did i ever blog this?<a title="Small Fire - Grace" href="http://smallfire.org/grace_moments.html">Small Fire - Grace</a> I'm on smallfire.232ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-27T13:39:38-05:00publishPretendster<a title="Pretendster" href="http://www.tree-axis.com/pretendster/index.php?t=1077317081">Pretendster</a>231ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-27T12:54:04-05:00publishContent Management - A Process, Not a Technology<a title="Content Management - A Process, Not a Technology" href="http://www.7nights.com/asterisk/archives/content_management_a_process_not_a_technology.php">Content Management - A Process, Not a Technology</a>230ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-27T12:51:51-05:00publishget your twangers out<a href="http://homepages.nildram.co.uk/~paulcha/smashthestate/rainbow.mpeg">rainbow.mpeg</a> <a href="http://www.funny.co.uk/stuff/art_53-1664-Rainbow-The-Innuendo-Script.html">the script</a> via <a title="acutecut - digital home of Rasmus Rasmussen" href="http://www.acutecut.com/arkiv/001269.php">acutecut</a>229ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-27T12:26:31-05:00publishPaolo Coelho<img src="http://images-eu.amazon.com/images/P/0007116055.02.MZZZZZZZ.jpg" align="left" />Just in case you don't think you shit what you eat. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0754074110/qid=1077899351/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/002-7541289-9183229?v=glance&s=books">The Devil and Miss Prym</a> author's note, pg ix: <blockquote>I have always believed that in the lives of individuals, just as in society at large, the profoundest changes take place within a very reduced time frame. When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not yet ready. The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back. A week is more than enough time for us to decide whether or not to accept our destiny.</blockquote> pgs 84-86: <blockquote>Then the voice--which identified itself as the prince of this world, the only being who really knows what happens on Earth--began to show him the people all around him on the beach. The wonderful father who was busy packing things up and helping his children put on some warm clothes and who would love to have an affair with his secretary, but was terrified of his wife's response. His wife who would like to work and have her independence, but who was terrified of her husband's response. The children who behaved themselves because they were terrified of being punished. The girl who was reading a book all on her own beneath a sunshade, pretending she didn't care, but inside was terrified of spending the rest of her life alone. The boy running around with a tennis racquet, terrified of having to live up to his parents' expectations. The waiter serving tropical drinks to the rich customers and terrified that he could be sacked at any moment. The young girl who wanted to be a dancer, but who was studying law instead because she was terrified of what the neighbours might say. The old man who didn't smoke or drink and said he felt much better for it, when in truth it was the terror of death that whispered in his ears like the wind. The married couple who ran by, splashing through the surf, with a smile on their face but with a terror in their hearts telling them that they would soon be old, boring and useless. The man with the suntan who swept up in his launch in front of everybody and waved and smiled, but was terrified because he could lose all his money from one moment to the next. The hotel owner, watching the whole idyllic scene from his office, trying to keep everyone happy and cheerful, urging his accountants to ever greater vigilance, and terrified because he knew that however honest he was government officials would still find mistakes in his accounts if they wanted to. There was terror in each and every one of the people on that beautiful beach and on that breathtakingly beautiful evening. Terror of being alone, terror of the darkness filling their imaginations with devils, terror of doing anything not in the manuals of good behaviour, terror of God's judgement, of what other people would say, of the law punishing any mistake, terror of trying and failing, terror of succeeding and having to live with the envy of other people, terror of loving and being rejected, terror of asking for a rise in salary, of accepting an invitation, of going somewhere new, of not being able to speak a foreign language, of not making the right impression, of growing old, of dying, of being pointed out because of one's defects, of not being pointed out because of one's merits, of not being noticed either for one's defects or one's merits. Terror, terror, terror. Life was a reign of terror, in the shadow of the guillotine. 'I hope this consoles you a little,' he heard the devil say. 'They're all terrified; you're not alone. The only difference is that you have already been through the most difficult part; your worst fear became a reality. You have nothing to lose, whereas these people on the beach live with their terror all the time; some are aware of it, others try to ignore it, but all of them know that it exists and will get them in the end.'</blockquote> pg 122-4: <blockquote>'...Ahab, even though he was converted to Christianity by St Savin, had serious reservations about the influence of priests. Since the majority of the early inhabitants were bandits, he though that all the priests would do, with their threats of eternal damnation, would be to send them back to their criminal ways. Men who have nothing to lose never give a thought for eternal life 'Naturally, the first priest duly appeared, and Ahab understood what the real threat was. To compensate for it, he instituted something he had learned from the Jews--a Day of Atonement--except that he determined to establish a ritual of his own making. 'Once a year, the inhabitants shut themselves up in their houses, made two lists, turned to face the highest mountain and then raised their first list to the heavens. '"Here, Lord, are all the sins I have committed against you," they said, reading the account of all the sins they had committed. Business swindles, adulteries, injustices, things of that sort. "I have sinned and beg forgiveness for having offended You so greatly." 'Then--and here lay Ahab's originality--the residents immediately pulled the second list out of their pocket and, still facing the same mountain, they held that one up to the skies too. And they said something like: "And here, Lord, is a list of all Your sins against me: You made me work harder than necessary, my daughter fell ill despite all my prayers, I was robbed when I was trying to be honest, I suffered more than was fair." 'After reading out the second list, they ended the ritual with: "I have been unjust towards You and You have been unjust towards me. However, since today is the Day of Atonement, You will forget my faults and I will forget Yours, and we can carry on together for another year."' 'Forgive God!' said the stranger. 'Forgive an implacable God who is constantly creating and destroying!'</blockquote>228QuotableDaniel2004-02-27T12:07:52-05:00publishFiction > My Life > Night > draft > bitThe events and characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. My life does not vignette for the benefit of your warm fuzzies. And then I think, maybe being totally perfect isn't all it's cracked up to be. Maybe there is a fear that comes late at night, on a rare night alone, in the dark of a cold winter after the city has quieted its daily celebration. Maybe there is a fear that it might not last. Maybe there is a knowledge of terror, of that sun of success and comfort and ease making its way towards the horizon. Maybe there is an uncertainty of how long the ensuing night will last. A lack of experience of how long that closest star will be pointed at the other side of the world. Or maybe it's because that sun has already made a trip around. Darkness had already visited a life, and that life decided during the night that the stars were not to be trusted. It was the longest night of her existence, and she swore in the middle of cold, early morning hours that if the sun ever came up again, she would revel in it, full of spite for whoever or whatever sent it back across the sky. They were not to be trusted. They were not to be thanked. And then I think, this night is beautiful. The stars form patterns against the haze of the city. A candle casts subtle tones over the pages of a book. The silence allows other voices to be heard. The pain allows for the pleasure. The loneliness teaches what affection is. The darkness reminds us that without the light we bump our knees on countless coffee table corners. We can't pretend that the day will last forever. We can't force the dawn with our anger and betrayal. We can live. We can learn. We can accept our fates of suffering, and if we are lucky, that suffering will teach us how not to force the sun to set on other lives sharing this universe with us. My life does not vignette to make you see how perfect I am.227FictionDaniel2004-02-27T11:25:43-05:00publishca here i come<img src="images/2004_01/ca/DSCN2264.jpg" width="330" height="248" style="border-color: #ccc;" border="2" /> <img src="images/2004_01/ca/DSCN2265.jpg" width="330" height="278" style="border-color: #ccc;" border="2" /> <img src="images/2004_01/ca/DSCN2273.jpg" width="330" height="248" style="border-color: #ccc;" border="2" /> <img src="images/2004_01/ca/DSCN2299.jpg" width="330" height="248" style="border-color: #ccc;" border="2" /> <div align="right" style="color:#ccc;">by km:</div> <img src="images/2004_01/ca/IMGP2013.jpg" width="330" height="440" style="border-color: #ccc;" border="2" /> <img src="images/2004_01/ca/IMGP1999.jpg" width="330" height="440" style="border-color: #ccc;" border="2" /> <div align="right" style="color:#ccc;">speaking of your showerhead conversion</div> <img src="images/2004_01/ca/IMGP1996.jpg" width="330" height="440" style="border-color: #ccc;" border="2" /> <img src="images/2004_01/ca/IMGP2004.jpg" width="330" height="440" style="border-color: #ccc;" border="2" /> <img src="images/2004_01/ca/IMGP2011.jpg" width="330" height="440" style="border-color: #ccc;" border="2" /> <img src="images/2004_01/ca/IMGP2016.jpg" width="330" height="440" style="border-color: #ccc;" border="2" /> <a href="http://app2.sonymusic.com/sme/master/otr/realmediafile/0,0,8173501_0_22892133,00.ram" style="color:#ccc;">ra</a> <a href="http://app2.sonymusic.com/sme/master/otr/winmediafile/0,0,8173501_0_22892099,00.asx" style="color:#ccc;">winmed</a>225ImaginingDaniel2004-02-27T11:00:13-05:00publishFiction > My Life > Vows > draft > bitThe events and characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No, I have to remember her smile. Her energy. Her laugh. I have to remember when she believed in me. I have to remember taking her all over the world with me, crazy trips and stories from every quadrant of the globe. I have to remember building a home, struggling through certain suburban rites-of-passage that perhaps we were never meant to achieve, doing our best from what we knew. I remember helping each other towards our goals, our dreams. I remember knowing, after all those years, just knowing so much about each other. I thought we were entering that comfortable, not complacent, but comfortable period of life--comfort in the knowledge that this other person has decided to live this life with you, and you've made it quite a few years already. You've proven the skeptics wrong.226FictionDaniel2004-02-27T10:23:07-05:00publishThe Showerhead Conversion<a href="http://miniette.