south had the plantation, and ancient Rome had the coliseum. I can feel it working its way into me, and sometimes, I worry that my memory of Chicago will be entirely dominated by florescent lighting and offwhite walls.

That's the scary part. This whole thing is viable. There's really no rational reason not to finish college, than return to Cube World. It wouldn't be too hard to get a job in a box doing something I can tolerate, working in editing, or management, or something. But I don't want to do any of that, and I'm getting to the point where, each moment I do one thing, I dig deeper into the life of always doing that one thing, or always living in that one city, or always something something.

So, now what?

Current Chicago Temperature: 10 degrees.

2007-02-07T16:59:00.000-05:00

Winter in Atlanta. Not my pictures. If you've met the Russian, and you probably haven't, they're hers.

Sometimes I stick comma's in sentences just to annoy you.

I'll have Chicago pictures soon.

Pains

2007-02-05T01:05:00.000-05:00

The space between my ears hurts.

For the next 2 hours, I will require:

6 girls dressed in Russian Cosmonaut suits
A bowl of chili
One of those espresso machine that makes like 3 cups at once
A copy of Steinbeck's Cannery Row
Pants
And someone to build a shelf along the corner of my room, 'cause I decided today that a shelf's the only thing I need to complete it, not that I have enough books to put on said shelf. I miss all my books.

Mucca Pazza

2007-02-02T13:16:00.000-05:00

Pictures I found on flickr from last night's show:

I like how, in every picture, the musicians are making the same "I'm rocking out now" face, but that one cheerleader kicks it up from "rocking out" to "bat shit fucking insane". 3ish hours of sleep. Apologies if that last sentence didn't make sense.

I mentioned the three hours of sleep thing to my boss, and he said, "why didn't you just take the day off?" - it's been a while since I worked white collar - I didn't even realize that was an option.

New Words

2007-01-29T13:37:00.000-05:00

This day feels limnent. Limnent, from subliminal, immanent, and luminous. Like dreaming of being about to wake up. Or waking up, at least, waking up during that time of life when it's obvious you've got more years of life remaining to live than you've spent thus far.

I Became a Counselor So I Could Tell Rape Victims They Asked For It

2007-01-27T13:50:00.000-05:00

Seven years of bad luck, but it seems this world's full of mirrors, and every step the breakage of another reflection.

Which is why I shouldn't take public transportation, these thoughts running through my head. What do I mean? What was I thinking?

People. The other person as a reflection of myself. Is that an American thing? We seem so self conscious, or perhaps I just feel more conscious of how I act, how I think around foreigners. So many questions... how can you really know what a person thinks, speaking in their second language? It's always been a problem for me, and I suppose the problem exists even in my home, where the only language spoken is our first.

Green light, no cars. The few feet between sidewalk and black asphalt's strewn with glass and cigarette butts. And, further off the road, I can see it clearly now in an image, one that I make into words as I think it, but the first thing I see when I think of those bushes in the empty lot between gas station and liquor store:

wet grass, stilldamp from morning dew in the shadow of higher bushes, and cradled in ones, each 2'4” from the other, small bottles, each with a well known name. Vodka mainly, or whiskey, sometimes gin, but those names are

Well known to me, drinking, but I've heard it said that wondering if you have a problem is the first indication that the problem exists. I fear to apply this same rational to the other problems in my life. Though I suppose, in the nights that I've spent thinking about it, the rational, I have applied it to my life as a whole, which takes the whole choice away, and I don't know why I've been watching those pigeons instead of the light, because suddenly the walk faster sign is blinking, and I've got another road to cross, taking my first step while I'm still remembering the bottles.

Further up my path, when this road intersects with MLK just before passing that sad little park. There's always the same two homeless men there, one of them huddled into himself, almost indistinguishable from the garbage bags the other roots through. Roots through? Why do I say that? If anything, the first man – the huddled one – is more animal. I've never seen his eyes, even when summer sets asphalt boiling and walkers like myself fermenting in damp and sweat itched clothes.

The second if anything, is higher than man, a sort of animal-man hybrid blending into his environment in the same way that I've never believed existed, even after seeing him every day and every evening, talking with him on occasion, most notably the one I remember as I think of rooting through trash bags along this stretch of side road, rimmed on either side with warehouse loading docks.

