tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40374872011-06-08T02:25:43.146-04:00Last Callbreaking laws, emptying trash cans, employing agents, genius in action, page by page, unpublished bull terriers, learning, earning, medieval adventure, and other assorted sins which bring us to the frontiers of psychosis.Jaapnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1001100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-33970917252620828982009-03-10T04:29:00.002-04:002009-03-12T03:43:01.121-04:00CHAPTER 16: The Risks Of Turning The Corner “I had always heard that your entire life flashes in front of your eyes the second before you die. First of all, that second isn’t a second at all, it stretches on forever, like an ocean of time.” -- Lester Burnham, in American Beauty ***** I thought I'd surprise you, again, she said nonchalantly or perhaps ironically, with aJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-84652593269063192882009-03-09T01:54:00.001-04:002009-03-09T01:54:53.092-04:00CHAPTER 15: Holešice Jazz Festival “Jazz is an intensified feeling of nonchalance” - Francoise Sagan Mikhail was a little droopy eyed as he stared at me over the chess board. We were hunkered down in the smoke clouds inside The Shot Out Eye, racing through .51 glasses of Mestan beer that kept coming and coming interrupted only on occasion by a shot of Absinthe. Mirek Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-71345421822404785812009-03-09T01:53:00.000-04:002009-03-09T01:54:16.801-04:00CHAPTER 14: Breaking The New Dawn, Piece By Piece I know some day you’ll have a beautiful life I know you’ll be a sun In someone else’s sky But why Why Why can’t it be Why can’t it be mine? Pearl Jam, Black (from the Diaries of Witold Kazersamski, cahier 2, page 173) . ..there is a lasting odour of doubt for months thereafter. Albert's despondent drinking Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-26519601137368628132009-03-09T01:52:00.002-04:002009-03-09T01:53:21.341-04:00CHAPTER 13: Rot Sets In “Yeah the women tear their blouses off And the men they dance on polka-dots And it’s partner found, partner lost And it’s hell to pay when the fiddler stops: It’s Closing Time.” Leonard Cohen, Closing Time During the course of our wanderings from neighbourhood to neighbourhood exploring the inside of one pub after another, weJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-882029742161706512009-03-09T01:52:00.001-04:002009-03-09T01:52:47.285-04:00CHAPTER 12 - Reaching the Temperature of Acclimation “Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.” Vaclav Havel It was 18 hours by bus to Prague. Cramped seats, dishevelled sleep, casual slugs from Albert's flask of Oude Ginever, the strong juniper flavoured Dutch Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-89387707205990747702009-03-09T01:51:00.002-04:002009-03-09T01:52:21.404-04:00Chapter 11: After Months of Waiting, The Sun Rises Again “She’ll only break your heart, it’s a fact. And even if I warn you, even though I guarantee you that the girl will only hurt you terribly, you’ll still pursue her. Ain’t love grand?” -Ms Nora Digger Dinsmoor in Great Expectations. After all those months of unreturned letters, there was bound to be an answer Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-83379793007097283232009-03-09T01:51:00.001-04:002009-03-09T01:51:46.916-04:00Chapter 10: After The Burn Fades “And the only sound that’s left After the ambulances go Is Cinderella sweeping up On Desolation Row” -Bob Dylan, Desolation Row Odd, what a difference a woman can make. As Paris faded away and gradually made its way to Brussels, it was impossible to ignore the simultaneously twitching in my brain,Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-35610860327927946682009-03-09T01:50:00.004-04:002009-03-09T01:51:14.909-04:00CHAPTER 9 Paris Radio and the Dream Sequence Beat “Perception is nine tenths of reality. The other tenth is the pain.” From the Diaries of Witold Kazmirsky, Book 11, page 103 How often I stared with placid imagination at buildings, hundreds and thousands of windows and the goings on going on behind them. Have you ever wondered, I asked her, stopping for a second inJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-35063267471247382872009-03-09T01:50:00.003-04:002009-03-09T01:50:47.362-04:00CHAPTER EIGHT: REFUGEES WITHOUT PHOTOS "Then love," she said, "may be described generally as the love of the everlasting possession of the good?" "That is most true." Diotima to Plato in The Symposium of Plato, Jowett translation When a man loves the beautiful, what does he desire?" I answered her "That the beautiful may be his." "Still,"Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-85734183475142115432009-03-09T01:50:00.001-04:002009-03-09T01:50:18.107-04:00CHAPTER SEVEN: ONBEKENT IN BELGIE EN WEER TERUG We were freaks of a sort. Americans meandering through a mad herd of European football fanatics and everywhere we went, people would double- take, ask us if we were sure we knew what we and they were here for. The European Football Championship, of course. --from the Diaries of Witold Kazmirsky, cahier 11, page 18 We got into Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-166866101822329192009-03-09T01:49:00.001-04:002009-03-09T01:49:35.257-04:00CHAPTER SIX: THE BIRTH OF THE DEADBEAT CONSPIRACY One of the things I like about jazz, kid, is I don't know what's going to happen next. Do you? ---Bix Beiderbecke For a moment I felt like I was the wooden dummy beside Albert. In the other corner I imagined or thought I’d spied an ongoing chess match which had been played for years with no solution, one man winning one day, Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-77584878999659280592009-03-09T01:48:00.000-04:002009-03-09T01:49:00.284-04:00CHAPTER FIVE ...All travelling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity. -Ruskin, Modern Painters Albert begins a slow whine about his creaking knees, fresh out of the train from Antwerp, stopping in the middle of the station's tides of passers-by to mewl and set down his bag for a moment. It's almost too much to bearJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-14190664469240815372009-03-09T01:46:00.001-04:002009-03-09T01:46:44.356-04:00CHAPTER FOUR: The Cash Cow Gets Milked All