9.23.2002
Previously Untitled Post
MIDDLESPACE - the space between
So, I am routinely bombarded with "funny" forwarded e-mailings (from "friends"). For some reason people think I find this stuff amusing. Sadly, sometimes I do. Often, I delete these messages before even I read it. I cannot summon the words to ask well meaning people to stop sending them.
Today, I received: "things youd love to say at work but can't" [sic]. You know the kind:
>7. I'm out of my mind, but feel free to leave a message...
>15. I will always cherish the initial misconceptions I had about you.
>25. This isn't an office. It's Hell with fluorescent lighting.
But, one I found particularly poignant and thought provoking for some odd reason; one that sums up my experience is:
>38. I thought I wanted a career, turns out I just wanted paychecks.
How interesting. You never know what route inspiration will take. What the hell is career?
Career: The general course or progression of one's working life or one's professional achievements.
We've been somehow trained to find one thing in our lives, focus on that and do it forever. No diversity, no change. In some corners of our culture it's still admirable to work for the same organization until retirement. Loyalty is a virtue - then we die. We should all have careers and be professional, right? We can be career professionals. That's what I will tell people I "do" when I am asked, "so, what do you do?" I am a career professional! My college major was: Professional Careerism.
Professional: Engaging in a given activity as a source of livelihood or as a career.
I am sitting here because they pay me to sit here.
All I want to really do is make things. Call it art or a calling or my passion, but I just want to spend most of my time making things. I want to make more records - recordings with sounds and songs, I want to take photographs. I want to paint, film things and built odd or useful objects. I want to integrate all medium while ignoring the conventions and cliches of medium. I want to write. I want to juxtapose. I want to think.
In return, I am not really interested in selling any of it or really having much exposure. I know enough people that may or may not enjoy my work. I know enough people to push it on. Most people won't get it anyway. Uh, the questions, "what does it mean?" Hell if I know. What does your nose mean? I just want to do what is already trying to squeeze from my fingers and from my head. It's like breathing...what does breathing mean? Ask yourself what does meaning mean.
Okay, for the first time I will tell everyone what it all means. Simultaneously, it means everything while meaning absolutely nothing. I am not a career professional in reality interpretation. It means what it means...to you. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
I want time. Like fire, we've done a good taming of time; but it is still wild and dangerous when inclined to it's true, feral nature. Where does it go?
Time is my fire.
Thank you for your time.
>>ty.hardaway
So, I am routinely bombarded with "funny" forwarded e-mailings (from "friends"). For some reason people think I find this stuff amusing. Sadly, sometimes I do. Often, I delete these messages before even I read it. I cannot summon the words to ask well meaning people to stop sending them.
Today, I received: "things youd love to say at work but can't" [sic]. You know the kind:
>7. I'm out of my mind, but feel free to leave a message...
>15. I will always cherish the initial misconceptions I had about you.
>25. This isn't an office. It's Hell with fluorescent lighting.
But, one I found particularly poignant and thought provoking for some odd reason; one that sums up my experience is:
>38. I thought I wanted a career, turns out I just wanted paychecks.
How interesting. You never know what route inspiration will take. What the hell is career?
Career: The general course or progression of one's working life or one's professional achievements.
We've been somehow trained to find one thing in our lives, focus on that and do it forever. No diversity, no change. In some corners of our culture it's still admirable to work for the same organization until retirement. Loyalty is a virtue - then we die. We should all have careers and be professional, right? We can be career professionals. That's what I will tell people I "do" when I am asked, "so, what do you do?" I am a career professional! My college major was: Professional Careerism.
Professional: Engaging in a given activity as a source of livelihood or as a career.
I am sitting here because they pay me to sit here.
All I want to really do is make things. Call it art or a calling or my passion, but I just want to spend most of my time making things. I want to make more records - recordings with sounds and songs, I want to take photographs. I want to paint, film things and built odd or useful objects. I want to integrate all medium while ignoring the conventions and cliches of medium. I want to write. I want to juxtapose. I want to think.
