i forgot i can post this now that the postcard i sent clark of it has been recieved,
for christmas my brothers girlfriend got me an amazing book that everyone seems pretty surprised that i didnt have which is a testament to my tastes considering the subject matter. DEATHSCENES is a breathtaking reprinting of a 1920s homicide detectives scrapbook of crime scenes, suicides, auto accidents and collected phantasmagoria emPHASis on the GORE, i absolutely lerv it, it has all these pictures youd think you would have seen, except you havent and gives the saul williams title ‘…said the shot gun to the head’ a literal connotation instead of BANG! or that dweeb from nirvana/
she also gave me a fuckin lovely ass weekly planner in which i have planned to redraw a photo from the book a week, to practice drawing, which i should be doing. meanwhile young jj (thats my brother) gave me a hella old record book, from which a page was used for the above, the sister act soundtrack on cassette and the original score to Mrs Doubtfire, also on cassette. mind you, i said score- so its not that house of pain song they play during the birthday party when is it joey lawrences little brother? is jumping on the sofa like a ding-dong, its like cello and shit when sally fields is like why does my daughter hate me, and a richard feynman book on the country of tuva*.
*tuva is a miniscule mongol-russian country whos main (and perhaps sole) export might very well be their traditional throat-singing, which i have long been obsessed with after smoking DMT for the first time and a documentary about a fat, blind, blues player from the mission (SF) flies there to learn from the master throat singer his ways happened to be playing in the background, forever drilling into my heart it’s droning din.
…I have begun listening to the teachings my blood whispers to me.
My story is not a pleasant one; it is neither sweet nor harmonious, as invented stories are; it has the taste of nonsense and chaos, of madness and dreams- like the lives of all men who stop decieving themselves."
“Have you ever noticed that Lego plays a far more important role in the lives of computer people than in the general population? To one, computer technicians spent huge portions of their youth heavily steeped in Lego and its highly focused, solitude-promoting culture. Lego was their common denominator toy.
“Now i think it is safe to say that Lego is a potent three-dimensional modeling tool and a language in itself. And prolonged exposure to any language, either visual or verbal, undoubtedly alters the way a child perceived its universe. Examine the toy briefly…
“First, Lego is ontologically not unlike computers. This is to say that a computer by itself is, well… nothing. Computers only become something when given a specific application. Ditto Lego. To use an Excel spreadsheet or to build a racing car- this is why we have computers and Lego. A PC or a lonitirile butadiene stryrene (ABS) plastic, Lego’s discrete modular bricks are indestructible and fully intended to be nothing except themselves.
“Second Lego is ‘binary’ - a yes/no structure; that is to say, the little nubblies atop any given Lego block are either connected to another unit of Lego or they are not. Analog relationships do not exist.
“Third, Lego anticipates a future of pixelated ideas. It is digital. The charm and fun of Lego derives from reducing the organic into modular: a zebra built of little cubes; Cape Cod houses digitized through the Hard Copy TV lens that pixelates the victim’s face into little squares of color.”
-Douglas Coupland, Microserfs
his name is poopy the doggy
look it! a doggy! named poopy!
a dog, doggy the poop!
the doggy’s on the floor.
the flooooor. doggy the poopy.
a cat too! his name is frijole!
dad a doggy!
look at the doggy
-my neighbor’s autistic daughter who i can hear screaming from her bedroom window, and is spying into her other neighbor’s yard
“The vast majority of the causes of abnormal human behavior, which modern psychologists and psychoanalysts, like yesterday’s astrologists and alchemists attribute to “intangibles” in a patois used with mesmerizing and profitable skill, can be traced quite unromantically to mechanical maladjustments in the environment of the individual: bad plumbing of house or self-mechanism, bad sound or light control, unsatisfactory mechanics of sex equation. “Personality” talk to excuse uncontrolled behavior is nonsense. Unhappily the failure to recognize real causes and to utilize known remedies is preventing man’s understanding of his fellow being and of the myriad of phenomena to which all men are continually exposed. Few if any, crimes of misunderstanding, single or multiple, would exist if a small degree of latent understanding were alloed by environment to come “alive” and penetrate man’s consciousness.”
R. Buckminster Fuller
“Dawn was breaking. The rock she leaned against hurt her back. She sighed, and shifted her position a bit. Among the rocks out there beyond the town it was very quiet at this time of day. She looked into the sky, saw space growing ever clearer. The first light sounds moving through that space seemed no more than variations on the basic silence of which they were made. The nearby rock forms and the more distant city walls came up slowly from the realm of the invisible, but still only as emanations of the shadowy depths beneath. The pure sky, the bushes beside her, the pebbles at her feet, all had been drawn up from the well of absolute night. And in the same fashion the strange languor in the center of her consciousness, those vaporous ideas which kept appearing as though independently of her will, were mere tentative fragments of her own presence, looming against the nothingness of a sleep not yet cold…But she remained awake, the nascent light invading her eyes, and still no corresponding aliveness awoke within her.”
-Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky
so exactly when do i stop feeling like this?