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Fruit on the Bottom
by fitzcarraldo *
Dear America Who Likes To Watch:
I'm not a victim and I'm not sorry.
Warm Regards,
The Future That's Sooner Than You Think.
3.6.04
by TRUEBOY *
I don’t know, man…working on the skullfuck bush party makes me realize just how ambiguous I really am when it comes to politics. there’s no right way to think, no clear way out of the mess we’re all in. I don’t wanna veil on my face, I don’t wanna car that spurts toxins into the air, I don’t wanna read about all the infighting regarding the building to be born on ground zero, I don’t wanna cringe inside when the train comes to a sudden halt due to a police investigation, I don’t wanna have kids and suffocate them with my neurosis, I don’t wanna put up with some richy rich pinstripe dude cutting in front of me like it’s nothing, like I’m nothing, I don’t wanna spend my entire 20s dazed and confused, wasting valuable energy repressing all the fucked up shit that happened, I don’t wanna keep fronting like I’m strong, I don’t wanna be called a victim, I don’t wanna march, I don’t wanna stand still, I don’t wanna know, I don’t wanna find out, I don’t wanna fuck, I’d rather be fucked, lie on my back and dream, dream, dream, I don’t wanna wake up tomorrow and find out that it’s all been decided…
it’s like the end of the first story in denis johnson’s collection, jesus’ son. yep, the same one from which they made that sucky ass movie that I nodded out on. anyway, the story’s called “car crash while hitchhiking” and it’s about how the narrator, a nameless drugged-out hitchhiker in the heart of the heart of the country is in a car crash and ends up saving the baby of the family who’s picked him up. there he is lying to the doctors who want to admit him to the hospital, a precursor to years later when he’ll be dragged into rehab and injected with sedatives, his skin crawling and his eyes seeing shit…totally fucked up, totally unreliable…
“and you,” he writes, “ you ridiculous people, you expect me to help you.”
blue hysteria
2.6.04
by TRUEBOY *
back in the time when i used to indulge my burgeoning OCD disorder with a sitemeter, i'd notice handfulls of hits from military IPs. like a lot of people, most of them probably got here by accident, through a wayward porn search or whatever, but once and awhile i'd notice one of those addresses hitting at the same time, day after day, and i'd think, hmmm, who is that, this new reader of mine? i'd wonder, what are they like? do they like their job? are they paying for college? are they looking to get off, don't ask don't tell style? are they scared shitless?
it was tough to get my mind past the uniform--shit, i'd think, they're sittin there reading about me fucking a drag queen decked out in their fucking GEAR, man, like some serious boots and collars and slick little sidearms.
and i'd feel honored as fuck because that's some fer real shit. while i'm here getting high and pontificating.
i grew up on the lower rung of the middle class, so there were always a lot of guys and girls going into the service. like every dude in my family did something. later on i knew guys who went to the first gulf war and to bosnia. i'll tell you, from the little they told me, a lot of fucked up shit happens that never makes the papers.
i don't know, maybe someday they could post their stories on blogs.
i think it would help some of them to get it out.
maybe help them leave it in the past...
anyway, i'm getting a little maudlin this morning.
last night we took the late train home
i was mezmorized by the pattern of pink dots across the brown pleather seats
punched from our tickets
it was funny because when the conducter came by
i was so out of it i tried to hand him the CD from my CDman
i didn't understand what he wanted
but i got a little help and figured it all out
and spent the rest of the ride watching as we floated past
intricate formations of bright lights
outlining deep black spaces
like ships waiting in the darkness.
the water was like icing when we crossed the river.
my music was too loud in my headphones
but i still couldn't hear it
i was numb, i couldn't feel it.
thoughts about the war and my life in this country
burrowed deep in my brain
like toothaches
fuck i felt outside of it all
the news...the near empty train
driting past the great sleeping city of hoboken
like a ghost
one love to the troops out doing your job.
welcome back to everyone who made it home.
yr all invited.
