December 20, 2004
love hotel blues
Fragments of something, maybe a song...
She's got her hand in my trousers
Reaching for leather
She thinks I'm asleep
But I know better
She's just doing her job
And I am too
Got them cheap Love Hotel
Clean Love Hotel
Modern Love Hotel
Cheap Love Hotel blues
July 01, 2004
blue moon, part 1
Big round golden orb out there tonight, set in deep blue velvet. Crisp cool air, not a breath of wind to be felt. A magical night to be out; I wonder if Snoopy noticed, or if he was consumed with the invisible scent trails of tomcats and racoons and such.
And for all those things that only happen "once in a blue moon", heads up this month folks. Full moon comes around again on the 31st.
March 31, 2004
imagining a life
That nice Halley Suitt did the nail on the head thing today. It really got me, in that shock-of-recognition, lump-in-the-throat sort of way. She went for a walk, and stumbled on ground truth.
I've been thinking about how we all spend so much time having a life that seems to be the kind of life other people have -- get up, get breakfast, get dressed, go to work, get there at 9:00, leave there at 5:00 or 6:00 or whatever, come home, eat dinner, watch TV -- and I suddenly found this really sad. That we come to this earth and that's all we can come up with for a life.
I live that life, and it's really not so bad. There are people and places, rituals and rewards in that life that stir me and challenge me and make it all worthwhile. But now and then I rediscover something about myself, some hidden marker that points off in a different direction. I've been pretty good at ignoring that bit so far, but someday I'm going to follow it.
February 13, 2004
here today, gone to maui
i got those
breakers crashin'
surf a-splashin'
palm fronds wavin'
shave ice shavin'
blues
here come those good for nothin'
coconuttin'
suntan lotion
clear blue ocean
blues
i'm gonna chew myself some sugarcane
and have some drinks to ease the pain
of living with those lonesome island blues
oh. yeah.
January 22, 2004
Gung hei fat choy!
|
Today begins the Year of the Wood (or Green) Monkey, lunar year 4702 of the Chinese calendar. A year of movement, discussion and the exchange of ideas. A year highlighting politicians, diplomats, ambassadors, writers, spokesmen, storytellers, orators, salesmen, and confidence games.
Those born in the Year of the Monkey tend to be witty, curious, clever and crafty. They are outgoing, and always looking for new, different, and stimulating things. If you are a Monkey, you are probably the jokester in the crowd, and a wee bit mischievous at times! Some astrological predictions for the folks at fredshouse [via chineseastrology.com]: The Frugal Rat - The "Concealed Charmer" A much better year ahead in 2004 as the Rat and Monkey are the best of friends. Unstable but dynamic, the Monkey year emboldens Rats and this year's journey may resemble more of a hazardous adventure rather than a picnic. The eclectic Rat's imagination (both positive and negative) runs wild during Monkey years and moderation is critical. All in all, a great year. And a word about marital bliss... Monkey & Rat - Very compatible together. Highly successful union. Have deep and strong affinity for one another. Will find love and contentment. Happy New Year 4702! |
January 15, 2004
[grid::ritual] gloves off
You’ve got to be careful what you touch.
I always wear the gloves by default, but clearly Anderson was one of those people that didn’t care, that invited and maybe even relished the sensory overstimulation of the physical world. His bare hands were sandstone, etched roughly as if by years of weathering in the open desert. There was a perceptible tension in the curl of the fingers of the right; the left was stuck partway into the worn pocket of once-fashionable Diesel jeans. Behind lightly tinted lenses, his blue, no, gray eyes swept intensely around the room, gathering context, assessing threats perhaps? He looked up as I came across the room, his thin mouth opening into a broad and apparently friendly grin. Deep-set lines spread across his face in a branching network as skin followed muscle into a familiar position; Anderson had smiled a lot over the years.
He offered his right hand expectantly.
I did my best not to hesitate, fighting an instinctive warning in the back of my head. I looked down at my gloved right hand, considered it politely to show that I was making a conscious choice, then pulled at the leather fingers with my gloved left hand. I summoned up the necessary smile, assumed the aikido mind-stance, and grasped the extended hand firmly.
I had expected Anderson to present strangely, an animistic representation or even a psychosexual one, designed to evoke a primal response of some kind. People in the trade did this sometimes, as a way to establish social dominance or otherwise catch you off guard. As well, there were people who would deliberately present in forms designed to shock and offend, leering at you while you recoiled from whatever scenes of decadence or decay they transmitted; this was pretty rare in commerce, and I didn’t think Anderson was one of those. But despite plenty of experience and mental training, I was still unprepared for what came next. As the unprotected flesh of our hands made contact and the bitstreams of our digital personae began to flow across the connection, I became aware of a faint low frequency percussive pounding somewhere behind me. My visor display flickered into a soft gray blankness, along with all of the panels in the room. Not off, but imperceptibly dim. The low thudding sound grew louder, seemed to come closer, and I noticed repeating vertical patterns of gray were emerging on the screens, pulsating in synchrony with the pounding. Anderson’s grin sharpened subtly, and he gripped my hand more tightly than was customary. The visual patterns began to break up into pixelated blocks, flashing brighter, rearranging constantly, moving faster, and faster still, now like a random noise field, now correlated, and the sound somehow mirrored the visual chaos. I thought briefly of the warnings that used to be posted on the splash screens of the old console games, about flashing visual scenes that could induce epileptic seizures. It occurred to me that Anderson’s attack, for now I was becoming quite certain of its malicious nature, was probing me for just this sort of vulnerability. These strangely complex audiovisual patterns appeared to be scanning a multidimensional range of frequencies, seeking a resonant response from the tangled mass of neurons inside my skull. Seeking, seeking… There. I winced involuntarily, reeled dizzily back a half step, pulled my hand away too quickly. The connection now broken, the cacophony of sound and light ceased abruptly. Anderson’s eyes glinted minutely with satisfaction.
“Shit!” I subvocalized to myself, gritting my teeth. This deal was getting off to a bad start indeed. As I took a deep, silent breath and fought to regain my interior calm, I saw Anderson reach into the fold of his leather jacket and produce a small gray rectangle the color of static. He spoke in a warm, gravelly baritone register, through grinning white teeth.
“Here’s my card”, he said, extending his hand once again. In my pocket I found the little brass and leather case that held my own cards, and slipped a strong one from the bottom of the stack.
“And here’s mine”, I replied with just the hint of a smile. “I think you’ll like it.”
January 05, 2004
mmm, fresh and sour
Ripe Satsuma tangerines, fresh from the garden at fredshouse. The soft and tender ripping sound as pebbled peel is stripped away. The juicy pop, the bright tang of sour citrus. And always the astonishment at the subtlety and fecundity of nature.
September 11, 2003
In Memoriam, 9-11-2001
"In 1974, a week before his 26th birthday, Philippe Petit strung a cable between the not-yet-completed twin towers of the World Trade Center and for the better part of an hour walked back and forth across the 140-foot gap between the towers while tens of thousands watched."
From CommemorateWTC.com
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)