In return, I am not really interested in selling any of it or really having much exposure. I know enough people that may or may not enjoy my work. I know enough people to push it on. Most people won't get it anyway. Uh, the questions, "what does it mean?" Hell if I know. What does your nose mean? I just want to do what is already trying to squeeze from my fingers and from my head. It's like breathing...what does breathing mean? Ask yourself what does meaning mean.
Okay, for the first time I will tell everyone what it all means. Simultaneously, it means everything while meaning absolutely nothing. I am not a career professional in reality interpretation. It means what it means...to you. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
I want time. Like fire, we've done a good taming of time; but it is still wild and dangerous when inclined to it's true, feral nature. Where does it go?
Time is my fire.
Thank you for your time.
>>ty.hardaway
9.18.2002
9.16.2002
Google
"It's true that a certain caution had crept into my life. Because of the penury that my slacker ways had brought me, I had been disguising myself as an adult in order to make money. The disguise had been getting better and better. For a period, I wore ties and slacks and leather shoes. In an epic gesture of accommodation, I had cut my hair. But even though I no longer looked particularly young, I thought my pedigree of youthfulness shined through."
- Cary Tennis, Salon
"It's true that a certain caution had crept into my life. Because of the penury that my slacker ways had brought me, I had been disguising myself as an adult in order to make money. The disguise had been getting better and better. For a period, I wore ties and slacks and leather shoes. In an epic gesture of accommodation, I had cut my hair. But even though I no longer looked particularly young, I thought my pedigree of youthfulness shined through."
- Cary Tennis, Salon
9.11.2002
9/11
because of the anger unwarranted
the frustration boils over
the pot steaming, red and bitter
if everyone were like me
i would be one of them
so my positions hold - guarded
i cared because i do
without ally nor foe
only the raging, one-sided
debate waged between temples
the lust of power is the lust for death
winds heavy with clinging summer
the ache imagined more hurtful than
the pain realized
no answers no questions
only lies and perceptions
if i hate them perhaps i hate myself
Blind Date - Don't fetishize Sept. 11. By William Saletan
Alvaro,
William Saletan at Slate eloquently writes what I was feeling about this weepy, groveling "moment of silence" business:
"When we fetishize anniversaries, we risk squandering their lessons. We focus on the kind of attack we suffered that day—a massive strike by a nation-state, a plane hijacking by Arabs—losing sight of different enemies and methods more likely to follow. We imagine that the problem we face began on the day we were struck, forgetting the years beforehand in which it plagued other regions. And we foster an illusion that the story is over. Sept. 11 threatens to do for terrorism what Mother's Day does for motherhood: liberate us from thinking about it 364 days a year."
No. It’s not that I am "cold" to this situation. I recognize that it is my obligation as an American to persevere, not roll over and urinate all over myself with grief. I don't need Wendell or Bush or anyone else telling me how and when to mourn. I have that covered. This "war on terrorism" is not over. The domestic war on freedom is not over. Let's not turn September 11 into a made-for-Hallmark holiday. Next year, we'll all give cards and gifts, perhaps put our 9/11 presents under our 9/11 tree.
I grieve and reflect on "nine-eleven" all the time - every day, in fact. This world, my place in it, my child's place is something I take seriously and thoughtfully. This paltry, "minute of silence" disgraces the memories of the slaughtered. And, this American flag nonsense? Where do I start? This is exactly the problem. Us against Them. It's not about America. It's about all of us; the entire world. I do not have to wear a flag pin - or, worse: put a flag on my Arab oil guzzling SUV - to be a patriot.
In fact, by not being a lemming, I exemplify America.
Your friend,
-ty
Alvaro,
William Saletan at Slate eloquently writes what I was feeling about this weepy, groveling "moment of silence" business:
"When we fetishize anniversaries, we risk squandering their lessons. We focus on the kind of attack we suffered that day—a massive strike by a nation-state, a plane hijacking by Arabs—losing sight of different enemies and methods more likely to follow. We imagine that the problem we face began on the day we were struck, forgetting the years beforehand in which it plagued other regions. And we foster an illusion that the story is over. Sept. 11 threatens to do for terrorism what Mother's Day does for motherhood: liberate us from thinking about it 364 days a year."