31.5.04
Building Steam with a Single Grain of Salt
by TRUEBOY *
pay money, pay respect
don't insult my intellect...
this post is dedicated to raymi.
she's the woman
can't nobody touch her
hangs with the elite
makes her papes from the gutter...
hi raymi. please come to the party in NYC. if need be I’ll drive up to t-dot and pick you up. I’ll bring presents for yr moms to win her over. Grapenuts and light cigarettes and other healthy things…
“only 4% of people on the internet read blogs”
raymi is what it’s all about. the pix, the attitude. when I first saw her blog I knew there was a next level to all of this…an alter ego playground, a role playing game for the future. Bill Gates, can you smell me? The internet is for losers who feed off the beautiful like vampires, but it's OK because it usually feels pretty good.
It’s all coming together. I need a little while to formulate, make some power moves…
But until then, I’ll be raymi’s slave…
as I type this there are a million cops milling about grand central and they’re pulling over every van and truck driven by a brown driver. I passed by a white van with its doors flung wide open like a girl with her skirt pulled up around her neck and it reminds me of when I was in Maryland during the whole sniper thing. The fact that it turned out to be an American black dude and his teenage sidekick knocked all this shit into a new perspective. and when I say knocked into I mean, like, right out of the park.
I’m having a day where I feel as though everyone I see I’ve seen before, like the whole city is filled with TV extras and waitresses, bartenders I stiffed…masseuses I wish I had...
the past inside the present
365dumps
fuck yeah I’m trying to market this thing. they don’t call me BRAND for nothing.
BRAND NEW
TRUE BLUE SAGA.
I’d like to write a ballet about a girl who goes to sleep after drinking an old fashioned spiked by this total dick who claims to be her best friend and greatest protector. She falls into a drug-induced sleep in which she dreams that the two of them fall in love and have a relationship. The setting is all tripped out in a Wizard of Oz kinda way with everyone dancing around like maniacs. The music will be Scott Walker, that album he did of all Jacques Brel covers.
The question is should it end when she wakes up and realizes it was all a dream and he raped her in the ass while she was out for the count—in other words, as a tragedy, or should it end with her systematically slicing up her attacker in a scene with resonances to an earlier moment in the dream world, perhaps when she was cutting reams of psychedelic silk for her wedding dress or something?
What do you want to know? If I’m a real person, if I have feelings too? If I’m some kinda robot?
“Things changed after you started blogging,” she said.
“Yeah, I know.”
“You had less time for everything, less time to go out, less time for me.”
“Because I was writing?”
“Yeah. Because you were…writing.”
tinylittlepenis
I was searching google for a pics of fred flintstone when I came across this guy. the .jpg is named fred flintstone I think it’s from a car customization site but I was too high and freaked out to stay and find out more. i mean, why is he popping up out of the back like that? that photoshop stuff isn’t mine, btw, it came like that.
the reason I was looking for pix of fred flinstone is I wanted one of that little green martian fag who used to float around his head in the later episoides. I think his name was Kazoo? anyway, he had a dope helmet with a WiFi antenna in the back so he had a constant connection and was always online. too bad he had to deal with fat stupid fred all the time.
it ain’t easy being green.
this blog was made for you and me.
now that i understand this right
let me take it to the mic
this revolution has just begun
SOMEWHERE IN SPACE THIS COULD ALL BE HAPPENING RIGHT NOW...
fuck it. I’m alive. I’m young. this is my time, there won’t be another. I want it all, I want them to come here, I want this to be the biggest party ever.
I want to celebrate the fact that it’s a sad and beautiful world. I want to party with the trust fund kids, Mexican gangbangers, spanish girls wearing old navy and their baby daddys… I wanna get high with that dude from around the way with the maimed hand, and those old drunk queens with horny toenails, not to mention the pretty Indian men who stand on the subway platform and let the wind suck their fine tailored shirts against their slender chests…I wanna get a light from the smoking downtown angels with luck on every finger and hang by the door with those goblin people who are on some new drug that makes their faces scrunched up like in a Toulouse Lautrec poster.
I want it I want it I want it and most of all I want to be able to click pause at any time and change the channel...
...and write a post...
(or three)
THIS IS TONIGHT:
-----Original Message-----
From: Neil deGrasse Tyson [mailto:tyson@amnh.org]
Sent: Thursday, May 27, 2004 8:15 AM
To: xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: Manhattan-Henge: It's that time of year again...