The Way To Europe “Sometimes I just get tired of thinking of all the things that I don't wanna do. All the things that I don't wanna be. Places I don't wanna go, like India, like getting my teeth cleaned. Save the whale, all that, I don't understand that.” Henry, in Barfly (1987) ***** With Albert being housed in a prison just outside ofJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-73712256339227666542009-03-09T01:45:00.001-04:002009-03-09T01:45:53.308-04:00CHAPTER THREE: The Contiguousness Of Solitude And Acquiecence Without solitude You bang your head Against the Walls That other people built --From The Diaries of Witold Kazmersky, notebook three, somewhere between pages 113-117. Of course, this put me in a bit of a bind yet also afforded me my own inherited flat, a Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-82012315647693034822009-03-09T01:44:00.000-04:002009-03-09T01:45:20.308-04:00Chapter Two: A Journal of Sustainability Gradually Sheds Its Pages “I was raised with the strong of heart But if you touch me wrong I fall apart I found a woman who's soft but she's also hard While I slept she nailed down my heart.” -Morphine, All Your Way, from Yes, Rykodisc, 1995 I'd been underachieving for years. There'd been a period of unemployment, a spotty record of Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-52600490116491916302009-03-09T01:43:00.000-04:002009-03-09T01:44:47.521-04:00Chapter One: Floating Weightlessly Above A Jazz Club CHAPTER ONE Throughout the entirety of the writing of this I have struggled with how to begin. There's the once upon a time of fables, the starting from the ending and working your way back to the beginning, the how-I-got-here beginning, the piecemeal, drop-you-in-the-middle-of-nowhere beginningJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-57393981409788332762009-01-13T04:31:00.000-04:002009-01-13T04:33:19.550-04:00PACING THE BIRDBY JAAP STIJL Chapter One: Floating Weightlessly Above A Jazz Club Throughout the entirety of the writing of this I have struggled with how to begin. There's the once upon a time of fables, the starting from the ending and working your way back to the beginning, the how-I-got-here beginning, the piecemeal, Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-42294658855219332002009-01-08T04:15:00.002-04:002009-01-08T04:16:04.208-04:00PACING THE BIRDBY JAAP STIJL Chapter One: Floating Weightlessly Above A Jazz Club Throughout the entirety of the writing of this I have struggled with how to begin. There's the once upon a time of fables, the starting from the ending and working your way back to the beginning, the how-I-got-here beginning, the piecemeal, Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-81771283657299808722008-09-17T02:45:00.000-04:002008-09-17T02:48:04.195-04:00"Then love," she said, "may be described generally as the love of the everlasting possession of the good?" "That is most true." Diotima to Plato in The Symposium of Plato, Jowett translationWhen a man loves the beautiful, what does he desire?" I answered her "That the beautiful may be his." "Still," she said, "the answer suggests a further question: What is given by the possession of beauty?" "ToJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-47686768385077830832008-09-17T02:43:00.000-04:002008-09-17T02:44:26.163-04:00Throughout the entirety of the writing of this I have struggled with how to begin. There’s the once upon a time of fables, the starting from the ending and working your way back to the beginning, the how-I-got-here beginning, the piecemeal, drop-you-in-the-middle-of-nowhere beginning that forces you to start reading before you are even aware of what is going on and who is talking.This doesn’t Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-47540295092174070492007-12-01T09:07:00.000-05:002007-12-01T09:08:33.431-05:00"Then love," she said, "may be described generally as the love of the everlasting possession of the good?" "That is most true." Diotima to Plato in The Symposium of Plato, Jowett translationWhen a man loves the beautiful, what does he desire?" I answered her "That the beautiful may be his." "Still," she said, "the answer suggests a further question: What is given by the possession of beauty?" "ToJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-40474430684017967852007-11-08T02:15:00.000-05:002007-11-08T02:17:07.508-05:00But it wasn’t only musicians or drunkards or ex-pat detritus that we were dredging up in our sojourns and night prowling as we ambled or stumbled variously from tram to side street, down dank beer cellar stairwells, sat at tables with strangers, chain-smoked in a dishevelled pattern of on again-off again conversations before emerging hours later back up onto the suddenly chaotic streets, the Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-89573175706394292382007-07-05T07:19:00.000-05:002007-11-11T11:44:21.243-05:00V PRAZEPRAGUE ************** It was 18 hours by bus to Prague. Cramped seats, dishevelled sleep, casual slugs from Albert’s flask of Oude Ginever, the strong juniper flavoured Dutch liquor from which gin is rumoured to have evolved, fueled my insomnia along with the excitement of the destination ahead of us, and instead of sleep, quietly humming to myself, covered in a barely comprehensible Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-87297302268379071792007-07-05T07:18:00.000-05:002007-09-03T23:51:19.513-05:00PARIJSIn an after-hours boozer, long ago lost in the Pigalle's old, hilly curvy cobblestones streets, ash cement buildings, cracked paint and steep lamp lighted stairways, I wandered into the basement of a candlelit club, seated myself and spotted the girl I’d been following, my Edith Piaf, a tempestuous little street singer dressed in a black, hand knitted dress, a borrowed scarf hiding a Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-14082340433808346642007-07-05T07:12:00.000-05:002007-07-05T08:07:00.439-05:00NEW YORK1. Fodor's Travel Guide To The Childhood Dreams I’d been underachieving for years. There’d been a period of unemployment, a spotty record of warehouse jobs at minimum wage and night after night alternating between intoxication and hangovers.Pervaded by a listlessness and lack of direction, punctuated by lonely nights listening to jazz or blues in dark rooms lit