... and with those three words, it was over.

22 years of self-doubt. 4 years of flawed relationships. And like the curtain lifted from the stage to dawn the second act; like the lead delivering his soliloquy, my catharsis, poured in three words.

The air has never smelled so sweet. The stars have never looked so beautiful. I finally knew my place. I could see everything I've been doing wrong. I can now see everything that I can do to make it right. I never realized how easy it would be -- how easy it's always been. How fucked up, trivial, menial, ridiculously inane the entire hang-up was. What was there to fear? Hanging on to something that wasn't there? I never really knew how to hang on to something anyway -- I have several failed relationships to attest for this. I only thought I was hanging on -- my hanging was suffocation, alienating those who I only wanted to be closer to. No longer.

I may be grasping at thin air. The next six or so weeks may be an entire disappointment – an experience in grasping futilely to something which doesn’t exist. If I fail, I’ll still succeed. I don’t care whether or not I successfully grasp the situation. The tantamount concept is that I've finally learned how to grasp.

and all it took was three words....

I convinced him not to go in to talk to her armed because if a fight broke out it would look like intent. He's going out for a beer with someone who used to be friends with all of us, and he couldn't get out of it or he would have. Because she's crazy. I think she's easily capable of murder. She's never heard of self-control, and as a result we have all had to make allowances for her craziness.

I have to read She came to stay for a class on Simone deBeauvoir, who wrote it. It's all about life in between the world wars among intellectuals in Paris. DeBeauvoir illustrates her ideas about existential philosophy in it. I haven't finished the book but I know that the main character Francios kills her nemesis Xavier. I've watched the story develop, just as I have watched the situation between my friends (and this is a deep situation that encompasses lots of people) develop. I'm following both stories, and I'm wondering, how does Francios kill Xavier? I know she kills her, but how? Poison? Neglect? Does she maybe use a knife or a gun? I picture this scary bitch charging me with a knife. She's done it to people she cares about, love and hate are pretty close to each other anyway and I wouldn't be surprised if she tried to attack me. I piss her off in some specific way, something deep she can't shake. I don't own any weapons, or know how to use them, so I picture myself breaking a large bottle and facing the attack. If you fight the Devil, fight to win. A nice heavy whiskey bottle. Broken glass does a lot of damage I guess. But I can't kill her, which is really the only thing that would stop her from killing me once she started with the knife. My poor thin wrists, my shaky voice, I get squeamish crushing bugs. It's laughable.

She's making him take her out for a beer because he missed her 21st birthday party. Today I told a friend of mine that the real tragedy of her life is that she reached the age of 21. I hate holding this much hatred for anyone, but I can't seem to let it go. My life is twisted into the lives of those she's messed with, and into hers, like the strands of fiber that twist together to make a thread. I'm not the only one dealing with this, I'm not alone in distrusting her, but that doesn't help. No one who is concerned is going to do anything.

I asked my mother to pray for her. My mom likes to pray for people, and I can't do it. I mean, it's not only that this girl is disrupting my human relationships, I get angry at God (we don't have the best relationship to start with) about this situation. She threatens everything. Of course all she wants is to die, to kill, to destroy, she's horribly angry and badly abused and confused, so she's just lashing out, and there's no reason why she shouldn't get a grip on this at some point and become a better person, but I just don't care.

It is now 05:55 on the morning of February the 19th, 2002. Having been made redundant from my job a month ago I now find it impossible to avoid 'cycling', that is, going to bed later and later and getting up earlier and earlier. For the last few hours I have been applying for jobs online, and also downloading selections of 'The Conet Project' from Audiogalaxy. The Conet Project is a 4cd set of recordings of numbers stations; distorted shortwave voices reading out numbers. Supposedly these stations were used to keep spies up-to-date with the latest developments in intercontinental spying, and also to pass them instructions on what to spy on, such as government installations and power plants. 'Eine eine (whee) drei drei zex / seben eine eine (pop) veir' presumably translates as 'Go to the nearest army base and find out how many tanks they have - but don't make the soldiers suspicious!'.

Experience shows that there is an army of people who vote daylogs up, and an army that votes them down. Presumably, the decision to vote is influenced indirectly by the global consciousness; an aggregate win for the upvoters would therefore indicate a global sense of well-being and compassion, whereas if this writeup were to have a negative reputation by tomorrow - or even, heaven forbid, if it was nuked - that would indicate that war is imminent and that people are overcome with bitterness and hatred.

I am now attempting to interrogate Audiogalaxy in order to find recordings by Terre Thaemlitz, a man who apparently records melancholic piano versions of synth-pop, such as Gary Numan, Kraftwerk and Devo. Earlier, I downloaded music by Wim Mertens and later on I will congratulate myself for having such superb taste.

