back..... 9/15/05
c o n t a c t
• j o s e @ j o s e w e e k s . c o m •
• A I M: j o s e w e e k s •
• ( 6 1 2 ) 4 8 1 - 1 4 5 2 •
p r o j e c t s
Code:
- e2interface - e2 client library in perl
Criticism:
- Fear in a Handful of Dust by Gary A. Braunbeck
- The System of the World by Neal Stephenson
- Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke
- Stranger than Fiction by Chuck Palahniuk
- The Confusion by Neal Stephenson
- Post Office by Charles Bukowski
- The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen
- Quicksilver by Neal Stephenson
- Ironweed by William Kennedy
- "the mockingbird" by Charles Bukowski
- "nothing is as effective as defeat" by Charles Bukowski
- "Chicago Poem" by Lew Welch (revised 9.3.2003)
- "Collect Telegram from a Mad Dog" by Hunter S. Thompson (revised 8.22.2003)
- The Stand by Stephen King
- The Day of Creation by J.G. Ballard
- Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72 by Hunter S. Thompson
- Ham on Rye by Charles Bukowski
- Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson
- Hell's Angels: A Strange and Terrible Saga by Hunter S. Thompson
- Glue by Irvine Welsh
- High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
- Filth by Irvine Welsh
- Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk
- Marabou Stork Nightmares by Irvine Welsh
- The Terminal Man by Michael Crichton
- Portrait of an Artist, as an Old Man by Joseph Heller
- Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh
- The last night of the earth poems by Charles Bukowski
- The Rum Diary by Hunter S. Thompson
- Choke by Chuck Palahniuk
- Glengarry Glen Ross by David Mamet
- Something Happened by Joseph Heller
- Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
Poetry & short fiction:
- A story called "Vindication" in the Prosenoder's Cup 2003
- You too can spend four years
- The girl wants something harder
- A world outside of time
- The thing about magic
- reading no lines
- These are the dreams that break us
- This wordplay bullshit
- The liquid poet
- Growing I guess
- The ruination of Britney Spears
a b o u t t h e a u t h o r
Simpleton is Jose M. Weeks-- by night, a parking lot attendant in downtown Minneapolis, also by night an unpublished writer working on a novel about the only thing anyone ever seems to write a novel about anymore, which is everything. By day, he sleeps.
w i s d o m
that's what you sort of wanted that person to hear i n the sun slants in like a golden sword t as the odds grow h shorter e Charles Bukowski i from The last night of the earth poems r ______________________________________ a c The waitress brought me another drink. She t wanted to light my hurricane lamp again. I u wouldn't let her. "Can you see anything in a the dark, with your sunglasses on?" she l asked me. f "The big show is inside my head," I said. i Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. r from Breakfast of Champions s ___________________________________________ t h Complete Destruction e a It was an icy day. r we buried the cat, t then took her box . ToasterLeavings and set fire to it in the back yard. Those fleas that escaped earth and fire died by the cold. William Carlos Williams ____________________________
orgasm is a great way to meet people unamerican activities _____________________________
All things considered, it's a gentle and undemanding planet, even here. Far gentler Here than any of a dozen other places. The trouble is always and only with what we build on top of it. There's nobody else to blame. You can't fix it and you can't make it go away. It does no good appealing To some ill-invented Thunderer Brooding above some unimaginable crag... It's ours. Right down to the last small binge it all depends for its existence Only and utterly upon our sufferance. Driving back I saw Chicago rising in its gases and I knew again that never will the Man be made to stand against this pitiless, unparallel monstrocity. It Snuffles on the beach of its Great Lake like a blind, red, rinoceros. It's already running us down. you can't fix it. You can't make it go away. I don't know what you're going to do about it, But I know what I'm going to do about it. I'm just going to walk away from it. Maybe A small part of it will die if I'm not around feeding it anymore. Lew Welch from "Chicago Poem" ____________________________________________________________