No. It’s not that I am "cold" to this situation. I recognize that it is my obligation as an American to persevere, not roll over and urinate all over myself with grief. I don't need Wendell or Bush or anyone else telling me how and when to mourn. I have that covered. This "war on terrorism" is not over. The domestic war on freedom is not over. Let's not turn September 11 into a made-for-Hallmark holiday. Next year, we'll all give cards and gifts, perhaps put our 9/11 presents under our 9/11 tree.
I grieve and reflect on "nine-eleven" all the time - every day, in fact. This world, my place in it, my child's place is something I take seriously and thoughtfully. This paltry, "minute of silence" disgraces the memories of the slaughtered. And, this American flag nonsense? Where do I start? This is exactly the problem. Us against Them. It's not about America. It's about all of us; the entire world. I do not have to wear a flag pin - or, worse: put a flag on my Arab oil guzzling SUV - to be a patriot.
In fact, by not being a lemming, I exemplify America.
Your friend,
-ty
9.06.2002
four
Nothing chokes all the blood from your spirit like a little baby, your little baby, your one and only newborn daughter, crying her eyes out - tears pooling in her eyes and dripping down her little, chubby cheeks. Her eyes shimmering in the fluorescent lighting of the hospital lab - lucidly staring into yours as if begging for help. As she bawls, her outstretched hand shakes and her body stiffens. As the phlebotomist feels around for a vein through the baby fat in her bound arm, she assures you that your progeny is only crying because she's being held still; not because the procedure causes her physical pain. We all know needles hurt but the "big comforting lie" actually relieves. The wails penetrate every cell of your being. You hurt - ache - sear for her. You'd take pain a thousand times over to spare her this moment. You tell her everything is fine and remind her that she is a fearless, tough and wondrous girl even though she cannot understand a word you say.
Then it ends. And life continues. She'll never remember it. I will forever.
Nothing chokes all the blood from your spirit like a little baby, your little baby, your one and only newborn daughter, crying her eyes out - tears pooling in her eyes and dripping down her little, chubby cheeks. Her eyes shimmering in the fluorescent lighting of the hospital lab - lucidly staring into yours as if begging for help. As she bawls, her outstretched hand shakes and her body stiffens. As the phlebotomist feels around for a vein through the baby fat in her bound arm, she assures you that your progeny is only crying because she's being held still; not because the procedure causes her physical pain. We all know needles hurt but the "big comforting lie" actually relieves. The wails penetrate every cell of your being. You hurt - ache - sear for her. You'd take pain a thousand times over to spare her this moment. You tell her everything is fine and remind her that she is a fearless, tough and wondrous girl even though she cannot understand a word you say.
Then it ends. And life continues. She'll never remember it. I will forever.
8.29.2002
Jeff Harris
was having problems with the hall smell in my old apartment. old obese cat-owning neighbor is a slob. so found a solution in moving a floor below.
newer carpet, more closet space in the new apt helped make the desire to move more resolute.
was having problems with the hall smell in my old apartment. old obese cat-owning neighbor is a slob. so found a solution in moving a floor below.
newer carpet, more closet space in the new apt helped make the desire to move more resolute.
8.23.2002
trapped in this dense and prohibitive world
like duct taped into a burlap sack
after a severe and most violent beating
limp and lifeless pre-corpse
waiting for the splash or bang
of the beginning of the end
waiting
sleep walking through years of
cognitive poverty and sensory underwhelm
conserving resources until necessity diminishes
alone in vision of world satisfaction
and greed abatement
eyes crusted shut with loath of it all
8.22.2002
Growbag...