only by candles, Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1169974753415167212007-01-28T03:58:00.000-05:002007-01-28T06:17:45.360-05:00I’d been underachieving for years. There’d been a period of unemployment, a spotty record of warehouse jobs at minimum wage and night after night alternating between intoxication and hangovers.Pervaded by a listlessness and lack of direction, punctuated by lonely nights listening to jazz or blues in dark rooms lit only by candles, chain-smoking, thinking about as little as possible until the Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1167893283291090582007-01-04T01:47:00.000-05:002007-01-04T01:57:25.606-05:00I’d been underachieving for years. There’d been a period of unemployment, a spotty record of warehouse jobs at minimum wage and night after night alternating between intoxication and hangovers.Pervaded by a listlessness and lack of direction, punctuated by lonely nights listening to jazz or blues in dark rooms lit only by candles, chain-smoking, thinking about as little as possible until the Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1155448252075790172006-08-13T00:49:00.000-05:002006-09-03T10:49:28.606-05:00Pacing The Bird - Jaap StijlI’d been underachieving for years. There’d been a period of unemployment, a spotty record of warehouse jobs at minimum wage and night after night alternating between intoxication and hangovers.Pervaded by a listlessness and lack of direction, punctuated by lonely nights listening to jazz or blues in dark rooms lit only by candles, chain-smoking, thinking about as Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1145709546386254232006-04-22T07:29:00.000-05:002006-04-22T07:39:06.396-05:00I Played Music For A Gardeneryou can play god for a second.And you're sitting downbecause you don't need to stand upto do anything.And there will be a gardenersweating and pulling up YOUR weeds, and you will still be sitting therewatching, with slanted god eyesunable to mask your cynacismthinking to yourselfby god, they're out theregardeners,another worldthey play god in,growing shit,fostering Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1141107918461463822006-02-28T01:03:00.000-05:002006-02-28T01:25:18.476-05:00"A word is a bud attempting to become a twig. How can one not dream while writing? It is the pen which dreams. The blank page gives the right to dream."Gaston Bachelard (1884-1962), French scientist, philosopher, literary theorist.Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1127951320891096672005-09-28T18:34:00.000-05:002005-09-28T18:48:40.896-05:00"What do you want?" she demanded suddenly, throwing her glass against the wall and standing back to observe not the glass breaking but the fact that she was the one who made it break.It's a loaded question, I think to myself."I want more broken glass," I decide to respond, throwing my own glass against the wall and wondering where we will find more wine.Neither of us wanted to argue.We wanted to Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1127950156746602442005-09-28T18:23:00.000-05:002005-09-28T18:29:16.753-05:00SpidersThey spin a web and catch bugs.Winter,I watched the same dead spiderfor eleven monthsnever really decompose.Spring,I watched the same dead spider,now noticing the latisse work behind it,and hearing things that I'd brought back with meinto the room where the dead spider sat still.Summer,I was gone for most of itbut when I returned,the spider was still there andno other spider disturbed it Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1127063100416387822005-09-18T11:42:00.000-05:002005-09-19T16:37:40.796-05:00May Day"Most people don't belong together," she exhaled patiently. "People ARE together because they have to be with somebody, one way or another...too lonely to accept solitude with a warm embrace like a lover coming home from the war...no, these people around us," and here she gesticulated wildly in an arc encompassing, one imagined the whole of humanity, not just the stray passerby who Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1126458407856357612005-09-11T12:06:00.000-05:002005-09-12T18:19:07.376-05:00"Otherwise, with half of my mortal coil still sitting in a bus depot inLos Sueños begging spare change from vending machines, I'll applaud fromthe distance."--From The Diaries of Witold Kazmersky, notebook four, page 113.Different city, different street.When you travel enough, spinning through a vortex of languages which have secretly imbedded their meanings in your subconscious there are times Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1125868630622386912005-09-04T16:15:00.000-05:002005-09-04T16:17:10.626-05:00"At the end of conversations, that precipice breached, the craving to be inanother culture gnaws at you. Go home to the bones. The carcass hasbeen picked clean and thereafter, the only destination is oblivion."from: The Diaries of Witold Kamerisky, notebook 12, page 113Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1124923302930076102005-08-24T17:11:00.000-05:002005-08-24T17:41:42.936-05:00All By YourselfThe first note out of the ellipsis throatis a warble that sounds like maybebut means more than anyone knows.Body language has its translatorsand its detractors.An erection means...dialated pupils mean...touching your hair says...So to be mysterious,you must be a statue.And when you are a statue,people can only judge youon what they thought you did,not on your hair, your tone of Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1124755438066404122005-08-22T18:54:00.000-05:002005-08-22T19:10:54.856-05:00"People are born old, like maps.And like maps, their parametres and borderswere drawn by circumstancesand fools who were unfortunately,beyond their control."From the Diaries of Witold KyzmirskyAs for Bratislava, didn't do much really. I hadn't been back theresince the early 90s and was curious how it all sorted out for them aftertheir break with the Czechs. It's like Prague Lite in a way. Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1124225662705307952005-08-16T14:52:00.000-05:002005-08-16T15:57:43.113-05:00Before you even open the door, you can hear the strains of music leaking out and it's a promise, a contract, unspoken, like that between friends, of more good times to come.As we descended the short stairway into the main room, the stage was immediately to the left, crammed with musicians like a rush hour subway though each was respectful of space, both physical and the internal space of Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1115031155796247982005-05-02T04:46:00.000-05:002005-05-02T05:52:35.800-05:00Jaap Stijl Translates The Hitscollection of poems taking the titles of famous poems and ruining them with his own incandescent style of translation. It is a style that follows syllabolically but not thematically. A style to feed to wild dogs.1. The Snowman Can: this is actually taking The Snowman of Wallace Stevens: One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1113373431392531702005-04-13T00:51:00.000-05:002005-04-13T01:23:51.393-05:00More Notes:1. NYC: meets so and so who becomes connection for Anastasia2. Albert arrives/fired from work3. Euro20004. Utrecht5. Wanderlust abandons Utrecht voor Parijs - Albert advance scout to Prague - they meet some fellow wanderer who goes on about it endlessly (SMC in cameo whom they meet at cafe marktzicht)6. Looks up Anastasia at the club7. Bus to Prague and meets Albert again but Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1111907219948735332005-03-27T02:06:00.000-05:002005-03-27T02:06:59.963-05:00Chapter OneI give myself a subconscious poke in the ribs with an inner elbow because it is half past seven and there are three of us, the bartender, myself and a woman. Yeah, and right away, you crave the punchline. Nah. I simply couldn’t recall when the last time was I’d been sitting in a bar and there was no one else but myself, a bartender and a woman. So now that we’ve said “woman” we haveJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1111642069160193492005-03-23T16:25:00.000-05:002005-03-24T00:27:49.163-05:00They described the nature of the hunt as extremely fast-paced and basedon fragmentary information."Suppose…" I spoke slowly, choosing my words with care, "all of a sudden,just like that," and I snapped my fingers, "we quit drinking? I can pourwhat's left of that little bottle down the drain and we can start fromthere. We make a resolution and stick to it, see, stay sober from now on,make a fresh Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1108970234966564662005-02-21T02:16:00.000-05:002005-02-21T02:17:15.133-05:00PACING THE BIRDTime and again we're at a table with the gun between us. Each time we drop the bullet into the chamber and give the magazine a spin, betting that the chamber isn't loaded, that the threat to leave always appears to be an idle, a naked dare perhaps, which gets bolder with each argument. The end of the relationship is near enough to leave fingerprints all around us. The bets are Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1090018983602630282004-07-16T17:58:00.000-05:002004-07-16T18:03:03.603-05:00Pacing The Bird
You don't fall in love, you fall in infatuation. And you don't really fall in it. You are only dirtied by being in it's presence. As though smog congealed on your flesh in a dense urban area and the sweat of that smog was tasted on your lips on a hot afternoon and you craved ice cream instead.
So it began.
The sweat. The heat. The taste of infatuation's smoggy paste Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1082301155334021482004-04-18T10:12:00.000-05:002004-04-18T10:16:31.293-05:00She was wearing a xanthous dress that clung to her knees and thighs, thought nothing of tugging at it, smoothing it out, flattening it, bunching it up as though a sculpture of catchpenny silk busts before moving up to her hair, the brunette languishing in her whilst a blonde was dying to get out.
We filched Tandoori chicken filets from a streetside vendor near Levist V?ljas, searching, for Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1082159814998639182004-04-16T18:56:00.000-05:002004-04-16T19:00:48.873-05:00Mother Television
Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-108045120424502642004-03-28T00:20:00.000-05:002004-03-28T00:23:31.653-05:00A few weeks before the latest attempt, the soldiers succeeded in wounding him, but he managed to escape despite his wounds, and now they have missed him again. But there is no question that they are closing in on him. He knows it. And the signs of this knowledge are readily apparent. The slight trembling in his hands whenever he answers his mobile phone, after hesitating; his tired eyes; his Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1075254724703131762004-01-27T20:52:00.000-05:002004-01-27T20:54:12.123-05:00Son, he said, as though he'd had a son. Don't aspire to what you can't have.
Shakira begins cold and grows warm with time and knowing people.
Steevater begins warm and grows cold to the dismay of many.
Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1073502328923672422004-01-07T14:05:00.000-05:002004-01-07T14:07:10.250-05:00The early spring of 431 B.C. witnessed, at Athens, the outbreak of a great war, the commencement of a great book, and the première of a great play.
The war was the culmination of fifty years of simmering tensions between two superpowers: Athens, a direct democracy, and Sparta, a militaristic oligarchy. It was, naturally, advertised as a war of liberation (each side claimed to be freeing some Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1073459597495925402004-01-07T02:13:00.000-05:002004-01-07T02:15:37.110-05:00 "A mental disease has swept the
planet: banalization. Everyone is
hypnotized by production &
conveniences — sewage system,
elevator, bathroom, washing
machine...
Presented with the
alternative of love or a
garbageJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1073459354746994172004-01-07T02:09:00.000-05:002004-01-07T02:10:55.373-05:00character sketch for shot out eye scenes:
Czech novelist, humorist, prankster, natural storyteller, and journalist, creator of the satiric masterpiece The Good Soldier Schweik. Hašek was with Franz Kafka one of the key figures of literary Prague, but more colorful and blasphemous. Once Hašek was prevented from throwing himself off the Cech's Bridge (Cechuv most), he founded a political party Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1073250214135203792004-01-04T16:03:00.000-05:002004-01-04T16:05:11.610-05:00Drinking websites, twelve steps, signs of alchoholism, etc.