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_miniette_archive.html#107594830579325144">Yes</a>. Read this: <a title="Correction" href="http://blogs.salon.com/0003124/stories/2004/02/04/theShowerheadConversion.html">the Showerhead Conversion</a>224ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-26T17:56:41-05:00publishtrickster interviewThe main thing that struck me about <a href="http://www.gracecathedral.org/enrichment/forum/for_20010325.shtml">the Trickster interview</a> <a href="http://www.integrationresearch.org/gravatt/">Scott</a> found a few days ago was that the pastor/priest doing the interview sounds almost exactly like <a href="http://vaux.net/">Kester</a> (his voice not necessarily what he says), who originally told me about the book a year and a half ago. If you might be interested in reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0374279284/qid=1074797842//ref=sr_8_xs_ap_i0_xgl14/002-7541289-9183229?v=glance&s=books&n=507846">Trickster</a> and participating in a trans-geographic virtual/meatspace continuing installation around themes explored within, please contact Scott or I. We originally planned on doing this, but our initial sense of interest within our communities indicated that most people are not up for such an intense literary experience ATM. It would require actually reading the book, on some schedule. It would also involve a meatspace commitment to exploring its themes.221ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-26T14:15:03-05:00publishList.<a title="List. / list.absenter.org" href="http://list.absenter.org/">List. / list.absenter.org</a>220ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-26T11:49:15-05:00publishFixed Gear Bicycle Gallery<a title="Fixed Gear Bicycle Gallery" href="http://www.fixedgeargallery.com/">Fixed Gear Bicycle Gallery</a>219ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-26T11:48:49-05:00publishFl�neur<a title="Fl�neur" href="http://www.flaneur.org/">Fl�neur</a>218ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-26T11:45:52-05:00publishThe Audio Kitchen<a title="Playlists and Archives for The Audio Kitchen with The Professor" href="http://wfmu.org/playlists/AK">Playlists and Archives for The Audio Kitchen with The Professor</a>217ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-26T11:42:16-05:00publishBanff New Media Institute<a title="The Banff Centre Programs - Banff New Media Institute (BNMI) Research" href="http://www.banffcentre.ca/programs/program.aspx?id=36">The Banff Centre Programs - Banff New Media Institute (BNMI) Research</a>216ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-26T11:36:33-05:00publishChaise<a title="Chaise DVD Magazine" href="http://www.chaisemag.com/">Chaise DVD Magazine</a>215ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-26T11:34:09-05:00publishThe Placebo Project, 2001<a title="Placebo Project by Dunne & Raby" href="http://faculty.cua.edu/johnsong/hsct102/DunneRaby/placebo.html">Placebo Project by Dunne & Raby</a>214ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-25T19:13:43-05:00publishwhat it is, what it isn'tI've had too many cycles taken up this morning thinking about what this blog is and what it isn't. <img src="images/2004_02/IMGP2050_small01.jpg" height="247" width="330" align="center" /> This blog is not representative of my life or in any way a complete picture of who I am. If you were to read the entire archive, plus everything else of mine scattered across this world wide interwebbie, then you will have the beginnings of a picture of me, but in the end, the real in-the-flesh me is the only me there is. I am a writer, among many other things. I write. It's what I do. Fiction, non-fiction (normally critial essays). I don't tell stories from my life on this blog anymore. Just don't. It has evolved and very rarely do I just tell you a story from my real life anymore. I may make a quick note, for my sake, but it will most likely be littered with inside jokes and contain a distinct lack of context. <blockquote>sock drive</blockquote> As a writer, I blog, and my blog is a method for me to hash out ideas, most of them the kind of things that don't get worked out elsewhere. They are often dark. <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=Transgressive">Transgressive</a>. My life is good, great on occasion, and I thank God for those moments. I laugh loud and often. But mostly I struggle in this world like the proverbial alien and stranger. I'm overly sensitive, I have a heart entirely too tuned into evil and a distinct lack of defenses. I take great comfort in the words and actions of Jesus.210AboutDaniel2004-02-25T15:40:07-05:00publishGothamist Interviews: Paul Ford, Writer/Programmer<a title="Gothamist Interviews: Paul Ford, Writer/Programmer" href="http://www.gothamist.com/interview/archives/2004/02/24/paul_ford_writerprogrammer.php">Gothamist Interviews: Paul Ford, Writer/Programmer</a>208ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-25T13:05:49-05:00publishI would put something witty here but we're not reading the titles or the categories anyway now are we?The events and characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. People, please. It's fiction. <a href="index.php?file=2004_02.xml&id=000205">Fiction</a>, <a href="index.php?file=2004_02.xml&id=189">fiction</a>, <a href="index.php?file=2004_02.xml&id=165">fiction</a>, <a href="index.php?file=2004_01.xml&cat=Fiction">fiction</a>. <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=fiction">fic�tion</a>, n. <blockquote>An imaginative creation or a pretense that does not represent actuality but has been invented. A literary work whose content is produced by the imagination and is not necessarily based on fact. The category of literature comprising works of this kind, including novels and short stories.</blockquote> <blockquote>anecdote, banana oil, book, BS, cliff-hanger, clothesline, cock-and-bull story, concoction, crap, crock, drama, fable, fabrication, falsehood, fancy, fantasy, fib, fish story, hooey, imagination, improvisation, invention, jazz, legend, lie, misrepresentation, myth, narrative, novel, potboiler, prevarication, romance, smoke, story, storytelling, tale, tall story, terminological inexactitude, untruth, whopper, yarn</blockquote> If you think that Chuck Palahniuk is having sex on mental ward chapel alters, running away from a suicide cult past, destroying chain coffee bars with public art, eating gems until his teeth break, self-piercing his nipples with old broaches, or chewing off his own inverted colon, then please, stop reading fiction. &lt;repeat&gt;fiction fiction fiction fiction&lt;/repeat&gt; Also, just FYI: <a href="http://www.avert.org/stdstatisticsworldwide.htm">STD statistics worldwide</a>. On AIDS it is only <a href="http://www.avert.org/worldstats.htm">slightly worse</a> there vs. here. But it wasn't really statistics I was concerned about. Fiction, people. Fiction. <blockquote>37?!</blockquote>207MinutiaDaniel2004-02-25T11:49:58-05:00publishfiction fiction fiction fictionThe events and characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Well, you should have known I have my share of dirt. If there was a hierarchy of sexual deviance, I was perched at the top. Only thing with those hierarchies is, the ones that make them up tend to completely decimate them in the privacy of their own lives. It's the SAT's of moral relativism. Fornication is to fruit and toast as adultery is to steak and eggs. First of all, let me tell you about the job I got. When you hear a thousand voices telling you that you need to get a grip, need to move on, need to earn a living, need to stop spending all your time staring at the floor? That's when you get a job at the porn shop. I always had a problem with porn. Although thanks to my new job, I've learned that it is really called Adult Entertainment. I think it was just the depression, but sometime in the middle of all this, about the time every last drop of hope was lost, I lost all my interest in Adult Entertainment. That's when I got the job at the porn shop. Clinton-Lewinsky is to lawn chairs as Enron-Haliburton is to Lay-z-boy recliners. Before, I was somehow drawn to, and obviously turned on by, the whole we want you oh yeah we want you please fuck our two dimensional brains out. I wonder if they'll think I'm calling them stupid with that sentence or if they'll get the joke. Because they're obviously smart. And fucking brilliant actors. My use of the word fuck is going to be a pun every time here, isn't it? At any rate, it is difficult to even remember back to those days. I'm trying to remember, did it appeal to me on some psychological level? Or did I really just need to get my rocks off every day? Or did getting my rocks off every day appeal to me on some psychological level? Still, there is that time, here and again, when you just think to yourself, Damn I want to watch two average straight blonde women pretend to be getting themselves off. And that's when you make a midnight trip to the 'ol porn shop. And that's when you see the kind of guy that works at the porn shop. Selling porn for a living is to a sip of green tea as fucking the government employee buying your wares is to the sludge on the bottom of a truck stop coffee pot. And that's when you think to yourself, This is it. This is the lowest position on any kind of social totem pole. The guys making top dollar sweating their asses off pouring asphalt out on the freeway--they have it good! This guy is making minimum wage working the graveyard shift selling smut to the dirtiest old men this world has ever seen. And that's when