6.24.2004

There's no "P" in our ool

I've often thought of insane asylums as a perfect place to get a lot of work done. People come to feed you and give you pencils. Prison has the same appeal and without the crazy genius stigma that Van Gogh and Fight Club stuck us with. Jean Genet wrote Our Lady of the Flowers in prison on paper bags and when they were confiscated he started over. As inspiring as these places may be I think I've found one that incorporates characteristics of both and then some.

For a long time now I've found public swimming pools to be among the most inspiring places in God's good green globe. It's just got everything. It must have something to do with the ability or the strange atmosphere of invisibility that happens at a swimming pool. I was there yesterday just sitting in a chair with sunglasses on and this little girl was standing exactly 2 and 3/16 inches from my crossed legs, facing me, but looking over my shoulder at instructions her mother was hollering at her despite their relatively close proximity. I wondered if I was really there myself so I found a penny on the ground and moved it up the locker room door, but nothing happened. I was just smashing Lincoln's big nose around some unwashed turquoise door.

I've been in this position myself. As soon as you jump into the pool and you start floating around, it seems that no one is watching you. Burroughs (rarely will I include first names. I think of it as a compliment) used to walk around practicing a technique of invisibility. He felt that if you saw everyone before they had a chance to see you that you would in a sense become invisible. I loved that book Adding Machine. That had a bunch of good thoughts about writing. Like how a good title can sell a crappy book and a crappy title will ruin a good book. I think Sling Blade is a good example of a bad title but a great movie whereas Reading Lolita in Tehran is an amazing title but, ughh, the blue sky, freaking bad.

If you have a Public pool nearby and you have a good pair of sunglasses, go check it out. When children are being cute smile, count how many times the life guards say "walk," ponder better swimming pool safety ideologies, and wonder how often the lifeguards lose focus at the same time. Skip the jails and the writer getaways and make a trip to the local pool. It's fascinating.

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6.22.2004

A Can a' Beans

Adam Kotsko is working on a study about fathers that should prove to be pretty interesting. He's looking for lyrics that have to do with fathers so if you know any click over there and help him out. The post is a few posts down due to his production standards. Bianca,you might be able to help him with a few quotes about fathers from women singers but be forewarned, I already quoted Angry Anymore. I'm interested in what this study of Kotsko's is leading up to.

While looking over some lyrics I brushed back some jems from the musical Black Rider which was created by Tom Waits and Robert Wilson who also collaborated on Blood Money which is the musical form of Woyzeck. It's incredible especially if you are famaliar with the original german play. I started to remember the flow I would like my site to have. These lyrics triggered it. Tom waits sings in a raspy drunken old voice for this one.

The prettiest girl
In all the world
Is in a little Spanish town
But I left her for a Bonnie lass
And I told her
I'd see her around
But that Bonnie lass
And her heart of glass
Would not hold a candle


To bumming around
So don't cry for me
For I'm going away
And I'll be back some lucky day


Tell the boys back home
I'm doing just fine
I left my troubles and woe
So sing about me
For I can't come home
I've many more miles to go


Why, there's Miss Kelsey
You taught dance at our school
And old Johnny O'Toole
I'll still beat you at pool
So don't cry for me
For I'm going away
And I'll be back some lucky day


Now when I was a boy
My daddy sat me on his knee
And he told me
He told me many things
And he said son
There's a lot of things in this world
You're gonna have no use for
And when you get blue
And you've lost all your dreams
There's nothin' like a campfire
And a can a' beans


Why, there's Miss Kelsey
She taught dance at our school
And old Johnny O'Toole
I'll still beat you at pool
So don't cry for me
For I'm going away
And I'll be back some lucky day

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Can you smell, what the Nader is cooking?

I would have less reservations about George W. Bush if politics were more like the Jerry Springer show. I mean if you want to pass the Patriot Act on me, well it's really no problem as long as Howard Dean can pound your face for a couple of minutes on national television. Want to back us out of the Kyoto Protocol as soon as you get into office, go for it. Meet my friend John the Snake Edwards and his tag team partner Dennis the Dragon Steamboat Kucinich. I know that violence is not the answer and it would only breed more violence but just for a couple of minutes, let Al Sharpton unbutton his sleeves for a minute and work on a little theraputic Bush ass whoppin to help him sleep at night.

I know Nader would probably watch but I just couldn't see him in the ring with Bush. Nader would eliminate Bush in an open dialogue but in the Springer politics arena, I think Bush would probably beat Nader into the same kind of pulp paper is made from. That would be especially embarrassing to Nader. I can see Bush being a little scared of the others but I'm sure as soon as they said, "G.W., today you have to fight Ralph Nader," he'd say, and I'm sure you can say it with me, "Bring him on."

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6.21.2004

I don't want dishes in the sink, Don't ask me what I feel or what I think

Does everyone say they'd like to have a minimalist type setting when they first move and if so how long does it take before they realize that the effort that goes into keeping a minimalist place minimal is actually maximal? I suppose I go back and forth between two extremes. Right now, I am dedicated to a minimal atomsphere. I don't want any clutter around or on my bookshelves, or in those little places where you hide stuff. I just want it clean. The key I think, is to throw things away.

For a while I planned on writing a book based on a man who dressed up in a bird costume everyday. It was suppose to be a metaphor for the hopes and aspirations that I have that never really take flight, like the book I planned on writing about a guy who dresses up in a bird costume. Well, he writes and draws so obsessively that he builds a nest out of the papers and scraps he marks on. His home and head begin to look like a nest. They have gathered the straw, dirt and dead hair of other peoples conversations.

I have some reservation about the word obsessive. I went to school with a girl in Buffalo who was always talking about how obsessive her artwork was. This girl drove me crazy. Obsessive does not mean you work hard on a painting for four hours or even five. When you meet someone who is truly obsessive about their work then you realize that the obsession is not something they think is cool. The obsession dominates not only their work but their lives. It is beyond their control. I think the word is too often misused.

The "obsessive" girl did a painting for my senior thesis class about nature. She said she did a painting and then wiped it all off of the canvas with 409 to symbolize the obsessive respect she had for nature and how we've ruined it and how it was clearer through the fourth dimension. She was one of those, "I already told you I'm enlightened" types. Students in the class really bought it and I think one of the teachers even got wrapped up a little bit in her heart felt obsession towards the work. When I couldn't control myself any longer I quietly asked her if she could list some of the ingredients of 409 and how they are influencing the environment. I should have said the 409 would be likely to be environmentall abscessive. Perhaps she could have obsessed about that. Another teacher who never bought her told her she might be interested in reading L. Ron Hubbard with a perfectly straight face. She didn't know who he was but man did that make me laugh.

For today, minimal is it. Less clutter, more... well I guess more less clutter. I guess I could have started with this post.

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TAKE ME TO CONEY ISLAND