Opening line, opening night:
There's only one way to gain the locals' respect in a quick and tidy fashion: drink with them. Drink with them long and hard. Let them know you're one of them: impossible to budge from the stool, no last call that isn't "Too damned early", bond through the brotherhood (and sisterhood) of the drink.Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1073113629438936722004-01-03T02:07:00.000-05:002004-01-03T02:08:44.780-05:00They described the nature of the hunt as extremely fast-paced and based on fragmentary information.
"Suppose…" I spoke slowly, choosing my words with care, "all of a sudden, just like that," and I snapped my fingers, "we quit drinking? I can pour what's left of that little bottle down the drain and we can start from there. We make a resolution and stick to it, see, stay sober from now on, make aJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1071993136051833722003-12-21T02:52:00.000-05:002003-12-21T02:53:33.733-05:00Blinded by the light
B. Springsteen
Madman drummers bummers and Indians in the summer with a teenage diplomat
In the dumps with the mumps as the adolescent pumps his way into his hat
With a boulder on my shoulder feelin' kinda older I tripped the merry-go-round
With this very unpleasing sneezing and wheezing the calliope crashed to the ground
Some all-hot half-shot was headin' for the hot spot Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1068096432158087902003-11-06T00:27:00.000-05:002003-11-06T00:27:30.060-05:00The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald
(Gordon Lightfoot)
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty.
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of NovemberJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1062715036358290122003-09-04T17:37:00.000-05:002003-09-04T19:58:48.173-05:00Oorlogsplein
(gold ghetto rythym gassing)
the tailor clears his thread
and runs a needle through his throat.
ik ben tegen.
prayer that slithers like bad oysters
introduced and misguided
de waarheid
will fall in on deaf ears so
the screaming will mean nothing
illusies, slangenbezweerders
when stopping this hand,
cette main se trouvera demain
again because the cycle never ends:
kwesties
Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1062250129935178852003-08-30T08:28:00.000-05:002003-08-30T08:28:49.943-05:00Radical Surgery
Uncle Sam blows a hole in the chest
of Iraq to kill cancer cells
instead of simple radiation,
drunk on patriot juice, waving his rifle
he applies shaving wounds
toilet paper dabs with an artery burst
gushing blood like wildcat oil veins
on the walls, across eyelashes,
beneath the shoes, poured
like concrete molds
into the subconscious;
an underworld of parasites
raining rougeJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1062194538399309292003-08-29T17:02:00.000-05:002003-08-29T17:02:18.250-05:00Sinkholes and Tarts
Packs of exclusivity's miracles
fast made-up and sorted into lucky breaks,
more animal prince shopping
exclusive floral hearts in a week's
worth of weddings
your dreams are my tourists,
fumbling around with distorted change,
frowning on free miracles.
slipping into your budget
a pale form of stirring the senses
blemish-free,
craving cotton creativity
you and the Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1062025980689911182003-08-27T18:13:00.000-05:002003-08-27T18:13:00.696-05:00Politie Polutie
ABN
Hey yo, de flikke van 't stad zen een stelleke dikke boerenze meppe op marokane en ze hussele met hoere
maffieuze praktijke in de winkelhaakstraat
de commisaris en de pooiers zijn nie zuiver op de graat maat, check it out
ik zeg de shit zoals em is
teveel flikke zitte dik in de verkeerde Biznez d
iende gij de wet of alleen maar ouwe portefeuille
's avonds buitewipper spelen Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1061750756663684542003-08-24T13:45:00.000-05:002003-08-24T18:13:03.443-05:00Twenty Chubby
"Boxing is just show business with blood."
Frank Bruno
Of harsh summer treatment heating up the troops,
baby up utility shortages, jobless armageddons
and dilapidated resentment rioting
in a nutshell Persian explosive
combination Gulf guard
dead unleashed.
Ladies and Gentlemen,
the Gulf Occupation Clashes Port City Death Score:
Iraqis 2
Nepalese security 1.
Who killed until Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1061341391114683172003-08-19T20:03:00.000-05:002003-08-19T20:05:15.990-05:00Accoustic Germ
any vocals, tis of thee
singsong gristle
trust, I sing a river
over rivers beneath the sky.
Scores of chewy things are being true:
golden anniversary sparkplugs rust
pay-per-view erosion hairnets
catching schools of fish
for the catatonic grill.
Please reserve now!
Total control of cesspool
and its whirring engines,
giggle little chickies picking
pieces of esteem, clumped Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1061337006239483342003-08-19T18:50:00.000-05:002003-08-19T18:50:06.230-05:00Musicians: Rosario Giuliani (alto and soprano sax), Pietro Lusso (piano), Dario Rosciglione (bass), Marcello di Leonardo (drums)
Review: No matter how thoughtful or inspired much of modern jazz is (and much of it is, I promise), it is increasingly difficult to find musicians who don’t take themselves too seriously – the weight of history and the pressures of constant innovation fighting the funJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1060529348917796782003-08-10T10:29:00.000-05:002003-08-10T10:32:09.956-05:00The Swingin' Years
In months leading up to war
A great deal has been said and written
As obesity-related health costs soar above
Violence and gang life.
The Christian right
has infiltrated
That's how she shops for everything.
Then she did some research online:
"Who hunt for bargains?
"Who brought barrels and crates of goods?"
Others finish their efforts.
After we have exploited thimbles
Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1060468329993494602003-08-09T17:32:00.000-05:002003-08-09T17:32:34.573-05:00Extra Innings
So many years He waited to send the Kid in.