you think to yourself, This is the perfect job for me. So here I sit. It's a small building, in the end. You would've never known the way it caught your attention every time you drove by it for the last 10 years. But it is pretty small. On the far wall are the toys--just a small collection of rubber dildos--from tiny little ones for the guy that occasionally likes to get pegged, to the Hey that's kinda normal size, to the Oh My God That Thing Would Split Open A Horse--and vibrators, pulsating pussies, a few other items I still don't know what the hell they are for. The middle of the shop is dominated by the racks of magazines, everything any fetish freak would ever need to scratch that horny itch embedded deep in their only occasionally emerging subconscious. Feet, hands, hairy, shaved, big butt, no butt, long legs, midgets, dick, tits, dick and tits, paper bag over the head, tied up, beaten, looking like they're just about to beat you, bleeding, milking, pissing, shitting, just about to give birth, having just given birth, extra limbs, missing limbs, biting, no teeth, smoking, spitting, sucking, tattooed, pierced, young, old as dirt, rolling in the dirt, rolling in the peanut butter, eating the peanut butter out of lambskin condoms sticking out of someone else's...well, you get the idea. The videos are pretty much the same thing, although most of those are just people having a lot of sex and pretending to enjoy it. Fantasizing about sex with someone new is to Budweiser as actually having sex with someone new is to Guinness. A couple of times I've seen these documentaries on porn stars and the porn industry, and I've thought to myself, How do those people do that? Are they able to have real sex after all that fake sex? Doesn't getting the shit pounded out of you three, four times a day, five days a week, doesn't that just fuck with your body and your head? I mean, yeah, we just fuck with or fucked up or just plain fucked as descriptors for when something is, well, fucked. I wonder if these porn stars imagine the kind of guys that buy their shit. Because, really, until you've worked the twelve-to-eight a.m. shift at the adult bookstore in my town, you can't imagine. A guy with no shoes, overalls, one tooth, with about a week's worth of dirt stuck to his face. Getting a booth for ten minutes. Oh I almost forgot: the booths. Oh I almost forgot: the one job that is lower than working the counter at the porn shop, is working the booths. Not much to it, really--take the money, open the booth, clean the booth, repeat. Not much to it, really, as long as you don't think about what you're cleaning up during the cleaning part. Case in point: overall boy. It wouldn't even be the white stuff that would freak you out, stepping into the booth after his ten minutes. The normal looking trucker guy, trucker hat and all. Comes in. Looks at the dildos--the big ones--for about fifteen minutes. Then gets a booth. I don't want to know what movie he picked out. The old guys. This is where the money is. These dudes, anywhere from forty to eighty, slacks and oxfords, mid-sized luxury sedans, gold chain, Rolex, short cropped hair. This is the guy that sold you your minivan this afternoon. This is the guy that convinced you to add another one hundred thousand dollars to your life insurance plan yesterday. This is the guy you voted for in the last mayoral election. This is the guy who decided that your neighborhood needed a fifth identical coffee franchise. This is the guy who is counseling your children. This is the guy reading Bible stories to your kids on Sunday morning. This is the sweet old man two doors down who walks his dog at twelve noon every day and brought you key lime pie last July forth. This is your dad, and your granddad, and your uncle, and your brother, and your boyfriend, and your husband. And yours, and yours, and yours, and yours. Your pastor being a bad parent is to ABBA as your pastor fucking the church secretary is to Alice Cooper. They say it is a slippery slope, that porn leads to chat rooms, which leads to affairs, which leads to swingers clubs, which leads to homosexuality, which leads to AIDS, which leads to murder, which leads to serial murder, which leads to cannibalism, which leads to gay marriage, which leads to the End Of The World As We Know It. But I'm not so sure. Your boyfriend and father and pastor and insurance agent and barista and car salesman are in every week. Every week, like clockwork. Like a drug deal they lay their cash on the table folded in half or thirds or crumpled up in a little ball, and they leave with their goods, fresh needles for hungry veins, stimulation for forgotten penises, relief for lifetimes of frustration. And I've seen people skip the whole horrible porn step and jump straight to the affairs, straight to the swingers clubs, straight to the murder. I have to drive by the biggest swingers club in town on my way home from work every day. And no matter what shift I've worked, no matter what time I'm driving by Jenny's Jetty, the parking lot is packed. You can't even see the entire parking lot--they have an entire lot out back for those that wish to be more discreet--Is that the Johnson's blue Caravan? But more often than not I see one of a handful of vehicles parked prominently out in front of the street. I have a huge white truck and I want the world to know that I'm swingin'. And I'm just wondering, Who is that guy? And that's when you think to yourself, That is it. That is the lowest position on any kind of social totem pole--whoever has to clean up swingers clubs. When you hear a thousand voices telling you that you need to get a grip, need to move on, need to earn a living, need to stop spending all your time staring at the floor? That's when you spend some of your hard earned cash on company product. And I go home, and I end up lying in the middle of the floor with the lights off, the slightest hint of dawn creeping up from the horizon, that sun that will wipe all the night's discretions clean. And the useless camel-toed blondes with their legs sticking up in the air get thrown, lonely in the corner, and I curl up with my bottle of syrup of ipecac and have a liquid release of a different kind. Betraying is to confession as betrayed is to bulimia. ... I know that confessing all this doesn't help any. It's not going to drive the demons away, screaming bloody murder at my honesty. It doesn't make me a better person for being able to fess up to my weaknesses. It doesn't make me clean to point out the dirt all over my hands. All it does is drag it out of that shadowy corner and into the light. That's it. It just makes everything more ambiguous than ever. Particularly for me: here's my shit, we all know about it now, and here I am, still. Am I the same person, still? <a href="http://www.danielsjourney.com/blog/index.php?file=http://www.danielsjourney.com/blog/2004_02.xml&cat=Fiction">other bits from this series</a>211FictionDaniel2004-02-25T11:18:09-05:00publishImagination is an Instrument of Survival<a href="http://www.journalofaestheticsandprotest.org/1/pragmaticMultitudism/index.html">Imagination is an Instrument of Survival: About Pragmatic Multitudism by Christina Ulke</a> (In the <a href="http://www.journalofaestheticsandprotest.org">Journal of Aesthetics & Protest</a>) <blockquote>I encountered Peter Fend�s thoughts about art making last October 2002 in the Pasadena City College Art Gallery�s storage closet. Pragmatism, as Sylv�re Lotringer puts it, is like planting. You are not just criticizing things, you create what is supposed to be.</blockquote> I highly recommend checking out the mp3 clips of the interview with Peter Fend. I'm carefully interested in Fend, based on those clips and what other information I have found. For example, the way he enacts his artistic practice through his company: <blockquote>...The project continues Fend's longstanding practice of collaborating with other artists, architects, scientists, and scholars to bring their creative energies to bear on serious environmental issues. Fend seeks practical solutions to large-scale problems, and works to spark discussion and action among policy-makers, corporations and individuals. Fend, who lives and works in New York, received his B.A. from Carleton College in 1973. In 1980, he founded the Ocean Earth Construction and Development Corporation. Through the company, Fend and other artists, architects and scientists research, develop and promote alternative energy sources, and use satellite imaging to monitor and analyze global ecological and geopolitical hot-spots, largely for media clients.</blockquote> Reading just this short bio will inform the mp3 consumption. (From <a href="http://smartmuseum.uchicago.edu/virtualtours/ecologies/fend/">here</a>.) His actions and attitudes towards art have greatly informed what we are already doing through <a href="http://integrationresearch.org">IR</a>. I guess I will leave it at that for now. Best way to grab the mp3s, if you (like me) do not have the required plugins for their pop-up window-player to work, is to just snag them straight from <a href="http://www.journalofaestheticsandprotest.org/1/pragmaticMultitudism/mp3s/">the directory</a>. If I haven't already convinced you to check it out, here are some bits I transcribed: <blockquote>Art history...has led to the ambition of anyone who studies art who wants to be an artist, that they can exist and only exist, really, otherwise they don't have any meaning whatsoever, as a name in an art history book. And so there is the lifelong clamor of artists to be stars, because if you're not written up in art history you simply don't mean anything. There is no such thing as an anonymous artist or a roughly unknown artist. This, by the way, contradicts most of actual art history, because you know that [historic artists], they're not known, we don't know what the names are, and it doesn't really matter, what really matters is what's the art. And if you make a living at it, fine. There has been this academic discipline that has placed so much emphasis on the star concept, and in the memorization of the name concept, and of the intellectual property in the name, that we now have the bizarre situation where artists might make work, which once identified with their name, cannot be used by another artist for further development. You can only either copy or never touch it. ...if I want to...do some other version of that [art], that would be seen as a violation of that intellectual art star's identity. So what art history has been doing has been not only creating the idea of the star system, but also the idea of the freezing of art into rigid, untouchable identities and putting them into jars of formaldehyde, whereby it's there as their dead idea, but there it is. ...this [art] was now cataloged, and was now more or less frozen in time. There would be no way for anybody else to work on [those] ideas, to further them...it was already codified, it was already beatified in the church of art, and that was it. This is really damaging to the possibility of art doing anything in the world. ...The result of that in turn has been the complete reduction of art's function in society. ...The question is can we get artists to say that when they do their job for a client, the client is responsible for whatever is done with that job? You can't just walk away and say, "Well it's only art," and forget about it. No, it's a suggestion, and you can reject it, but at least you have to consider it, at least you have to put it into your decision making machinery. We're not just playboys. The tragedy of art history nowadays, and of the patrony system nowadays, and of the fact [the art establishment] have such a dominant voice nowadays, and they're all run by essentially a royalist elite, is that those patrons and that power structure, wants nothing to change. ...it's not because [they] want to diminish recognition or fame, it's rather that they want to sequester recognition and fame into a very small corner of society.