It was one of the hotter months, maybe August

----------

That's as far as I've gotten. I'm taking the day to walk down Clark until I hit a supposedly interesting area just along the lake. There's some used bookstores, people much better dressed than me, coffee shops, the usual in that sort of area.

I'm really going there to prove that it's still possible to get into the city without a car. I'm maybe two miles into the five mile walk, finishing lunch (coffee and bagels) in Uncommon Grounds (recently voted "the city's best coffee and social spot"). I dunno. I'm not really a social person. I'm sitting here looking out the window, and occasionally waiters come by. It's quite cozy.

The story above's loosely based on my life, loosely on my brother's, and there's a good mix of overheard stories and plain fiction in there. I suppose the style would be called realist, with modernist touches. The transition between the narrator's thoughts and his description of the airline booze bottles could be considered post-modern.

I should write science fiction. I was thinking of a quick adventure story - you know, bounty hunter with all sorts of cool gadgets, except, in the story, he'll be a dorky IT guy, whose job just happens to include killing brain sucking parasites which invade the company ship's mainframe. It'll be fun. I might even stick in some open source jokes for Brit.

Criticism, comments, and suggestions are always welcome. Also, yo mamma jokes.

Fucking Yes.

2007-01-26T10:31:00.000-05:00

Cheer up kids! School will be over soon, and Nextwave will blow stuff up!

Fuck Memes.

2007-01-25T14:30:00.001-05:00

Reply to this post, and I'll tell you one or two (maybe even three) reasons why I hate you.

Then put this in your own journal, and spread the hate.

Chicago Needs More Pretty People

2007-01-24T11:58:00.000-05:00

Here's an idea: Know anyone interesting and full of life in Chicago? Get them to contact me. We'll run around or something. I'm seriously starved for non-boring companionship. See below:

Working in an office is seriously weird. I feel like my eyeballs are wearing mittens.

Though that could be because I got bored at home and went to this place called The Empty Bottle were they fed me Blackened Catfish Tacos, $2 bottles of PBR, and a good local band opening for a sort of shitty Scottish band called Frightened Rabbit. Also, they had a separate room with a couch (containing a cat) and a pool table, so I petted the cat and read a local music magazine between sets. Also, I drank a beer, which the cat tried to eat, and it was great.

Felt very morose during the non-cat/eating taco parts of the night, didn't even try to hit on Random Boring Scene Girl who was totally out of my league. Of course, it was also pretty dark in there, but the crowd seemed uglier than one might usually expect at a $7 show, and older, so I didn't think the RBSG actually made an appearance. Also, I think the winters here make people old and ugly.

My social life seems to pendulum back and forth: on weekends, Carl and Jeff take me to hang out with yuppies, gay guys (indistinguishable from yuppies), and lesbian sculptors. On weekdays, I venture out into the wilds of Chicago, using the hour of daylight after work to find some way to surround myself with beautiful women who will feed me grapes and make limericks about my private parts. My strategy so far has been to just go for walks, and it is failing terribly, but the walks are a lot of fun. Really, the walks are more fun than my normal strategy RE female companionship - getting drunk and pretending to be a Fun Guy.

The place I work is all underground. See, it's a really fancy retirement home, which means all the pretty stuff is above ground, surrounded by elm trees taller than any tree you'll ever see in Atlanta. So they stick all the employees in offices buried in deep underground bunkers, and the underground facility is huge and sprawling like your mother, so I spend a substantial portion of each day getting lost on my way to supply closets or bathrooms or cafeterias.

Anyway, I got back from the show about 1, read and interneted for a bit, fell asleep at 2, woke at 6:50, fell asleep again, woke at 7:16, said "oh shit" in my head, and got to work only a few minutes late. On the other hand, I'm dressed in a manner which could only be described as "sharp". As in: Bluish white dress shirt composed of intricate gridwork, black pants made from spun hatred, shoes which were approved by Carl before purchase, and a belt which is just the right color. Actually, all of these items were approved by Carl before purchase, otherwise I'd be sitting here in sleeves too long for me looking like a fucking dork, as opposed to now, when I'm sitting here looking like a fucking pimp who is also a dork and smuggles a copy of Dubliners into the office every day.