Which particular atrocity made Him reach for the phone this time,
call the bullpen and mutter:
"Get that christ Kid warming up!"?
The Roman cronometristas, frustrated by the inning.
Was that you Pontius Pilate, taking practice swings
in the on-deck circle?
The stadium was hushed for the first time all afternoon.
The Kid threw some Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1059949252523766322003-08-03T17:20:00.000-05:002003-08-08T18:07:27.310-05:00Ik ben moe
Flip Kowlier
otter nen nieuwe hype is
moei zeggen dazzu vuorprogramma in gespeeld
da werkt wel
ot goed was, wast machtig
ot minder was was 't slicht
da werkt wel
oi zelve de nieuwe hype zit
moei zeggen dait goe beseft
en oe relatief dat is
da werkt wel
gebaert dat u nie kan skiln
en lacht noa de gruote
da werkt wel
verlies mie osteblief niet ik ben moe
ist nog ok tussen oes?
Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1059842784244389222003-08-02T11:46:00.000-05:002003-08-02T11:48:07.830-05:00Saturday Afternoon In The Fountains
We both had the same
zero-sum game dream
suddenly awry simultaneously
cut losses won and worn
like a pike wears a head.
Gimme back my Empire,
there's already too many irons in the fire,
Gimme Pax Americana in fiefdoms
of McDonaldland franchises.
We both wore the same haircuts
and gave the same salutes to mannequins
we saw standing around doing nothing
Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1058974837443046962003-07-23T10:40:00.000-05:002003-07-23T10:40:37.350-05:00Kut Marokkanen
-- Raymzter
Ze willen ons zwart maken als ze over ons praten.
We hebben ze niks gedaan en toch nog willen ze ons haten.
Ze willen ons zwart maken als ze over ons praten.
Tijd dat dit verandert heb je dat niet in de gaten.
Dit is het enige wat ik heb, stop mijn hart er in.
Dus ik meen het als ik rap en dat is dat ding.
Waardoor ik win als Abdel Krim in 1921, overgave is voorJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-1057963381701111512003-07-11T17:43:00.000-05:002003-07-12T03:11:59.346-05:00Air conditioned-sealed room, unstirred mausoleum, Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-956433712003-06-13T16:49:00.000-05:002003-06-17T19:51:10.000-05:00Wireless Mothers of Jesus
In other words, they only listen if
they've finished talking,
authoritative claptraps, saliva lips,
causing droopy eyes,
changing channels make believe
if they're
outside all day in cafes, sitting
sculpted into leather beneath
the sun, the old Madonnas
on cellphones, cellulite sweating
into the vast universe of important rules
they ignore in all their chatter.Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-952108222003-06-02T17:59:00.000-05:002003-06-06T15:17:13.000-05:00Why Smoking Is Addictive And Travel Is Cheap
By the powers invested in me
for offers that can't be refused,
here is the cigarette and the blindfold:
The cost of your destination is one lifetime.
Please pay in advance.
A little word with your travel agent
will speed things up to the point of no return
from your end of the bargain,
you are to speak fiction
and make truth seem uninteresting at Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-948430412003-05-24T19:33:00.000-05:002003-05-24T19:33:01.810-05:00From the Diaries of Witold Kazersamski, cahier 1.3
The truth of the matter is, since we invested so little time in practicing, not wanting to ruin the momentum, the blossoming fraud of our performances, both on the stage, on the Charles Bridge, in alleyways, hiding from the local police, we had plenty of time to polish our drinking skills. In many ways, it was a test of wills for both of us. Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-945168892003-05-17T19:41:00.000-05:002003-05-17T19:41:48.436-05:00Nobodies Ruin Everything
I don't have the personality for relationships.
I don't have the stomach for climbing higher.
I don't have the legs to get there.
I don't have anything for sale
and I don't have the hands to hold.
Get it?
I'm not interested.
The ceremony was cancelled.
The timeless gets pinned down.
Someone buys a scrapbook and the rest is history.
I don't have to read about it in the Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-945133652003-05-17T17:24:00.000-05:002003-05-17T17:24:29.253-05:00When we woke up in the morning, Anastasia knew she had to get her hair cut. It was beyond repair.Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-938263022003-05-05T17:19:00.000-05:002003-05-05T17:19:33.440-05:00From the Diaries of Witold Kazersamski, cahier 3.2,
...Is it ever possible? Were we merely illusionists with a talentlessness so relentless that it almost became convincing. What else could explain our presence on these stages, night after night, noisy pub after noisy pub? Was it stunned silence at something so horribly awry, they synapses misfired over and over, convincingly? We certainly Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-930717012003-04-22T16:55:00.000-05:002003-04-22T16:55:01.733-05:00I sensed the jig was up when shortly after choking myself with the tuxedo tie, I was summoned to speak with Gonzo, the Uruguayan jefe of the restaurant and bar of this overrated, chrome polished mirage of a hotel. Gonzo looked sad. The bearer of bad news. We never knew each other well, thankfully. By the start of my evening shift, his daily hectics had already subsided. The day was nearly Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-926762352003-04-15T17:06:00.000-05:002003-04-15T17:06:11.043-05:00Torgeir Schjerven:
___ IT WAS A FINE DAY IN JUNE AND MOST PEOPLE HAD A GRIP ___
He stood there drinking and overlooked the day
with a bunch of green bottles and a full sea.
He drank them empty of all meaning and
threw them in the ocean and drifted around in the light,
void of directions. He drank until he was drunk and lost.