</blockquote> More from Fend: <a href="http://www.mediamatic.net/cwolk/view/3179">Art and Advertising</a>.206ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-24T19:23:37-05:00publishFiction > My Life > Vows > draft > bitThe events and characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. It is one of the beautiful mysteries of humanity, that of two very different people trying to build one life together for the rest of their days on earth. It is the focused, microscopic, cellular version of what humanity is doing, collectively, every minute of every day that we continue as a distinct species in this universe. We live in this global community, in our nations, in our neighborhoods, in our institutions of choice. But that commitment to another person--I would use our modern, western idea of "marriage" but that word is so completely meaningless by now--it is within that context that this curious state is at once the most difficult and the most fulfilling.205FictionDaniel2004-02-24T19:14:20-05:00publishjesus: the missing years<a title="Very Big Blog" href="http://www.verybigdesign.com/verybigblog/archives/week_2004_02_22.shtml#002098">Very Big Blog</a> <blockquote>As everyone knows the Bible leaves Jesus's life largely a mystery. It leaves him as a baby and only picks back up in his thirties showing him as a long-haired troublemaking rebel destined for a bad Roman holiday. Scholars for years had fought over these missing years. Did he study in the temple? Did he marry Mary Magdalen? Did he take up professional leprechaun wrestling for college beer money? Was he a flight attendant?</blockquote>204ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-23T18:22:48-05:00publishme or someone do thisLittle public note taking: it wouldn't be that hard to write a little script to automatically FTP a remote file (aka an image you want to use on your blog) onto your server. Do this sometime. Right now don't we all have to save images local and FTP them to our server to use them on our blogs?203MinutiaDaniel2004-02-22T15:18:37-05:00publishjohnsquireart<a title="Limited edition John Squire art prints" href="http://www.johnsquireart.com/">Limited edition John Squire art prints</a> beautiful site, beautiful work. <img src="http://www.johnsquireart.com/images/site/large/waterfall.jpg" /> (via <a hreff="http://www.jamieoliver.com/diary/2004/02/22/john_squires_art.html">jamie oliver</a> of all people)202ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-22T15:05:43-05:00publishshirtOk, three requests already for <a href="http://www.integrationresearch.org/daniel/blog/images/2004_02/DanielsJourney_Tshirt_small.jpg">the shirt</a>. (<a href="http://seizureofpower.blogspot.com/archives/2004_02_01_seizureofpower_archive.html#107742263096709913">the most recent</a>) Any more and we may do a limited printing. Still not sure how I feel about it. But hey, if you want to wear a t-shirt around town of me giving everyone else the finger, more power to ya.201MinutiaDaniel2004-02-22T14:46:48-05:00publishgaping void pimpage<a href="http://www.gapingvoid.com/"><img src="images/2004_02/gapingvoid/zzzmkghilkj15.jpg" border="0" /> <img src="images/2004_02/gapingvoid/zzzmkghilkj08.jpg" border="0" /> <img src="images/2004_02/gapingvoid/zzzmkghilkj07.jpg" border="0" /> <img src="images/2004_02/gapingvoid/zzzmkghilkj04.jpg" border="0" /> <img src="images/2004_02/gapingvoid/zzzmkghilkj02.jpg" border="0" /> <img src="images/2004_02/gapingvoid/zzzkjurhgu22.jpg" border="0" /> <img src="images/2004_02/gapingvoid/zzzamkop02.jpg" border="0" /> <img src="images/2004_02/gapingvoid/zzzzzzz12.jpg" border="0" /> <img src="images/2004_02/gapingvoid/kfjehsb05.jpg" border="0" /></a>200ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-22T14:31:11-05:00publishalt.worship in NYT(via <a href="http://smallritual.org">steve</a>) i thought this article was going to suck major ass, but it's alright. definately has its silly bits, including the pictures. but here's the second page: <a title="Hip New Churches Pray to a Different Drummer" href="http://www.nytimes.com/2004/02/18/national/18WORS.html?pagewanted=2&ei=5007&en=5eed1d59c614f5aa&partner=USERLAND&ex=1392440400">Hip New Churches Pray to a Different Drummer</a> <blockquote>many young people wanted not an easier involvement with faith but a more interactive, demanding one. Expanding his ministry, Mr. Kimball brought in candles and crosses from garage sales, and began reading long passages from the Bible, inviting people to talk back to him or discuss what the stories meant to them as a group. In contrast to the bright and cheerful big churches, he said, "younger people want it like a dusty cathedral." "They want a sense of mystery and transcendence," he said. "Anything that sniffs of performance turns them off."</blockquote>199ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-21T14:02:49-05:00publishnewish look{for the benefit of RSS readers: updated design as of today} ... for those who might have missed the recent header image, <a href="http://www.danielsjourney.com/blog/images/2004_01/DSC00208_web.jpg">here it is</a>. <a href="http://benbubar.blogspot.com">ben</a> made a t-shirt design out of it, not sure we'll stock it here at djdc hq, but here it is for ya: <img src="images/2004_02/DanielsJourney_Tshirt_small.jpg" /> ... the pub, like church, can suck. it differs in that it sucks a drastically smaller percentage of the time. ... i finally read <a href="http://www.topshelfcomix.com/catalog.php?title=194">blankets</a> and woo is it good. <img src="images/2004_02/blankets1_crop2.jpg" />198MinutiaDaniel2004-02-21T13:41:21-05:00publish{pub}{church}<a href="http://www.danielsjourney.com/blog/index.php?file=2004_02.xml&id=182"><img src="http://benbubar.blogspot.com/dan_guitar_LionEagle_small.JPG" width="216" height="288" style="border-color:#ccc;" align="center" /></a> photo by <a href="http://benbubar.blogspot.com">bb</a> and <a href="http://benbubar.blogspot.com/light_up.JPG">proof</a> <a href="http://www.danielsjourney.com/blog/index.php?file=2004_02.xml&id=182">of</a>...197MinutiaDaniel2004-02-19T16:18:38-05:00publishmore Rich<blockquote>I really struggle with American Christianity. People in America grow up in a culture that worships pleasure, leisure, and affluence. I think the church is doubly damned when it uses Jesus as a vehicle for achieving all of that. Many people believe that if you give a tithe to the church then God will make you rich. Why?...If you give a tithe, you get rid of ten percent of the root of all evil. You should be giving ninety percent...</blockquote> ... "There are those with social success that they call 'being blessed.'"196QuotableDaniel2004-02-19T15:37:54-05:00publishi want a dog<a title="Meow (Ftrain.com)" href="http://www.ftrain.com/PawsToReflect.html">Meow (Ftrain.com)</a> <blockquote>There is the weight to be lost, and the inner problems to be solved, and the organization to be achieved, and the taxes to be paid. But all of those things must be done here, by myself; I cannot make them vanish in the magic of a long bus ride or plane trip, to put my feet on the ground a different man with different ambitions. They were always waiting for me when I came home, anyway.</blockquote>193ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-19T11:04:20-05:00publishRich Mullins<blockquote>Even when I was engaged, even then--I had a ten-year relationship with this girl--and I would often wonder why, even in those most intimate moments of our relationship, I would still fell really lonely. And it was just a few years ago that I finally realized that friendship is not a remedy for loneliness. Loneliness is a part of our experience and if we are looking for relief from loneliness in friendship, we are only going to frustrate the friendship. Friendship, camaraderie, intimacy, all those things and loneliness live together in the same experience... I think that part of being human is being alone. And being lonely. I think one of the stresses on a lot of our friendships is that we require the people we love to take away that loneliness. And they really can't. And so, when we still feel lonely, even in the company of people we love, we become angry with them because they don't do what we think they're supposed to. Which is really something that they can't do for us.</blockquote>191QuotableDaniel2004-02-18T16:15:43-05:00publishbasecamp<a title="Basecamp: Web-based Project Management, Idea Management, Client Extranet, Project Site System (simple, elegant, powerful, fast, and usable)" href="http://www.basecamphq.com/">Basecamp: Web-based Project Management, Idea Management, Client Extranet, Project Site System (simple, elegant, powerful, fast, and usable)</a> Ok, great, I'd love to use it. But anywhere from 20-60 clams a MONTH? Hell-O!190ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-18T15:46:22-05:00publishProposed legislation to jail anonymous webmasters<a title="Proposed legislation to jail anonymous webmasters || kuro5hin.org" href="http://www.kuro5hin.org/story/2004/2/11/2369/20598">Proposed legislation to jail anonymous webmasters || kuro5hin.org</a> someone better warn <a href="http://www.reallivepreacher.com">rlp</a>.188ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-17T12:08:50-05:00publishIn God's Garage<a title="In God's Garage (a dialogue with the Creator) || kuro5hin.org" href="http://www.kuro5hin.org/story/2004/2/11/161254/111">In God's Garage (a dialogue with the Creator) || kuro5hin.org</a>187ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-17T12:04:56-05:00publishlove is not...