Nietzsche, Inside Jokes

2007-01-20T17:35:00.000-05:00

"That the ascetic ideal has meant so much to man, however, is an expression of the basic fact of the human will, its horror vacui: it needs a goal, - and it would rather will nothingness than not will."

-Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morality, "Third Treatise: What Do Ascetic Ideals Mean?"

My Thoughts:

- I opened the book randomly, sitting on my bed idly watching my brother play video games, petting the cat with the one foot hanging over my bed's board. But the funny part, the funny part is this wreckage of party around me, bottles, cups, a reek of booze like happiness filtered through chemicals and red fruit. And my brother's cut and bleeding, a casualty of too much happiness in one night. And I'm reading about Asceticism, while thinking about Aesthetics, or, more accurately, wondering why I don't agonize over aesthetics.

- It's a strange world out thar.

- After dipping my toes into Derrida, Genet, and other Frenchmen, Nietzsche's a lot easier to read.

- Genet charges $5 for a toe dip. Haha.

Lexx!

2007-01-18T22:49:00.000-05:00

Your results:
You are Lex Luthor

Lex Luthor		45%
Apocalypse		45%
Venom		42%
Dr. Doom		42%
Catwoman		42%
Dark Phoenix		40%
Magneto		39%
The Joker		37%
Poison Ivy		37%
Mystique		36%
Riddler		33%
Green Goblin		32%
Juggernaut		32%
Kingpin		31%
Mr. Freeze		29%
Two-Face		16%

A brilliant businessman on a quest for world domination and the self-proclaimed greatest criminal mind of our time!

Click here to take the Supervillain Personality Quiz

2007-01-17T06:27:00.000-05:00

I'm reformatting the hardrive on my new laptop, as the people who sent it to me decided to include a lot of bullshit software who's only purpose is to ask me stupid fucking questions.

Also, I woke up an hour ago, and slept through three different phone calls between the hours of 6:30 and 5:30.

And my mouth smells like something died in it, and I'm not wearing any clothes.

This is what fancy art types call "Mise en Scène". Which I've actually been researching a bit, as I'm currently (not this second, but since yesterday, or whatever the fuck day it was yesterday, I'm not sure, I was crossing time zones) reading House of Leaves, which is a lot of fun.

I don't have the book next to me, but I believe the first page contains only the words "Muse un Siene", which, if you're liberal with your accent, sounds like "mise en scène", and is a good way to describe the book's first chapter.

The question: To what extent can the book as a whole be called "mise en abyme"?

Anyway, I'm sure I'll be writing more about this subject, if I don't forget about it.

Other subjects to write more about: The Western Wall. Habbits of the American Tourist. Shwarma. Snorkling and Acid. Drinking at Noon. Airports.

2007-01-03T11:27:00.000-05:00

The False Start

Shot of bourbon
Half shot of apple brandy
Juice of half a lemon,
Fill with apple cider

Served in a rocks glass, neat.

2007-01-02T16:32:00.000-05:00

Cleaning my room, listening to all Laurie Anderson's albums, in a row. O Superman is pretty great.

It's nice to be back in Atlanta, even though I miss Chicago, and New York, and New Orleans, and just the sensation of being on the road, only stopping for gas, eating peanutbutter sandwiches for strength, inhaling coffee and caffeine, and sleeping in a different place each night.

I'm flying down to Miami Saturday afternoon, staying at the airport for an hour or so, then meeting a big herd o' Jews and flying to Israel. That will be good. I'm trying to strategize the sort of impression I'll make when I meet everyone - it's probably going to be the version of myself I'll be stuck being throughout the trip, so it's an important decision.

My morning in New Orleans:

We had spent the entire night wandering, staying mainly in this deserted harbor area a few blocks west of Burbon and Canal. Occasionally we'd sort of swoop through Burbon street, but it got boring fast, and I couldn't bring myself to even attempt talking to drunk Tennessee girls staring at me with drunk girl eyes.

So we got back to the car around 5, washed off with the big gallon water jug, and curled in our respective seats to sleep. I don't know what sort of time Jeremy had, sleeping, but I kept being bombarded by a sort of exhilirating paranoia. I would close my eyes, and the shadows around the corners curled and formed fractal creepers pointing towards the ghost me, and then all these weird Jungian type images moved in. I say images, but it was closer to seeing pictures of words, as often happens in dreams. Anyway, I didn't really sleep.