Rats rotting on the streets of Bethesda
Guts hurting with desires
Mood as ill as night in winter
As I hurl face-first into a sort of madness
Unknown
Alternating like current between
Not caring and caring too much
We bet our reputations on
Our integrity and merit
Or so we are led to aspire
The risks taken include
The possibility of relationships
Exploding like land mines
Crippling and killing indiscriminately
Que sera
Just when I began to settle into this place
I discover no rugs – or even floors below
Just empty spaces to hover in
Dead and alone again
Desperate from necessity
Rats rotting on the streets of Bethesda
Guts hurting with desires
Mood as ill as night in winter
As I hurl face-first into a sort of madness
Unknown
Alternating like current between
Not caring and caring too much
We bet our reputations on
Our integrity and merit
Or so we are led to aspire
The risks taken include
The possibility of relationships
Exploding like land mines
Crippling and killing indiscriminately
Que sera
Just when I began to settle into this place
I discover no rugs – or even floors below
Just empty spaces to hover in
Dead and alone again
Desperate from necessity
8.19.2002
Ty, my fellow Californian-
Thanks for the great lunch, the multiple CDs, but most of all for just being you. Having a Claremont guy around to keep the east coast in prespective was extremely helpful and comforting.
Give me a buzz if you get out to LA for a visit, work or otherwise.
Peace. "You check out anytime you like, but you can never leave..."
Mike B.
Ty Hardaway
08/16/2002 12:45 PM
To: All HCR Bethesda
cc:
Subject: Thai Time
To those this applies: now
>>ty.hardaway
>>301/347.5636
Thanks for the great lunch, the multiple CDs, but most of all for just being you. Having a Claremont guy around to keep the east coast in prespective was extremely helpful and comforting.
Give me a buzz if you get out to LA for a visit, work or otherwise.
Peace. "You check out anytime you like, but you can never leave..."
Mike B.
Ty Hardaway
08/16/2002 12:45 PM
To: All HCR Bethesda
cc:
Subject: Thai Time
To those this applies: now
>>ty.hardaway
>>301/347.5636
8.15.2002
The Village Voice: Hot Spot: Dirty Pornos: Doing the Robot! by Johnny Maldoro
at some point, can't you just call it? i think there's a mercy rule or something.
this week has been a total bust. nothing gained. no output.
anne: sick sunday and monday.
bren: 4 month check up on tuesday plus shots.
me: sick on wednesday and thursday.
oreo: old, cranky but, loving
have to reschedule car, doctor, dentist and housekeeping appts. also, several work meetings postponed or cancelled.
it's as if the week never existed. maybe it's the heat or the humility.
and let me tell you, i haven't been sick in a very long time; not like that. perhaps since i was a teen. it was like getting hit by a VW microbus. the bug should be called the '24 hours of hell' flu.
i can't think. i can't act. i cannot do.
i have no revelations. it's like being dead for a week except there's no rest.
at some point, can't you just call it? i think there's a mercy rule or something.
this week has been a total bust. nothing gained. no output.
anne: sick sunday and monday.
bren: 4 month check up on tuesday plus shots.
me: sick on wednesday and thursday.
oreo: old, cranky but, loving
have to reschedule car, doctor, dentist and housekeeping appts. also, several work meetings postponed or cancelled.
it's as if the week never existed. maybe it's the heat or the humility.
and let me tell you, i haven't been sick in a very long time; not like that. perhaps since i was a teen. it was like getting hit by a VW microbus. the bug should be called the '24 hours of hell' flu.
i can't think. i can't act. i cannot do.
i have no revelations. it's like being dead for a week except there's no rest.