Dear Museum Community
It's that time of year again....
MANHATTAN-HENGE
What will future civilizations think of Manhattan Island when they
dig it up and find a carefully laid out network of streets and avenues?
Surely the grid would be presumed to have astronomical significance,
just as we have found for the pre-historic circle of large vertical
rocks known as Stonehenge, in the Salisbury Plain of England. For
Stonehenge, the special day is the summer solstice, when the Sun rises
in perfect alignment with several of the stones, signaling the chage of
season.
For Manhattan, a place where the evening matters more than the
morning, that special day comes on May 28; one of only two days in the
year when the Sun sets in exact alignment with the Manhattan grid,
fully illuminating every single cross-street for the last fifteen
minutes of daylight. The other day is July 11th. Had Manhattan's grid
been perfectly aligned with the geographic north-south line, then our
special day would be the Spring equinox, and if we so designated, the
Autumn equinox -- the only two days on the calendar when the Sun ruses
due East and sets due West. But Manhattan is rotated 30 degrees east
from geographic north, shifting the days of alignment elsewhere into
the calendar. Upon studying American culture, and what is important to
it, future anthropologists might credit the Manhattan alignments to
cosmic signs of Memorial Day and, of course, the All-Star break. War
and Baseball.
Because Manhattan is so small (13 mile long) compared with Earth's
distance to the Sun (about 93 million miles), the Sun's rays are
essentially parallel by the time they reach Manhattan, allowing the Sun
to be seen on all cross streets simultaneously, provided you have a
clear view to the New Jersey horizon. Some major streets cross the
entire island from river to river without obstruction, including 14th,
34th, and 42nd streets. While the May 28 sunset qualifies as the exact
day for this auspicious moment, the surrounding days will also work, as
the point of sunset migrates slowly north from day to day along the
horizon, bringing with it ever-lengthening daylight hours.
Sunset on Manhattan-henge begins at 8:10PM, at a cross-street near
you.
+++++++++++++++++++++
Image of "Sunset on 34th Street" as it first appeared among eh
photo-essays of "City of Stars," Natural History magazine: http://www.naturalhistorymag.com/city_of_stars/19_sunset_34th.html
Download a high-res image of "Sunset on 34th Street" http://research.amnh.org/users/tyson/publications/ManhattanSunset.html
+++++++++++++++++++++
As always, keep looking up,
-Neil deGrasse Tyson
Department of Astrophysics
& Director, Hayden Planetarium
American Museum of Natural History
Central Park West at 79th Street
New York, NY 10024
http://research.amnh.org/users/tyson
27.5.04
How To Help
by sterling fassbinder
folks have been writing me asking what they can do for the cause. the answer is, I don’t know, what can you do? what are your resources? what do you want to accomplish? we’re shaping this big hunka clay called eight-thirty together. right now we’re on the line—“if you build it, they will come.” just don’t expect to sit at the table and not get some dirt under your nails. here are some thoughts, non-linear style, served raw with a side of goofy disregard:
Link:
--write a post
--type the words “Fuck Bush” or some version thereof
--highlight those words
--click on the little globe and type http://bringthebeef.blogspot.com
Come/come:
--find a way to get to NYC for the end of august.
--whether you can be here in person or not, between now and then spend time every day improving the quality of your orgasms. you can do this with or without a partner(s), tools, games, props, toys, DVDs. I need you all to be seeing stars, especially the ladies. wakey wakey, the year is 2004 and not 1954 and we’re still far from heaven. the time has come to embrace all our needs and all our holes—our open mouths and our open wounds.
Create a symbol:
--we sorely need something unique and powerful that expresses our “fight for your right to party” vibe and can be mass produced in many formats, including ornamental nipple ring.
Kill Your Television:
--if not literally than figuratively, as in, don’t take a lick of that shit on face value. this applies to all media, actually, especially Big Media. wean yourself off your reliance on images. learn how to listen again. one of the purposes of this event is to show the world that there’s a whole cross section of people out there who talk back to their monitors and refuse to be spoon fed the corn syrup-coated bullshit that passes as real news in this country. information is power. asking “why?” is the first step to freeing your mind.