We drove off to find food at about 8am. Went far West down St. Charles, took a left, and found a gas station next to a river. I picked up beef sticks, coffee, and Whoppers, and we spent the next few hours walking along the river, getting horribly lost.

So that was morning. Then we left for New Years Eve party in Hattiesburg.

On My Mind

2006-12-28T01:48:00.000-05:00

"Often, during my association with Sensei, I was disappointed in this way. Sometimes, Sensei seemed to know that I had been hurt, and sometimes, he seemed not to know. but no matter how often I experienced such trifling disappointments, I never felt any desire to part from Sensei. Indeed, each time I suffered a rebuff, I wished more than ever to push our friendship further. I thought that with greater intimacy, I would perhaps find in him those things that I looked for. I was very young, it is true. But I think that I would not have behaved quite so simply towards others. I did not understand then why it was that I should behave thus towards Sensei only. But now, when Sensei is dead, I am beginning to understand. It was not that Sensei disliked me at first. His curt and cold ways were not designed to express his dislike of me, but they were meant rather as a warning to me that I would not want him as a friend. It was because he despised himself that he refused to accept openheartedly the intimacy of others. I feel great pity for him."

- From Natsume Soseki's Kokoro (Translated, "The Heart of Things").

"When the railroad in its turn ran beneath the surface of the water, the convicts did not even know it. They felt the train stop, they heard the engine blow a long blast which wailed away unechoed across the waste, wild and forlorn, and they were not even curious; they sat or stood behind the rain streaming windows as the train crawled on again, feeling its way as the truck had while the brown water swirled between the trucks and among the spokes of the driving wheels and lapped in cloudy steam against the dragging fire-filled belly of the engine; again it blew four short harsh blasts filled with the wild triumph and defiance yet also with repudiation and even farewell, as if the articulated steel itself knew it did not dare stop and would not be able to return. Two hours later in the twilight they saw through the streaming windows a burning plantation house. Juxtaposed to nowhere and neighbored by nothing it stood, a clear steady pyre-like flame rigidly fleeing its own reflection, burning in the dusk above the watery desolation with a quality paradoxical, outrageous and bizarre."

- William Faulkner, If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem

Changes

2006-12-25T21:24:00.000-05:00

Hokay. I'm trying to decide what I should do while I'm out of school. Any advice would be great.

Choice a:

Stay in the Atlanta apartment, find some sort of semi-respectable job I can work at until early April. Good: enjoy great Atlanta Spring, hang out with fun Atlanta people, live by myself. Bad: it's probably going to take some time to find a job, I'll be around the same Atlanta people, and I probably won't earn or save much money.

Choice b:

Fly to Chicago after getting back from Charleston, work for a relative up here, installing/putting together computers. Good: meet new people, make lots of money, new city to explore, free room at my Uncle's awesome apartment. Bad: don't know anyone up here, not sure I know how to do the job I'll be hired for, it'll be damn cold, and I'll be living in the city but working in the suburbs, and I'll need to pay for travel to and from Chicago.

A Borges Influenced View of the Office

2006-12-21T14:57:00.000-05:00

The office is the natural home of conspiracy. An air conditioner-glazed eye falls on a folder marked ‘ETSU Mouse House 2005’, or ‘Jeblomie, Haywood - CSS’, and the spark of conspiracy is born. A sudden attentiveness as the movement of torsos past cubicles gains ancient significance, ants on a prayer wheel, wind against the mandala’s sand. Who else knows? The secretary must, she watches them gather and leave for “lunch”. Marketing gains a new intern each semester, Design is populated only by bearded men in suspenders and shapeless women in their grandmother’s dresses. This conspiracy has schismed once at least, dividing operations between New York, DC, and Atlanta. This split between Marketing and Design may reflect an unhealed rift in relations, a poison in the conspiracy’s clean blood since this branch’s establishment.

[I'm temping right now. It's alright, but I could use a real job. Give me all your money.]

2006-12-21T08:31:00.000-05:00

Ready to get out, crush babies, etc.

And I gots lots of books to read, places to go.

Words I woke up thinking:

It hit him like a sock full of socks emptied into a washing machine which was then dropped at him from a tenth story window.

Life is strange.

Remember to hate.