8.08.2002
Arts & Letters Daily - ideas, criticism, debate
So ephemeris is simple
and coverture is hard
But contrary to the old
is-the-root-is-all-evil moral
money is everything
Unions taken as measures
of vanity appeasement
are destined to confuse
the naive and the simple
amongst the hordes
Some work some sacrifice to
thus earn their leisurely entertainment
both free and not -
values internalized from lessons learned
minds wide open from birth
Without spirituality
confidence and imagination lapse
And no bid buys peace
We bear our responsibilities
to ourselves to each other
Unfortunately our heavens
only exist in the fairy tales of
whiny baby minds
Friendship among earthlings
and the Earth is unconditional
So ephemeris is simple
and coverture is hard
But contrary to the old
is-the-root-is-all-evil moral
money is everything
Unions taken as measures
of vanity appeasement
are destined to confuse
the naive and the simple
amongst the hordes
Some work some sacrifice to
thus earn their leisurely entertainment
both free and not -
values internalized from lessons learned
minds wide open from birth
Without spirituality
confidence and imagination lapse
And no bid buys peace
We bear our responsibilities
to ourselves to each other
Unfortunately our heavens
only exist in the fairy tales of
whiny baby minds
Friendship among earthlings
and the Earth is unconditional
8.05.2002
WFMU-FM 91.1/Jersey City, NJ; 90.1/Hudson Valley, NY
i just received the prints from my New Orleans shoot
i am finding them so deeply moving and intimate
some two, three and four image sequences
are perfect in juxtaposition and in context and in composition
but, i am hopelessly depressed - heartbroken even
the shots are boldly blurry, distorted and obtuse
wholly as intended - as close to perfection as i've ever realized
but who will understand?
the first viewer declared
"you take shots of anything, huh?"
i could die
i could cry
i could quit
can i take a juried rejection
or critical misinterpretation
or the simplistic conclusions of untrained?
if they live in only my world
do they live?
i just received the prints from my New Orleans shoot
i am finding them so deeply moving and intimate
some two, three and four image sequences
are perfect in juxtaposition and in context and in composition
but, i am hopelessly depressed - heartbroken even
the shots are boldly blurry, distorted and obtuse
wholly as intended - as close to perfection as i've ever realized
but who will understand?
the first viewer declared
"you take shots of anything, huh?"
i could die
i could cry
i could quit
can i take a juried rejection
or critical misinterpretation
or the simplistic conclusions of untrained?
if they live in only my world
do they live?
MIDDLESPACE - somewhere not here
"Sometimes there's mystique, and sometimes there's nothing but the pitiful tackiness of violent death. And none of this, of course, means a damn thing to the people who die."
- Patrick Smith, Pilot
3:00 a.m. - Doylestown, PA. I have to pee something fierce. We're in the basement at Jim's because Mike's room was too warm, too bright and too noisy for the baby to sleep. In fact, she was up ever hour or so the night before. The basement solves all of the sleep issues and she's sleeping beautifully tonight. And, she's been sound asleep since around 9:30. So I fumble over Anne, rocking her all over the place on the air mattress, but being dutifully careful not to disturb the bassinet. God, I have to pee and the bathroom is all the way upstairs.
Using a borrowed mini-flashlight, I find my way up the stairs and into the guest bathroom. It's at least 20 degrees warmer up here and am I happy we chose to sleep in the basement. It is such an opulent facility. Soon, I have an impressive stream going, and the sound of the water is soothing. But, I'm still a bit sleepy so I lean my arm against the wall for support... for...just...a...mom...ent...
I awake to the most horrifying crash I've ever experienced in my life. The shattering sound is nothing compared with the blinding white flash of light. Have I been shot? Bludgeoned? I must be dead, because no one survives such traumatic crashes. Why am I looking at the ceiling? Why is everything blurry? Why am I on the floor?
Fortunately, my equipment is put away (even though my fly is still open). I am sore in many places and everything is still very blurry. My glasses are somewhere. I check my skull and feel for broken bones. I look in the mirror. I flush.
Somehow, I have fallen. Or passed out? Or just fallen back asleep? What on earth was that about? But, I didn't have to pee anymore.
"Sometimes there's mystique, and sometimes there's nothing but the pitiful tackiness of violent death. And none of this, of course, means a damn thing to the people who die."
- Patrick Smith, Pilot
3:00 a.m. - Doylestown, PA. I have to pee something fierce. We're in the basement at Jim's because Mike's room was too warm, too bright and too noisy for the baby to sleep. In fact, she was up ever hour or so the night before. The basement solves all of the sleep issues and she's sleeping beautifully tonight. And, she's been sound asleep since around 9:30. So I fumble over Anne, rocking her all over the place on the air mattress, but being dutifully careful not to disturb the bassinet. God, I have to pee and the bathroom is all the way upstairs.