<blockquote>Love is not a bandage to cover wounds.</blockquote> <a title="STANDING ROOM ONLY" href="http://blogs.salon.com/0001573/2004/02/16.html">hugh</a>186QuotableDaniel2004-02-17T11:34:27-05:00publish12 Reasons Same-Sex Marriage will Ruin Society<a title="gatorgsa.org" href="http://www.gatorgsa.org/gaymarriage.html">gatorgsa.org - 12 Reasons Same-Sex Marriage will Ruin Society</a> (via <a href="http://withadot.blogspot.com/">withadot</a>, who also shows us <a href="http://www.smh.com.au/articles/2004/02/04/1075853936802.html">these</a> <a href="http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow/500499.cms">examples</a> of one of the points)185ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-17T11:14:51-05:00publishFiction > My Life > Bombs > draft > bitThe events and characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. There's a song that asks, "How many hearts does it take to break all the bombs that your mothers make?" I imagine all these mothers in the bomb factories, sitting on the missile assembly line, the bell ringing at five o'clock, going home to lay bombs in the depths of their daughters' souls. Or fathers in their sons'. And unless someone steps on those mines early, they lay in wait for the five month mark or the five year mark and then they spontaneously explode. Sometimes you can get so comfortable with those mines that when they explode you think to yourself, "We need to build more bombs. We need to lay more mines." ... I'm fascinated by the idea of authority. Just the concept--I personally do not want any. Nor do I appreciate that authority over me. But that people would actually want to be in authority is more than a little queer to me. Being in authority means you kill innocent people in the name of whatever meta-theory your authority comes from. Being in authority means you tell other people what to think, you guide innocent mines. Being in authority means you lay more mines in the lands of this earth and in the souls of its inhabitants than the UN or scores of psychoanalysts could ever hope to remove. The back of the T-shirt says, "I'm on the bomb squad: if you see me running, try to keep up." Being in authority means that when the day comes that you stop running, that frightening reality that engulfs us all, sooner or later, my gut tells me you are going to have a lot to be afraid of. I'm particularly interested in the microcosm of authority that is the family, and the curious times at which parents choose to be involved--to exert their authority--in their offspring's life. They are thoroughly involved up until some predetermined age, then stop entirely. They are absent up until some arbitrary age, then expect to be heard. They nitpick during the unimportant transitions but refuse to become involved during the life changing events. They hire the babysitter that molests and rapes you as a child but kick out the love of your life when you are a teen. They will screen potential suitors with the proverbial moralistic fine-toothed comb, but down the road, when their daughter wants to give up on the whole monogomy, till-death-do-us-part thing, they will tacitly shrug and nod their approval. They will lay mines their entire life and feign surprise when they explode, be it in faraway lands or right up in their face. They will be relieved to find that they explode in faraway lands. ... <a href="index.php?file=2004_02.xml&cat=Fiction&showcats=1">other working draft bits</a>189FictionDaniel2004-02-17T11:13:02-05:00publishpantani found dead<a href="http://velonews.com/news/fea/5556.0.html"><img src="http://images.velonews.com/images/news/5556.6880.t.jpg" align="left" border="0" />Velo News: Pantani found dead in Italian hotel</a>. "Former Tour de France winner Marco Pantani was found dead Saturday in the Italian seaside resort of Rimini, according to reports from the Italian newspaper Gazzetta dello Sport and the ANSA news agency. "Pantani's body was found on the floor near to his bed in "The Roses" hotel on the Adriatic coast, ANSA reported. The news agency reported it was not a violent death; medication was found in the fifth-floor room, but it was not immediately known if it had played any role in Pantani's death. An investigating magistrate and a doctor were in attendance at the hotel just after midnight local time as police stood guard at all the doors to the building." <a href="http://www.veen.com/jeff/archives/000488.html">via veen</a>184ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-16T17:14:11-05:00publishat smallritual<a href="http://www.btinternet.com/~smallritual/photo4.html"><img src="images/2004_02/cockroach10a_small.jpg" border="0" align="left" /> small ritual - photographs - Yoko Ono, 'Odyssey of a Cockroach' London 15th February 2004</a>: "strangely, where you live was right in the middle of the map table at yoko ono's 'odyssey of a cockroach' "so i stamped it for you." <a href="http://www.btinternet.com/~smallritual/"> # </a> "The twentieth century was a century in which human experiment in cruelty reached its height. In other centuries, we still had an excuse to kill each other either for self-defense or for our survival. In the twentieth century, we as the human race were wise enough to not have to be cruel. Still, the strong need to be cruel to each other was passed on to us from the past centuries and acted on repeatedly. in fact, we created the most savage century in the history of the human race. Humanity has suffered its consequences. "We desired women to look as thin as the people we starved. We created a breakdown of our own families, severing ourselves from other family members, mentally, emotionally and sometimes physically. We started to abuse our children, ignoring them and allowing them to be taken away from us. Children walked out on us as well. Fleeting peacefulness was enjoyed with fear and doubt. love was temporal and met with guarded cynicism. In fact, we became the starved: both mentally and emotionally." <a href="http://nyartsmagazine.com/bbs2/messages/1351.html"> # </a> <a title="Small Ritual - Psalm Structure Twister" href="http://www.btinternet.com/~smallritual/psalm_structure_twister.html"><img src="http://www.btinternet.com/~smallritual/psalm_twister/psalm_twister_lament.gif" align="right" border="0" /> also check out Small Ritual - Psalm Structure Twister</a>183ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-16T11:59:19-05:00publishlast nightyeah. drunk drunk drunk. impromptu set outside the pub with much interpolated and improvised lyricing. sunglasses and leis. helium. whit. marty's homily about community and the role of the pub. (marty owns the pub.) marty decking the whole place out with birthday decorations. scott smoking. moons over my hammie. narcophelia. "she's blogable." "yeah i blogged that shit. "i blogged her from behind. "i blogged her all night long." *i need to credit those quotes: they were by whit and tj, i can't remember who said what, but it was in response to something i was saying about blogs and blogging, geek that i am. neither of them have blogs, whit didn't even know what one was before we explained it to him.182MinutiaDaniel2004-02-14T14:18:36-05:00publishsafety of objectsHe <a href="http://www.integrationresearch.org/gravatt/index.html#107661077063337224">wasn't kidding</a>. My favorite clip is <a href="http://www.ifcfilms.com/?CAT0=3127&CAT1=3166&SHID=18583&VID=2803&CLR=red&BCLR=CC0000">this one</a>, though.181ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-13T20:34:53-05:00publishTJ, your last name rhymes with "cool" and "rule," but I'll dispense with any poetryToday is my good friend TJ's birthday. Actually tomorrow, but tonight is the night we're getting drunk to celebrate, seeing as tomorrow night is Valentine's day and most of us have plans, he with his amazing <a href="images/2004_01/sofla/dada/shannoni.jpg">girlfriend</a>, I babysitting my awesome <a href="images/2004_02/tummycadesmilei.jpg">nefew</a> so my sister and brother-in-law can try and do something for Valentine's. I've been planning an entire entry dedicated to TJ's exploits for some time, so today seemed like the perfect time to do so. First thing you need to know about TJ is that he is a really good person. That might not seem like a big compliment to you, but as far as I'm concerned Really Good People are as rare as <a href="http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2002/02/0227_0228_dodo.html" title="The dodo, poster bird for species extinction, has a pitiful reputation as a stupendously overweight idiot of a bird that couldn't even fly. But scientific evidence is slowly correcting that impression. Its new rep: an evolutionary success, perfectly adapted to its living conditions, thin and relatively fast, but still an early victim to the spread of man.">Dodos</a> around here (here meaning The Earth). Most people are just Meanies. Second of all, TJ is the kind of friend who does something no other friend ever has done: First, remember that Monday nights is an open-mic night at a local spot we frequent. Two, call me Monday night to see if I'm going to be playing that night. And three, show up, bring his girl, hang out, and be my only friend-who-wouldn't-be-there-to-play-anyway there. And take <a href="images/2004_01/sofla/dada/DSCN0055.jpg">pictures</a>. TJ just got a camera. He's the only person <a href="images/2004_01/sofla/redlion/DSCN0094.jpg">to document that fact that we really did play a gig at the red lion the other night</a>. Before that he took <a href="images/2004_01/sofla/rearviewmirror.jpg">this cul pic of me</a>. Oh yeah that reminds me, TJ went with me on a daylong roadtrip to visit my sister 2+ hours away, just for the heck of it and to surf the somewhat better waves up there. That was a fun day. That's when he took that pic. You should also know that TJ is a <a href="http://www.hollywoodfl.org/Fire_rescue/index.htm">firefighter for the city of Hollywood, Florida</a>. That means he saves lives and stuff for a living. That's a pretty cool thing to do with one's life. There are a lot more really cool stories that I want to tell you about TJ, but I'm going to leave it at the facts. He's got a cool family too. Hows that? But the most important thing that you must read and obey is that TJ invented a word. That's right. He's shooting to get it into Websters, but for now it is listed at