Question your belief in an overarching governmental conspiracy:
--while yes, it’s true, with each new “revelation” it seems, as though we are “living in the 2004 version of JFK, where we are using the same arguments to prove a conspiracy that is so obvious, people think it can't exist” it’s important not to fall into the “man behind the curtain” syndrome, in which one believes that everything that happens is the result of some heavily orchestrated governmental scheme. just as it’s dangerous to underestitmate the intelligence of the powers that be, it’s also a mistake to make them smarther than they really are. they are men (with a few chicks thrown in). they make tons of mistakes and often fail to meet their own objection. they are not reading your mail or peeking up at your privates through your toiliet (although your landlord might be, especially if you live in long island).
--we can take em, hear me?
--(re)learn the true meaning of marxism—it wasn’t all about becoming a socialist. first and foremost it was about learning how to think the historical moment one found oneself in—to see it in its context, to figure out how we got where we are and to find a way out.
Don’t turn the terrorists into victims:
--I’m not talking about the tortured prisoners in iraq. I’m talking about the dudes who hijacked the planes and deliberately flew them into civillian targets. or the ones who triple packed TNT and blew up those trains in madrid. Don’t come back to me with, yeah, but the U.S. causes the death of countless civillians every day blah blah…Even if that’s the case, two wrongs don’t make a right. Those dudes will stop at nothing, do you understand? For whatever reasons (yes, I know there are links between the saudis and bush and the oil companies, etc, etc) the facts are as following: these fanatics believe this is a holy war. A fight to the death—us against them. They won’t stop until they’ve killed or conqured us. We women will be under veils with zero rights. We queers will be dead. Not to mention every single Jewish person on the face of the planet. Now I don’t care about your politics as much as I care about the fact that you are allowed to have your own views and express them and so am I. Bush might be the enemy but so is Al Queda, Hamas, Islamic Jihad, the PLO and anyone else out there who is chickenshit enough to send 12 year olds out strapped with explosive. They must be stopped.
Clean up your fucking act:
--take it from me, there’s nothing like being straight, man. of course, not everyone has an issue with substances, and for many a shift in consciousness is exactly what the doctor ordered. that said, moderation in all things is key. it’s like what john waters said about why he quit smoking up everyday: “pot just seems to make people satisfied with a lot less in life.”
Realize that it’s now or never:
--make the art, make the call, ask her out, ask for help, start the site, leave the comment, jot down your dream, burn the CD, steal the copy, get on top, shave your head, get up to get down, register to vote, push back, push first, question authority, support the troops, keep your cool, switch the station, fuck your gender, go on a tangent, write the words past the margin, use your fingers, get enough sleep, flex your muscle, wear your sunglasses (at night), fuck the police, don’t be scared, be ready to try…
…be ready to die. at 8:45 you could be sitting at your desk, going through your morning email and at 8:46…
ultrab
paxgitmo
gold tooth aesthetic
26.5.04
by sterling fassbinder
right now i'm over TRUE's place, trying to fix her virus ridden system. i'm also trying to fix her computer. HA. she's reading over my shoulder. fuck off.
posting something on this machine right now is like rubbing up against a dying person.
no, it's not like that. there's no need for drama. recover. reinstall. re-download. this is what it's about. i do this for a living, remember? everything will be fine. TRUE is obsessive about back-ups. ok, maybe obsessive isn't the right word. but there are cds everywhere. some are mixes, some are pictures, some are files. some are labelled, some are not, but she claims to know what's what, by their brand or condition.
OK, the post i wanted to write will have to wait. today was a motherfucker. it got off to a brilliant start which, among other things, included getting molested on the subway. it was the kind of day where i found myself just not giving a fuck, chain smoking and drinking too much coffee. i sat at my desk for an hour after i came in (incredibly late, i might add) reading email, before i realized that i was still wearing my shades.
oh yeah and i narrowly missed signing an email "Retards, Sterling Fassbinder" instead of "Regards, Sterling Fassbinder." of course a part of me regrets catching the mistake. ahh, yes, well hang tight, Le Grand Slip-Up is on the nigh and nigh, i'm certain.
mrtt
retards,
25.5.04
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