Lukewarm skirts of summer rain caressed his cheek
and he let thirst Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-926649192003-04-15T13:34:00.000-05:002003-04-15T13:34:10.746-05:00"The simplest and most popular cosmological model today predicts that you
have a twin in a galaxy about 10 to the 1028 meters from here. This distance
is so large that it is beyond astronomical, but that does not make your
doppelgänger any less real. The estimate is derived from elementary
probability and does not even assume speculative modern physics, merely that
space is infinite (or at least Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-926618712003-04-15T12:36:00.000-05:002003-04-15T12:36:08.733-05:00NOW IN PROGRESS
From the Diaries of Witold Kazersamski, cahier 5.3, Winter
The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.
-- Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory, ch. 1, sct. 1 (1955, rev. 1966)
I don't like women who talk too much. I'll say that straight out because it doesn't take much. I'll start upJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-926593152003-04-15T11:51:00.000-05:002003-04-15T12:02:36.000-05:00from the Diaries of Witold Kazersamski, cahier 3, page 22
The dictum from Nietszche goes along the lines of what doe not kill me makes me stronger. Under that premise, I've been growing stronger every day of my life since, to date, nothing has killed me yet. On the other hand, there have been plenty of moments when, placed in situations which seemed to at least hint at death, no strength was Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-926219612003-04-14T21:08:00.000-05:002003-04-14T21:08:53.826-05:00from the Diaries of Witold Kazersamski, cahier 2, page 1732
...there was a lasting odor of doubt for months thereafter. Albert's dispondant drinking blossomed for days at a time before wilting into empty political rhetoric and finally, asleep, snoring on the sofa, the burnt-out tip of his Winston still clenched between his index and middle finger. It rained for two weeks straight. A cold, Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-924793372003-04-12T05:52:00.000-05:002003-04-12T05:52:55.246-05:00Poem On The Seine
I finally figured out that the reason I like Portishead is because the vocals are the vocals of whores with sexy fuck music in the background. By the time I figured that out, they'd already left.
Love in her eyes and flowers in her hair so said the zeppelin song.
when reconciling the past,
it is important to twist reality into surreality
in order for you to see the Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-922259842003-04-08T10:30:00.000-05:002003-04-08T10:30:49.483-05:00"Democracy"
Leonard Cohen
It's coming through a hole in the air,
from those nights in Tiananmen Square.
It's coming from the feel
that this ain't exactly real,
or it's real, but it ain't exactly there.
From the wars against disorder,
from the sirens night and day,
from the fires of the homeless,
from the ashes of the gay:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming through a crack inJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-911357762003-03-21T13:04:00.000-05:002003-03-21T13:04:14.170-05:00what a prize for beauty:
brave flesh
bent to
desiccate phonemes
for the deaf interpreter
who hears bodies missing.
The corpses are sent packing,
demotic fights in whispers
in the ears of hate syndicate funerals.
The poultice shrug for death,
obsolete are angels in firestorms,
mercies for cheap at firesales
blueprints for the undertakers to connect
the bodies arrived
haunting wave goodbye
Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-895745812003-02-22T20:11:00.000-05:002003-02-22T20:11:22.923-05:00from the Diaries of Witold Kazersamski, cahier 1, page 81
"Oh senseless man, who cannot possibly make a worm, and yet will make Gods by dozens."
-- Michel Eyquem de Montaigne, Essays, bk. 2, ch. 12, "An Apology of Raimond Sebond" (tr. by John Florio, 1580). The Columbia Dictionary of Quotations
Around 11, we began subtle gesticulations at preparing ourselves to go on stage. Albert, exhausted Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-885630202003-02-04T20:39:00.000-05:002003-02-04T22:56:04.000-05:00Reports of Suspicious Activity In The Spheres of Existence
I. Calling Up Souls In Parietal Art
“La qualité esthétique dans le rendu des œuvres individuelles comme dans
leur mise en scène sous forme de compositions pleines de force et de vie
concourt également au sentiment d'originalité” – Brochure from La Grotte
Chavet Pont D’Arc
Plucked from loin to be plunged
Inconversant into cognition,Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-878178852003-01-21T21:50:00.000-05:002003-01-21T21:50:18.510-05:00guide: cahier one: may-july, utrecht, paris. cahier two: august-february, czech republic. cahier three: march-april, paris, utrecht. cahier four: may-end, italy, budapest, etc.Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-878177382003-01-21T21:47:00.000-05:002003-01-21T21:47:28.206-05:00Hradec Králové Jazz festival, cahier 1, from the Diaries of Witold Kazersamski October-November
Mikhail was a little droopy eyed as he stared at me over the chess board. We were hunkered down in the smoke clouds inside U Vystrelenyho oka, racing through .51 glasses of Mestan beer that kept coming and coming interrupted only on occasion by a shot of Absinthe. Mirek and Miroslav, from Uz Jsme Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-876089022003-01-17T16:28:00.000-05:002003-01-17T16:29:36.000-05:00At Your Service
Verveelt nooit het uitzicht
Van een vernauwende gracht
Die snikkend en bloemen me draagt?
Te sterven op het juiste moment,
Liggende in stakende volgorde
Met kaarsen, en verwelkende
Verkiezingsaanplakbiljetjes,
De versterte herinneringen –
Totdat de hekken van de Kathedraal
Waar een helden beeldnis
Recht op heeft?
De schreeuwende waarheid
Is door de straten Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-876088662003-01-17T16:27:00.000-05:002003-01-17T16:28:55.000-05:00LIEFDE SUBSIDIES
Wij praten over hoe to schuilen.