urbandictionary.com: <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=bufalay&f=1">Bufalay</a>. I command you all to begin using the word "bufalay" at any time the converstation might allow it. If you don't, man, you're bufalay. <img src="images/2004_01/sofla/dada/DSCN2242.jpg" /> TJ is on the far right. At Dada with some of the usual suspects.179MinutiaDaniel2004-02-13T15:46:54-05:00publishall that has ever been hoped<a title="Real Live Preacher" href="http://blogs.salon.com/0001772/2004/02/13.html#a272">Real Live Preacher</a>: <blockquote>I will never know exactly what Jesus said, how he said whatever he did say, or what he meant when he said whatever he said in whatever way he said it. You see my problem. What I have are the tattered words, songs, and gospel remnants from twenty centuries of people jumping two-footed into hope. That's all I have, and I am keenly interested in these things. I'm like a rag picker, rummaging through a mountain of moldy prayer books, old hymnals, triptych art, candle stubs, ancient texts, and other things. I crawl all over the pile, poking here and there with a stick. When I find something that interests me, I sit down and take a closer look. I flip through the pages. I look at the pictures from every angle. Sometimes my head will tilt to the right, like a dog that has just heard something very interesting. My friend watches me with great interest. "Why do you seek the living among the dead?" he asks with the purest heart in the world. The question stops me, and I look him right in the eye. This is THE question, of course. It is the only question, the starting place of all questions. Where exactly will you look for your answers? Why follow the yellow brick road unless you hope to see the Wizard?</blockquote>This guy just continues to kill it.178ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-13T14:04:42-05:00publishdown and out relicensed<a title="weblog archive | Creative Commons" href="http://creativecommons.org/weblog/archive/2004/02/#4004">Creative Commons</a>: <blockquote>Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom, Cory Doctorow's first novel released a little over a year ago, has just been relicensed under an Attribution-Noncommercial-ShareAlike license. Previously the book did not allow derivative works and any "lost chapters" or comic versions were unauthorized. With this change in place, the door is wide open to people writing prequels, sequels, and side stories, you can make a movie, cartoon, or graphic novel, you can write songs for it, rewrite it in haiku, and/or turn it all into one giant flowchart, as long as your new Down and Out-inspired work isn't released in a commercial context or sold.</blockquote>177ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-13T13:50:17-05:00publishhuman or inhuman?<a title="Reuters | Latest Financial News / Full News Coverage" href="http://www.reuters.com/newsArticle.jhtml?type=domesticNews&storyID=4329975">Reuters</a>: <blockquote>Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, asked about Tuesday's car bombing in Iraq that killed about 50 people, said there are murders in every major city in the world "because human beings are human beings."</blockquote> <a href="http://www.workingforchange.com/article.cfm?itemid=16415">workingforchange</a>: <blockquote>These are Orwellian days, my friends, as the Bush administration attempts to either shove the history of the second Gulf War down the memory hole or to rewrite it entirely. Keeping a firm grip on actual historical fact, all of it easily within our imperfect memories, is not that easy amid the swirling storms of misinformation, misremembering and misstatement. But since the war itself stands as a monument to what happens when we let ourselves get stampeded by a chorus of disinformation, let's draw the line right now.</blockquote> <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/politics/3478051.stm">bbc--Rumsfeld 'unaware' of WMD claim</a>: <blockquote>Asked his view of the claim, Mr Rumsfeld told reporters at a Pentagon briefing: "I don't remember the statement being made, to be perfectly honest."</blockquote>176ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-13T13:41:16-05:00publishseriously<a title="About Ludicorp Research & Development Ltd." href="http://www.ludicorp.com/about.php">About Ludicorp Research & Development Ltd.</a> <blockquote>The goal is to kick ass.</blockquote>175ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-12T15:11:45-05:00publishtravisHappy to Hang Around <blockquote>Now people get down, people get down, people get hurt When you did it to me I was already in the dirt And I'll never get into your heart Though I don't even want to start I'll never get into your heart I'm just happy to hang around Happy to hang around Happy to hang around</blockquote> (sounds sorta like High Tonight, eh?) (they opened with this song) <img src="images/2004_01/ca/travis/DSCN2263.jpg" /> Re-offender <blockquote>Keeping up apperances Keeping up with the Jones' Fooling my selfish heart Going through the motions But I'm fooling myself I'm fooling myself Cause you say you love me And then you do it again, you do it again You say your sorry's And then you do it again, you do it again Everybody thinks you're well Everybody thinks I'm ill Watching me fall apart Falling under your spell But you're fooling yourself You're fooling yourself Cause you say you love me And then you do it again, you do it again You say your sorry's And then you do it again, you do it again</blockquote> <img src="images/2004_01/ca/travis/DSCN2287.jpg" /> Peace the Fuck Out <blockquote>Now I don't know that your tie is straight Your words are crooked and you're gonna pay In ten years time they're going to say That this was the moment when you threw it away It's all wrong, handbags at dawn Turn the radio off to hear a song Oh please don't give up You have a voice, don't lose it You have a choice, so choose it You have a brain, so use it The time has come to Peace the fuck out</blockquote> <img src="images/2004_01/ca/travis/DSCN2294.jpg" /> Mid-life Krysis <blockquote>Mid-life krysis, you invited everyone You can't wake, you can't wake from this nightmare</blockquote> At the beginning of the encore, Francis came out by himself and mentioned how in this theatre, they used to not have PA's and amplifiers. Then he proceeded to play, acoustic from the edge of the stage, Flowers in the Window--my favorite Travis song. Even from the very last row we were sitting in, you could hear him perfectly. <img src="images/2004_01/ca/travis/DSCN2298.jpg" /> For the last song--Why Does it Always Rain on Me--Francis invited everyone on stage. Of course we were a little far away for that, but it was definately a good move that brought the ethos of the evening to a closing focus. <a href="http://www.kcrw.com/cgi-bin/db/kcrw.pl?show_code=mb&air_date=1/29/04&tmplt_type=show">Travis on KCRW</a> <blockquote>the job of the artist in the history of the world has been the guy who sits in the crow's nest, you know, and calls out "land ahoy" let's celebrate or "iceberg" steer the ship away, or whatever, and they call out warnings, and stuff, and that's kind of what we do.</blockquote> (via <a href="http://www.integrationresearch.org/gravatt/index.html#107636213583675188">scott</a>) <a href="http://www.travisonline.com/">http://www.travisonline.com/</a>174MinutiaDaniel2004-02-12T11:12:50-05:00publish...wrecks art exhibit, postscript<a href="index.php?file=2004_01.xml&id=91">part 1</a> <a href="index.php?file=2004_01.xml&id=102">part 2</a> <a href="index.php?file=2004_01.xml&id=000116">part 3</a> <a href="http://www.danielsjourney.com/blog/index.php?file=2004_02.xml&id=144">part 4</a> <a href="index.php?file=2004_01.xml&id=117">sidebarpart1</a> <a href="http://www.danielsjourney.com/blog/index.php?file=2004_01.xml&id=135">sidebarpart2</a> <a href="http://www.danielsjourney.com/art/writing/fiction/rob/">Rob and the Dancer</a> is back online. A little background: Rob and the Dancer was a "daily serial" fiction piece I did about two years ago. The original entries can still be found in the archives. RatD is a story, a world, and a puzzle. First time around no-one seemed to solve the puzzle; and it was, in retrospect, pretty tough. I made it easier this time. See what you can do. I was re-reading Rob for some reason and I realized it fit right in with the ...wrecks art exhibit series. So here it is. Back in all its unglory. It resides in the <a href="http://www.danielsjourney.com/art">art</a> section. 172FictionDaniel2004-02-11T15:22:00-05:00publishgay penguins for president!first <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2004/02/07/arts/07GAY.html?8hpib">this</a> (via <a href="http://www.theyblinked.com/blog/2004_02_01_theyblinked_archive.html#107618941326258266">here</a> by way of <a href="http://theyblinked.com/blog/2004_02_01_theyblinked_archive.html#107612000567387425">this</a> , re: <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2004/02/04/national/04CND-MASS.html?hp">this</a>, via <a href="http://theyblinked.com/blog/2004_02_01_theyblinked_archive.html#107594352562793930">this</a>). <a title="AND THEN..." href="http://www.one38.org/a177/2004_02_08_archive.html#107630062164656172">AND THEN...</a> <a href="http://www.one38.org/a177/img/penguin/">THIS!</a> <img src="images/2004_02/bumpersticker.jpg" /> (via <a href="http://www.powazek.com/2004/02/000360.html">derek</a>)171ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-11T15:04:45-05:00publishgirls are pretty<a title="GIRLS ARE PRETTY" href="http://www.girlsarepretty.com/2004_02_01_girlsarepretty_archive.html#107639176185164317">Dry Clean Only Day!</a> <blockquote>Give chase when you spot the masked gunmen tossing the girl from the Dry Cleaners into the back of their van before taking off down the road. They either took her because they wanted a hostage with which to bargain, or perhaps they were as charmed with her as you are. Your Five-Year Plan has you marrying that girl by October of year three (you learn her name this coming July). And you'll be damned if a couple thugs with handguns are going to make you boot up Powerpoint and edit your Five-Year Plan presentation again.</blockquote>169ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-10T19:46:31-05:00publishthrowing stones<a title="2 2" href="http://www.disenchanted.com/dis/technology/strange-attractor.html">2 + 2</a>: "A little boy throws stones into a pond and discovers a principle that may explain how the whole universe comes to exist." well worth the read168ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-10T19:45:15-05:00publishFiction > My Life > Down Here > draft > bitThe events and characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Mentioned: I live in a shithole. <blockquote>Our standard of living somehow got stuck on survive.