Thanks to the website of Aquarius Records I have just discovered that there is a tribute album to The Shaggs. It is called 'Better than the Beatles: The Shaggs' and my mind cannot possibly imagine what it will sound like.

My son and my future daughter-in-law have a great little apartment. It is full of harps, books, computers, stuffed animals and live sugar gliders. They are both geeks - of the double/triple major variety. Recently I got a call, a very exciting bit of news.

"MOM, we got a chalkboard!"

Oh, "OK" I say, "that's nice, what do you use it for, to leave messages for each other?"

"NO, we do math problems on it!”.... And they do.

Geek boys need geek girls. Who else would understand them? And of course geek girls need geek boys as well!

In a society that suppresses adventure,
the only adventure becomes the suppression of that society
.


It is late, and we want to get home. To everyone's relief, the drunks are getting off to make a connection with another bus when one of them realises that he's lost his transfer ticket. As his friend lurches outside, urging him to hurry, this fellow staggers up to the bus driver and demands another ticket.

The bus driver would rather be in bed right now. He dislikes the new fare system his bosses implemented as much as the next guy, and would prefer to drive buses than deal with the public. The drunk doesn't take it well when the driver suggests that he take another look along the vast stretch of 15 feet between where the transfer was issued and where it was supposedly lost.

His friend leaves, meaning that this man now has nothing preventing him from haunting the driver all night long, if that's what it takes. As the bus pulls out, resuming its rounds, he advances past the "do not cross" yellow line and begins speaking loudly, buddy, trying to hammer home how innocuous his request is. Listen, he doesn't say, I'm an obnoxious and belligerent cheapskate. The bus driver is steering with one hand, calling in for assistance with the other as the sotted demander leans in on the expensive new ticket-issuing device. I pay my taxes! Now gimme my ticket!

Excuse me, sir, but by distracting the bus driver while he's in traffic you are endangering all of us on here on this bus. Would you please kindly come back here into the passenger area and let the man get on with his job!
I do not say this. No I do not. But it's just a matter of timing. The girl sitting across from me has a better idea, padding up to the fellow as I'm opening my mouth and offering him her transfer - unneeded, or worth less than the conflict resolution?

The goon, by now blocks and blocks beyond his stop, seems pleased by this turn of events - having made a public nuisance and spectacle of himself, he has gone the extra mile and frightened a bystander into making a sacrifice to appease him. But still the bus driver remains uncowed, so he feels he has a score to settle. The bus pulls up, making an unsolicited stop, and the front doors immediately behind the man open. He realises that this is what is known as a subtle hint, the offering of a final out before the boys in blue show up. But he wants the last word. As he turns to exit the bus, he lunges (unsuccessfully) for the bus driver's hat. Nimbly, the driver closes the doors, catching the offending arm (quickly withdrawn.)

As the bus pulls away the offered ticket, dropped during the attempted snatch, flutters to the floor of the bus. The girl makes no attempt to retrieve it.


"For how long will you be travelling?" the woman behind the counter asks. "Oh, it's just for an overnight trip to Seattle, so I'll take the shortest period of coverage." "That's a week," I nod, expectations met, "but I'll give you a couple of extra days of insurance. Here, this is good for nine days." I begin to protest, but she goes on. "And here, I'll make it good for international destinations too, at no extra charge - so you can dip into Mexico if you get the chance."

Uh. Maybe it was the star-eyes kicking in, or perhaps something more sinister - but for some reason or other, it seems that the insurance agent wants to do everything in her power to keep me as far away from Vancouver for as long as possible.

Clearly I should have followed her lead.


It takes me quite some while to warm to the idea of touching, but I am equally as slow to cool. (bogosity alert: the idea is instantly accessible - it's the actual practice that I balk at.) Sitting in the Greyhound bus, hurtling North at an incredible rate, my toes playfully grind against each other in the unobserved privacy of my shoes. Fingernails scrape circles into their ken, as interfinger webbing is tugged, stretched, twisted. Knuckles pinched and jostled, each individual phalange is rediscovered. Gently scratching my palm, it occurs to me that what I am doing is holding hands with myself.


POWER IS NOTHING WITHOUT CONTROL

in our last episode... | p_i-logs | and then, all of a sudden...

It occurs to me that work has become nothing more than a collection of unpleasant experiences between cigarette breaks.

...

Being sick only serves to remind me how aggravating the physical experience can be.

This, coupled with money woes, and the general lack of interest in the world that cold medications bestow, can cause life to seem quite lackluster at times.

Not that all is lost; it is easy to find inspiration in a grey world, as anything with a light to it stands out against the background, but the difficulties of working with it seem to make the effort not entirely worthwhile.

...

Observation: Being unable to draw a full breath really strips the fight out of you.
A single, soft, sweet regret falls from the boquet of roses and onto her grave.

People come and people go. And sometimes we remember them for a second, or a minute, or for a lifetime more or so.