Using a borrowed mini-flashlight, I find my way up the stairs and into the guest bathroom. It's at least 20 degrees warmer up here and am I happy we chose to sleep in the basement. It is such an opulent facility. Soon, I have an impressive stream going, and the sound of the water is soothing. But, I'm still a bit sleepy so I lean my arm against the wall for support... for...just...a...mom...ent...
I awake to the most horrifying crash I've ever experienced in my life. The shattering sound is nothing compared with the blinding white flash of light. Have I been shot? Bludgeoned? I must be dead, because no one survives such traumatic crashes. Why am I looking at the ceiling? Why is everything blurry? Why am I on the floor?
Fortunately, my equipment is put away (even though my fly is still open). I am sore in many places and everything is still very blurry. My glasses are somewhere. I check my skull and feel for broken bones. I look in the mirror. I flush.
Somehow, I have fallen. Or passed out? Or just fallen back asleep? What on earth was that about? But, I didn't have to pee anymore.
7.31.2002
"Fuck" is an interesting word, linguistically speaking. It has the virtues of brevity, adaptability, expressiveness, and is understood universally. It has a huge number of synonyms, ranging from coy euphemisms to acceptable jocular equivalents to coarse vulgarities.
Oddly, it has very few polite equivalents. Strictly speaking, no single English word in current use bears the same primary meaning. It may be thought that "copulate" is an exact synonym for the verb to fuck, but "copulate" has a broader meaning: "to couple, conjoin, link together; to become conjoined or united." In its sexual meaning, it is primarily confined to zoology.
In order to refer to the activity that "fuck" describes, it is necessary to engage in circumlocution or periphrasis. Thus we get "make love to," "sleep with," "engage in sexual relations with," and the like.
It was not always so. "Fuck" is recorded as being used in more-or-less respectable literature as early as 1500, and it is found in Florio's Italian-English dictionary (1598). "Fuck” appears in Nathaniel Bailey's dictionary (1730), but not in Johnson (1755).
Although the following words all describe the same thing, they have won acceptance, if not in the salon, at least in the outer-rooms of polite society: "play mothers and fathers," "go upstairs," "make babies," "get one's jollies," "play hide the sausage," "get into one's pants," "have a tumble." And then there are the earthier monosyllabic inventions: "stuff," "screw," "pork," "poke," "bang," "bonk," "root," "hump." Note that these can be used both as verb and noun. Interestingly, it is easy to see that some of these synonyms are more acceptable than others, but all are more accepted than "fuck." Generally, the more humorous the construction, the more acceptable it is.
Looked at solely as a lexical unit, "fuck" is a very good, sturdy, versatile, and descriptive word. If our social masters could reconcile themselves to the idea that sex is a legitimate part of human existence and is here to stay, it may be that "fuck" will eventually be accepted in polite use.
- Julian Burnside, vocabula.com
Middlespace
Oddly, it has very few polite equivalents. Strictly speaking, no single English word in current use bears the same primary meaning. It may be thought that "copulate" is an exact synonym for the verb to fuck, but "copulate" has a broader meaning: "to couple, conjoin, link together; to become conjoined or united." In its sexual meaning, it is primarily confined to zoology.
In order to refer to the activity that "fuck" describes, it is necessary to engage in circumlocution or periphrasis. Thus we get "make love to," "sleep with," "engage in sexual relations with," and the like.
It was not always so. "Fuck" is recorded as being used in more-or-less respectable literature as early as 1500, and it is found in Florio's Italian-English dictionary (1598). "Fuck” appears in Nathaniel Bailey's dictionary (1730), but not in Johnson (1755).