</blockquote>--<a href="http://www.lyred.com/lyrics/Jewel/Spirit/Deep+Water/">Jewel</a> Let me try and paint the picture. The place stinks. It is a combination of the age of the building itself, the number of single people and immigrants who have lived here, the extreme funkiness of the kitchen. The place oozes dirt; it creates it. The kitchen cabinets are old and wooden and shed their particled existence constantly. They have been absorbing humidity mostly, but also smoke and body odor and cockroach shit and condiment carelessness, for years--decades even. The carpet is industrial and rivals the sidewalk for gum spots. The windows are as old as I am and their twisted metal frames rust and decay with a slimey consistency. The corners grow cobwebs that would make a haunted house jealous. The bathroom walls are embedded with hairs and dead bugs of what origins I care not to know. The shower floor tile lacks enough grouting to make it feel like the steel grate bridges over the canals, and what it lacks in grout it makes up in spilled spackle and paint globs from the shoddy between-tenant clean-up jobs. And the mosquitoes. Oh yes, those. <blockquote>Cause nature has a funny way of breaking what does not bend.</blockquote>--<a href="http://www.lyred.com/lyrics/Jewel/Spirit/Innocence+Maintained/">ditto</a> Tonight on the way back from 7-11, the only establishment beyond Denny's open all night in this sprawling suburbania, there was a nice pile of dogshit on the sidewalk. Grace, these days, is not having stepped in the shite the first time by, when you didn't notice it. One neighbor is an older man. He lives alone in a studio apartment the same size as mine. I'm not sure of his story, but he has at least one grown daughter. He has one friend who is nominally crazy--he limps around slowly, has no teeth, and has an amazingly brilliant parrot on his shoulder at times. He keeps a jungle of plants outside of his door. Pretty but smelly and...and the mosquitoes. Oh yes, those. Another neighbor, a few doors down, is some mystery recluse. Her apartment smells like moth balls and she sleeps on cardboard. She comes and goes shiftily and complains bitterly about everything. It is unclear what she might do to pay the rent, but it is safe to say that it is not "the world's oldest profession." The neighbor on the other side used to be a freaky pedophile. He was evicted, fortunately, but after he moved out they cleaned his apartment and found pornographic polaroids in with the kids' toys. One time he opened his front door to retrieve his mail, totally buck naked. He smoked incessantly. Grace, these days, is that that is the only thing he and I have in common. The family that moved in after they'd cleaned his place of the smoke and cum stains is a nice Latino family, three generations are living in there I think, and I am so jealous. Immigrants and big, poor families--they might not have much, but they sure as fuck know how to stick together. <blockquote>It's nothing without love.</blockquote>--ditto And that's kind of what it comes down to. Any place can be made into a home. But a true home takes two. Alone, one can design their place how they want without conflicting aesthetic advice, they can keep it as clean or dirty as they want without anyone else complaining, they can keep the hours they want, rising early or staying up late, without disturbing anyone. But the house will still be only that. A home takes love. It doesn't have to be between a man and a woman, it doesn't even have to be romantic love, the "other person" doesn't even have to live there, but people, not a person, make a home. The life of a home is contained in auras bouncing off of each other. Love, frustration, kinky sex, messy meals, obnoxious habits, conflicting opinions about the use of the remote control--these are the things that form the energy of a real home. Grace, these days, are some drunken impersonations of this kind of intimacy. There aren't too many people in the world with whom one is able to have true intimacy with. Fewer still are the ones you could trust with not only just moments of such soul-assurance, but a lifetime... <blockquote>Chaos and destruction all around, but baby you don't have to make a sound.</blockquote><a href="index.php?file=2003_11.xml&id=148">#</a> We all walk this earth, and so few of us, really, are not aliens and strangers here. We struggle, grope, and cry out for some connection to something that is beyond this, yet it seems the more we fight off the meanies, the more mutations they take on, the more they spread their cancerous rot from across the seas to across the street to the yard to the houseplants. Next thing you know the State is knocking on your door, saying, "It's nobody's fault, but we have to burn your house down to prevent the spread. No hard feelings, this kind of thing happens all the time, everyone survives, best of luck in the future." And like all those before us, we start over from nothing, hoping someday to build again. Maybe we'll move to the desert where we think the spores don't live. Maybe we'll spend our weekends spraying the grass with poisons aimed at killing the fungus. Maybe we'll move into an urban highrise with tile floors we constantly scour and bleach. Maybe we retreat into ourselves. Convince ourselves we're strong, that we get along, that we were made for this world. We enjoy the attention of acquaintances, the random, surface affections we pass off for true intimacy. We take pleasure in coming "home" to a house without the disarray of another human being's touch. But in the end, to live a perfect life is to stop being human. The ironic beauty of humanity is its almost masochistic drive to be connected to itself in ways deeper than a casual drink, a political conversation, a hilarious joke. It's desire to be one with itself, the storm cloud desperately wanting to spin down a huge tornado, chaos be damned. Grace, these days, would be at least a toilet bowl, where the shit could spin around together for a few seconds. <a href="index.php?file=2003_11.xml&id=125">ref:</a> <a href="index.php?file=2003_11.xml&id=127">ref:</a> <a href="index.php?file=2003_11.xml&id=128">ref:</a> <blockquote>Just like the girls today With nothing to say No more pigtails and pony rides They're sophisticated They sip on lattes and have their eyes On a bigger prize</blockquote>--<a href="http://www.lyred.com/lyrics/Jewel/Spirit/Do+You/">ditto</a>165FictionDaniel2004-02-10T14:40:14-05:00publishsummerblanket.commy friends summer blanket: <a title="binkies unite!" href="http://summerblanket.com/">binkies unite!</a> ...blogging...w00t! <a href="http://summerblanket.com/atom.xml">atom rss feed</a>164ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-09T19:21:28-05:00publishRules for Arguments<blockquote>It is not a mistake to have strong views. The mistake is to have nothing else.</blockquote> <div align="left">--Anthony Weston</div> <a title="Rules for Arguments: Signal vs. Noise Weblog / Blog (by 37signals)" href="http://www.37signals.com/svn/archives/000534.php">#</a>160QuotableDaniel2004-02-09T15:54:57-05:00publishthinking gnorw<a title=": : Speak Up > Project M " href="http://www.underconsideration.com/speakup/archives/001816.html">Speak Up > Project M </a>159ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-09T15:52:47-05:00publishSacred space, profane time<a title="v-2 Organisation | news | Sacred space, profane time" href="http://www.v-2.org/displayArticle.php?article_num=646">v-2 Organisation -- Sacred space, profane time</a> <blockquote>And I knew all at once what cathedrals were and were supposed to be, in the minds of their original architects: nothing less than airports for God to land at.</blockquote>158ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-09T15:06:05-05:00publishare you an arrogant, ignorant religious fuckhead?<a title="withadot" href="http://withadot.blogspot.com/archives/2004_02_01_withadot_archive.html#107611111690838399">withadot</a> "are you an arrogant and ignorant religious fuckhead?"157ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-09T14:37:03-05:00publishFiction > My Life > Intro > draft > bitThe events and characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I'm alone. That's the first thing you need to know. I don't know where this story is going to go, I don't know where it'll end up. But this is the starting point. I live in a hole. I live in a studio apartment I pay too much for. I don't go into the kitchen, it grosses me out too much. My crotch is constantly itching because it is hot as hell here, and always humid, and your sweat, especially the sweat that forms between your ball sack and your legs, it goes nowhere. You're wet all the time like you pissed your pants and your butt crack and your shirt and your head all at the same time. You should also know I'm drunk. And I smoke too much. I used to have a life. But now I'm just your average Johnny Citizen. George if you're my mother and pissed off, but you are niether, so it's Johnny. Ok? No not John or Jonathon. It's Johnny. Yeah. Thanks. I used to have a life. I used to have someone who loved me, but somewhere along the line she decided she didn't love me anymore. Only problem was I had given up my whole life to be with her. I had given her my whole life. My life revolved around her. But she decided she didn't need me anymore and now here I am. Sitting in my shit hole apartment talking to you. Typing to you, that nonexistent imaginary person out there somewhere who for some reason is still reading this shit. I guess I will tell you stories. So I had moved for her. Laid down my life and everything I knew. It wasn't really that big a deal. I enjoyed it. I thought I had freedom to be myself. I thought she had accepted me long ago. I did like living where we had gone. But, well, all that's gone and so now I live in the hot as hell shithole. And I'm ok with that. I heard a joke last weekend that <a href="http://biblegateway.com/cgi-bin/bible?language=english&version=NIV&passage=1+Cor.