She seemed so happy, she was getting it all together. People never do have a good reason. Never have had a good reason. Just a note scrawled on a napkin, or written out and left in the typewriter, or a simple pile of pills left as a final quiet exclamation mark to the world.

Maybe shes happy now, maybe shes sad now. Guess i'll never know. All I can expect is the cold screaming silence that comes when we think of the dead. But thats life, and thats death. And what can we really do except hope for sunshine and clean air... flowers of all colors, and to look out at the world and say though all I have is so far, I will go farther still. And from the dead the one hope that one can hope to have is the simple sweet solemn notion, that maybe they watch us with devotion.

Oh, now I feel really bad. At the weekend I was really ill with a non-definable but malignant disease/bug/syndrome, and I text messaged my friend Jen to say "hi/I'm dying" and when she didn't text me back in a few hours, I deleted all her numbers from my mobile phone (house, mobile, other mobile she doesn't use, etc) because I was feeling shit and rejected and I had one of those illnesses that weights you down all weekend and then you magically recover to full health at 6pm on Sunday night (although come to think of it I didn't know that at the time). Now I just emailed Jen to find out if she's scared of clowns and she tells me she lost her phone. I am officially a moody cow.

I'm conducting research on the growing phenomenon of clown-phobia, using the following highly scientific questionnaire:

Are you scared of clowns?
A. yes.
B. no.
C. I'm too ashamed to admit it.
D. only clowns with knives.

So far, I have one A, one D and one unsolicited clown-phobe who never even saw the questionnaire. Personally I'm not scared of clowns at all, I just consider them the least funny thing in the universe (yes, even less funny than Dustin Diamond.)

I really think this could be a chance for a Nobel prize. Or at least an opportunity to watch lots of weird movies with clowns in, like The Greatest Show on Earth and Santa Sangre. Not to mention The Simpsons. But I'm steering well clear of the whole Clown Porn movement, which isn't about real clowns at all, just imposters in fancy dress.

Maybe it's something to do with painting your face on an egg-shell, or having the same name as the greatest fashion designer of all time. I seem to recall that Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore's child is called Coco, although I don't think she's a clown either. And cocoa certainly isn't scary, even when it's bitter or twisted (as in that delicacy the Curly-Wurly).

So if you want to participate in this research project, or know what medication I should be on (am I still ill? am I delirious? am I really at work?), please drop me a line. And if you see a clown with a mobile phone, it's Jen's. Kill it, but use a gun. Remember, clowns have knives.

(On the other hand, if Jen doesn't get her phone back, she'll have to get a new one and I'll have to enter her new number on my phone anyway, so if you are afraid of clowns, don't put yourself at risk. Gwa-ha-ha! Sorry, Jen.)

YES! Finaly, I am online again! I haven't had access to E2 or any other part of the Internett for about two weeks now, and BOY it feels good to be logged on again!

I am in Eilat right now, at the southernmost point of Israel. Crazy as this must seem, I am on a schooltrip, from Norway to Israel. We have seen Jerusalem, Eilat,parts of Egypt (Cairo) too.

Now many people from all over the world may say this seems a little crazy, to visit a state like Israel at a time when it is all over the news because of conflicts bordering to war, but this what I would like to say to anybody who reads this:
Despite the Intifada and the conflicts, Israel is not a very dangerous place to visit.

There are conflicts in some parts of the country, but other parts of the country are functioning almost like normal. It is true that you can see boys and girls at age 18-21 (+-) carrying machineguns in the streets and public places, (they are soldiers. Boys do 3 years in the army here, girls do 1 i think.) but apart from this it it hard to tell that the country is in the conflicts we keep hearing about in the news. We go to pubs and clubs at night, we go swimming and relax on the beach in daytime. I have taken my Advanced Open Water diving-license a few days ago, and life is beautifull.

Anyway, I just wanted to say hi. Or Shalom, as it is here.
My best greetings to all of you from Eilat. So Long!

last night redefined magic. actually, i guess it's been the last two nights...i've been doing some recording with the band, and while it is still godawfully rough, i've gotten a few goggy-eyed compliments from the people i've shared it with. damn. life is good. we have seven tracks processing rigt now, and hopefully by the time we hack our way through those, we will have more stuff ready to go. Persian Rhapsody is a fucking hit, and so is our punk-ballad version of Prince Lir's song from The Last Unicorn (book, not movie!). we may finally have named the band, as three of the six of us agree on "Fnordley and the Fiends". i'm pretty goddamn excited.

and i have finally scored my very own hobbit, to be sproinged as often and vigorously as possible. well, ok, he's taller than me -- not saying much -- but he's still a damned hobbity sort of boy. *sigh* and he's wildly and madly in love with me, and has yet to complain about any of my nasty habits...life is gooooood.

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