Although the following words all describe the same thing, they have won acceptance, if not in the salon, at least in the outer-rooms of polite society: "play mothers and fathers," "go upstairs," "make babies," "get one's jollies," "play hide the sausage," "get into one's pants," "have a tumble." And then there are the earthier monosyllabic inventions: "stuff," "screw," "pork," "poke," "bang," "bonk," "root," "hump." Note that these can be used both as verb and noun. Interestingly, it is easy to see that some of these synonyms are more acceptable than others, but all are more accepted than "fuck." Generally, the more humorous the construction, the more acceptable it is.
Looked at solely as a lexical unit, "fuck" is a very good, sturdy, versatile, and descriptive word. If our social masters could reconcile themselves to the idea that sex is a legitimate part of human existence and is here to stay, it may be that "fuck" will eventually be accepted in polite use.
- Julian Burnside, vocabula.com
Middlespace
7.30.2002
MIDDLESPACE - the space between
Moving mouths of flapping words
Surround my head opaque and surreal
Without meanings or inspiration
Heavy eyelids on bobbing head
Sloppily pretending to take notes or write poetry
Vapid [of] content
Sleep - the attractive whirlpool of the moment
Fading blurry cross-eyed attention span
Images and dreams undulate in and out
Scattering perception bugswings
Falling forward and again towards
an end
Moving mouths of flapping words
Surround my head opaque and surreal
Without meanings or inspiration
Heavy eyelids on bobbing head
Sloppily pretending to take notes or write poetry
Vapid [of] content
Sleep - the attractive whirlpool of the moment
Fading blurry cross-eyed attention span
Images and dreams undulate in and out
Scattering perception bugswings
Falling forward and again towards
an end
7.29.2002
MIDDLESPACE - the space between
Haunted by detailed and vivid adventure dreams
Inescapable warrens of mystery and chaos
Wake plans muted by inevitable attentions
Prickly porcupine thistle sticking like magnets to exposed iron boxes
Two hours is never enough sleep time
For parents of prodigious progeny
But all is forgiven upon sunrises when
We muster all we have remaining and continue our hike into
The woods of the imagination
Evacuation plans never so un-smooth
Dream detectives never so coolly behaved
Amid impending boom, doom and gloom
Again the world is safe from evildoers and idiots
"There isn't really much else that [Ralph Nader and] the Greens can hope to achieve. Whatever their utopian platforms may say about renewable energy, corporate responsibility, diversity rainbows or frogs in top hats, the ruin of the Democratic Party is their only feasible aim. The first Democrats to be taken down, if the tiny party's plans are effective, will be the most progressive."
-Joe Conason
[middlespace live]
Haunted by detailed and vivid adventure dreams
Inescapable warrens of mystery and chaos
Wake plans muted by inevitable attentions
Prickly porcupine thistle sticking like magnets to exposed iron boxes
Two hours is never enough sleep time
For parents of prodigious progeny
But all is forgiven upon sunrises when
We muster all we have remaining and continue our hike into
The woods of the imagination
Evacuation plans never so un-smooth
Dream detectives never so coolly behaved
Amid impending boom, doom and gloom
Again the world is safe from evildoers and idiots
"There isn't really much else that [Ralph Nader and] the Greens can hope to achieve. Whatever their utopian platforms may say about renewable energy, corporate responsibility, diversity rainbows or frogs in top hats, the ruin of the Democratic Party is their only feasible aim. The first Democrats to be taken down, if the tiny party's plans are effective, will be the most progressive."
-Joe Conason
[middlespace live]
7.26.2002
From New Orleans:
Artificial overly-grinning floating torso
Curious about how it relates back
to them
Local flavor yawning over wonders
Acted anew by visitors with notions
about here
Gaping staggeringly blind
About self and about life
and love
Observations include lessons
Learned through the details
closely captured
So much the same behaviors
Personalities distilled into one
black mass
Artificial overly-grinning floating torso
Curious about how it relates back
to them
Local flavor yawning over wonders
Acted anew by visitors with notions
about here
Gaping staggeringly blind
About self and about life
and love
Observations include lessons
Learned through the details
closely captured
So much the same behaviors
Personalities distilled into one
black mass
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