+13%3A3&x=0&y=0">martyrdom is "the spiritual gift</a> you only use once." But I'm not so sure. I think some of us are able to practice our spiritual gift over and over again. But I'm alone. And I'm not so ok with that. I realized that I can live anywhere, even a hot as hell shit hole, as long as there is someone there to love me. I'm not so immature as to blame other people or circumstances for my current condition. I did my share of sinning. I took my situation for granted. But what I have learned, a good friend put so well the other night: "I just want to love and be loved, is that too much to ask?" Well, apparently it is. So fuck you God and fuck you life. You just had to beat the shit out of me, didn't you? I don't know what changed her mind about me. Maybe she found somebody else, I don't know. Maybe she just doesn't need anybody anymore. Maybe she is the opposite of me. No, actually, she is the opposite of me. That's why I love her so damn much. But she's ok, apparently. And I'm not. So don't expect some story with a happy ending or where you learn anything about how to cope with life. Life sucks. So there. So I'll just tell my stories. After I will take stock. After I will sit alone in my shit hole and look around and look at the gun in my lap and decide whether it is worth it. Decide if there are any stories worth writing with my future. Or if she has just stolen all my future and that's that. So that's that. I remember the first time we fell in love. I told my friends, "She's not my type," with such a look in my eyes they just laughed and said, "Yep, she's the one." This was before I knew that my balls created nothing of use, before I knew I was destined for the rubbish pile, before I knew that my dreams were a joke and the world was out to get me, and God was out to let it. This was before I knew she'd fall out of love with me, she'd abandon me, she'd leave me for dead and never feel one second of remorse. "I just want to love and be loved, is that too much to ask?" Apparently, my friend, the answer to that question is Yes. Sorry if that's news to you or if it bums you out a bit. Apparently my struggles were too much for her. Apparently she has it all figured out. Apparently those who have it figured out are annoyed with those who don't. Apparently those who have it figured out can't be bothered with those still struggling to find their place in this fucked up world. Apparently those who have figured it out can't stand to be around those who still think something is wrong with this world. You know, war, injustice, poverty, depression, darkness, pride, greed. Those are petty things you are better off not bothering yourself with. Those are things for the weak to worry about. Those are things that just get in the way. Success being the measure of all things and all, success being money, power, and psychological well-being and all. Success being money, power, and psychological well-being and all, and money, power, and psychological well-being being pretty much exclusionary to true love and all. Sorry, now I'm just going off. Postulating. So let's go back to that falling in love. She was beautiful. So beautiful, and with this body that defined womanhood while not succumbing to the crazy misappropriations we all see every night on the television. She spoke with confidence, but back then so did I, and the challenge we presented to each other only made us want each other more. The passion between us was so intense we could feel it when we were only in the same room with each other. Or at least I could. Still can. Of course we haven't been in the same room for a couple months now. And whether she ever felt it is questionable at this point. But I guess you would have to ask her. I remember our first meeting. "Hi, I'm Johnny." "I'm Mary." "Oh, like Jesus' mother?" "Huh?" "Like Jesus' mother, Mary." I don't know why I always repeat really stupid remarks, or why I always have to bring up Jesus. "Uh, sure." Her voice trailed off and I knew I had fucked up royally. What a great first impression. Hi I'm just meeting you and sure as hell I'm thinking about sleeping with you already and the only thing I can mention is the one deity that will be sure to quench any lustful thoughts you ever might have had for me in the first place. Of course lustful thoughts on her part probably had to be warmed up a little bit first. I'm not exactly the spiciest fry on the block. Somehow I later impressed her enough to at least make an impression. Why she was with me in the first place, well now I know even less than I knew back then. Maybe back then I thought God himself had ordained our love, maybe she did too. I don't know why else someone so set on being with someone exactly like herself would have picked someone exactly the opposite. Extrovert. Introvert. Good with numbers. Bad with numbers. Good grades. Bad grades. Figured out. Fucked up. Success. Failure. The list just goes on. Well, we ended up together. I thought it was for good. Again, maybe she thought so back then too. But these things, like everything else, tend to change. And change quick, let me tell you. It was never easy. It was always worth it. At least for me. "All I want is to love and be loved. Is that too much to ask?" I remember she used to joke, or at least I thought it was a joke, when people asked what our first year was like, she would tell this story on how we disagreed on how to squeeze the toothpaste, and almost had to go to separate tubes. But you know what happened already, don't you? I changed the way I squeezed the toothpaste. Heavily ironic, it was I who was more anal retentive about how a toothpaste tube was to be squeezed than her. Now I just squeeze the damn thing any way I want. I remember meeting her family, all of them, infinitely more than mine, or at least that was true the at time. I loved them. I loved all of them. And we didn't even speak the same language. I mean, literally. I still do love them. I don't know if I could trust them again, after all they've said about me, but I still love them. I imagine her grandmother, alone right now, sleeping in a bed that for so many years was warmed by the love of her life. That gives me some comfort. I love that grandmother. I dream of seeing her again and hugging her and telling her how much I love her, telling her that she is one of my people--<a href="http://biblegateway.com/cgi-bin/bible?language=english&version=NIV&passage=matt+5%3A1-11&x=0&y=0">poor</a>, left with nothing but herself, just waiting for her number to be called. Grandma and I, we have a lot in common, actually. And we don't have a common language between us. I imagine her grandfather, dead, buried, and up in heaven, looking down on her right now. I wonder what he must be thinking.161FictionDaniel2004-02-09T13:31:54-05:00publishcatching up on friends and this<blockquote>they say that one of the hardest things to do is to love your enemies. i always thought that meant choosing to love those who dick you over in some identity-issue Samaritan way; you know -- like my big mean aohell boss or something. but this -- this. your most loved, trusted ones becoming the enemy. i can't help but continue to love, and it's excruciating. i can't help but love my enemy. ow.</blockquote> <a title="self deconstructing text" href="http://selfdeconstructingtext.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_selfdeconstructingtext_archive.html#107604695401204970">self deconstructing text</a> 156QuotableDaniel2004-02-07T13:17:57-05:00publishmore beautiful and exciting than anything we could have planned<blockquote>The day has come for the 'cultural creatives' to launch out and begin to live out what is on their hearts. As we do that, something will emerge that is more beautiful and exciting than anything we could have planned.</blockquote> <a title="BeyondPostHuman" href="http://beyondposthuman.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_beyondposthuman_archive.html#107611826510390939">Alan Cross</a> 155QuotableDaniel2004-02-07T13:15:16-05:00publishjanet janet janet janet janet<a title="lancearthur.com: Just Write: Ten Things: Tits" href="http://www.lancearthur.com/archives/000199.html">lancearthur.com: Just Write: Ten Things: Tits</a> The most brilliant summation of the entire janet boob non-event. So good it should be in the NYT or something. Hypocrisy, particularly moral hypocrisy, is at an all time high 'round here. Pretty crazy.154ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-07T12:37:03-05:00publishhelo worldi owe a lot of peps phone calls. sory. busy. email or im r the best ways to get hold me. mom and dad: i'm sure the authorities would notify u if i were deed. speaking of which, a good friend and prophet had a dream that i would be by summer. sweet. today the/a high school surf clubs/club is doing a car wash at the shop. the girls are the ones on the street with the signs. in bikinis. surprised every male driving down a1a today doesn't get their car washed.153MinutiaDaniel2004-02-07T12:18:53-05:00publishgeekie LOL<a title="mezzoblue - Spot the Error" href="http://www.mezzoblue.com/archives/2004/02/06/spot_the_err/index.php">mezzoblue - Spot the Error</a>152ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-06T13:12:24-05:00publishi'd go, wth<a title="anne galloway [purse lip square jaw]" href="http://www.purselipsquarejaw.org/2004_02_01_blogger_archives.php#107607308200066068">anne galloway [purse lip square jaw]</a> Of love and Swedish meatballs151ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-06T13:09:17-05:00publisheisbrecher<a title="Eisbrecher :: News" href="http://www.eis-brecher.com/en/news">Eisbrecher :: News</a> <blockquote>The band has decided to make a statement for its fans and for music consumers in general and is releasing the album including a bonus DVD with 2 blank CD-Rs which have the same label as the CD itself. Alexx Wesselsky (singer and head of the group): "We are of the opinion that the music buyers are criminalized enough and have been made responsible for the wretched state in the music industry. We are giving them the chance to make 2 legal copies for private use with 'official blanks'. It can't always be that the end users have to take the blame for something that international corporations have arranged with their artist-burning methods."</blockquote> Don't know this band but I'm tempted to buy the disk just out of principle.150ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-06T12:37:35-05:00publishthe bush files<a title="The Price of Loyalty: The Bush Files" href="http://thepriceofloyalty.ronsuskind.com/thebushfiles/">The Price of Loyalty: The Bush Files</a> not that kind of bush, no.149ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-06T12:30:37-05:00publishreadymade<a title="ReadyMade: Instructions for Everyday Life" href="http://www.readymademag.com/">ReadyMade: Instructions for Everyday Life</a> <img src="http://www.readymademag.com/store/images/prodmag_walltextmagnet.jpg" />148ElsewhereDaniel2004-02-06T12:25:05-05:00publishYves Marchand<a href="http://striped.online.fr/elisa/index02.html"><img src=