Waar is het plattegrond van ons ontduiken -
Bent jij of ben ik
op zoek naar de liefde subsidies?
De vlekken van je tranen zijn
onleesbaar,
je aflopende uitlovenen zijn
onhoorbaar,
Lekker luider, liefde luisteraar -
niks is nietzeggend.
Niemand kennt zoals een denkwijze.
Niemand denkt over
hoe afzijdig zich in openbare
gebiedenJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-874852472003-01-15T12:53:00.000-05:002003-01-15T16:33:03.000-05:00random page sifting, cahier 2, from the Diaries of Witold Kazersamski:
I knew the 19 hour ride on the EuroNight car from Roma Termini to Budapest-Deli station was going to be an exercise of endurance, a tag team of piecemeal and useless conversations with peripatetic strangers wandering through the hallways of the cars at all hours having nothing in their own lack of imagination better to Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-870124442003-01-06T11:48:00.000-05:002003-01-06T14:58:13.000-05:00revision to Diaries of Witold Kazersamski as the light of day scrapes across these stuttering eyelids and Witold recalls the first meeting with Anastasia:
In an after-hours boozer, long ago lost in the Pigalle's old, hilly curvy cobblestones streets, ash cement buildings, cracked paint and steep lamp lighted stairways, I wandered into the basement of a candelit club, seated myself and spotted Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-867128442002-12-30T16:44:00.000-05:002002-12-30T17:36:57.000-05:00page 116, cahier 3, from the Diaries of Witold Kazersamski:
I arrived at Rome Stazioni Termini as dawn was breaking. Outside, the neighborhood sweltered with pickpockets and gangs of thieving children. Signore Antonio Pignatelli was supposed to meet me here and was nowhere to be found. A typical scene. I pulled out my tobacco and was just beginning to roll a cigarette when an English Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-866665182002-12-29T14:34:00.000-05:002002-12-29T14:40:35.000-05:00From the sweat-soaked pages of the Diaries of Witold Kazersamski, cahier 8, page 312, 12th month without ovaries:
The kiosk around the corner from my flat finally removed it's hand-printed cardboard and water-logged "Back in Fifteen Minutes" sign after 3 long weeks. The fat, pinched face of the old Ukranian woman which had occupied the kiosk window during the summer months has been removed by Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-866639972002-12-29T12:57:00.000-05:002003-01-06T11:17:27.000-05:00From reading between the lines of the Diaries of Witold Kazersamski, cahier 12, verse 2, scribbled over with Rammstein lyrics and covered in stale beer:
In an after-hours boozer, long ago lost in the Pigalle's old, hilly curvy cobblestones streets, ash cement buildings, cracked paint and steep lamp lighted stairways, I wandered into the basement of a candelit club, seated myself and spotted whatJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-865642672002-12-26T18:26:00.000-05:002002-12-26T18:57:15.000-05:00From the Diaries of Witold Kazersamski, cahier 53, day 6, dawn:
The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.
-- Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory, ch. 1, sct. 1 (1955, rev. 1966)
I don't like women who talk too much. I'll say that straight out because it doesn't take much. I'll start up a Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-865616922002-12-26T16:53:00.000-05:002002-12-26T17:31:30.000-05:00The Diaries of Witold Kazersamski, cahier 53:
Solution: 1 c8(B) b3 2 Bg4 b2 3 Bd1 Kxb1 4 Bb3 mate.
********
(from Subcommandante Marcos)
Nada, que el sistema político mexicano es como ese gajo de árbol que cuelga encima de tu cabeza dice Durito y yo brinco y miro hacia arriba y veo
que, en efecto, hay un gajo que pende amenazante sobre mi hamaca. Me cambio de lugar mientras Durito sigue Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-864411172002-12-23T12:18:00.000-05:002002-12-23T12:18:37.943-05:00*****For Immediate Release******
For some inexplicable reason I was reminded today of a new album being released, a hip-hop musical version of Karl Popper's _The Logic of Scientific Discovery_ by a group called the American Nihilistic Theology Society (ANTS) which has filled auditoriums with frenzied, berserk teenagers all around Scandanavia for the last several months. Most of the songs are Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-864039982002-12-22T14:28:00.000-05:002002-12-22T14:58:12.000-05:00We wake up to a Fiat giving birth to painful horn honking, a determined bastard on the road outside presses down on the horn with the kind of persistent hand motion he could only have mastered in his pimply teenage years staring and drooling over back issues of garage sale Playboys. I raise my head and peer over the sprawl of bodies and limbs, the snores of hedonism so entrenched in the Jaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-862872872002-12-19T16:29:00.000-05:002002-12-19T16:29:38.606-05:00We used to read this every year attempting to enhance Civic Engagement in June when the air swam with horse flies and we were swallowed by green grass and birch trees, eventually abandoning our idealistic notions based on Tolsloy in order to prepare to act as colonists and slave drivers:
Listen!
by Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky
Listen,
if stars are lit
it means there is someone who needsJaapnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4037487.post-862787282002-12-19T12:54:00.000-05:002002-12-19T12:54:40.803-05:00Quote Du Jour
"I think when you speak about liars, the big liars in this world are the statesmen in the United States of America. There's a long history of lying, you see. And that's why in one of the polls when Mr. Clinton was in power, the result of the poll was that we do not trust him — the American people did not trust their president. But if you ask the Iraqi people, they will say that we Jaapnoreply@blogger.com