M is sick right now. I am going to go take care of her, but, before I do, I wanted to post these.





and this

Moving on, see you all on the other side. From now on, the late jazzspazz is now clitorisorusrex.

Confused? Please refer to the my last entry. Then, everyone congratulate inertiacrept.

Bye.

Apparently someone else has stolen the name jazzspaz I am jazzspazz. As you can see we are two very different people. I don't really like this name anyway, but this is annoying. So in order to avoid confusion I am either going to start a new journal or change my name on this one.
Any name suggestions?

I just recieved an e-mail from someone I don't know. I probably should not have opened it, but I did. Anyway, it came in the form of undeliverable mail being returned to me, but it was not from a mailer-daemon, it was from a regular e-mail address: mark_edwards525@yahoo.com
I don't know Mark Edwards.
Here was the message:

"to govern is always to choose among disadvantages.
when i came bcak to dubiln i was court-martialed in my absnece and snetenced to death in my absence, so i said tehy could shoot me in my absence.
the gerat menace to the lfie of an industry is industrial self-complacency.
there's one mroe trerifynig fact aobut old people: i'm going to be one soon.
laugh at your friends, and if your firends are sore; so much the better, you may laguh the more."

The spelling mistakes are generally easy to pass off as dyslexic. The error generated that sent this message back was supposedly this:

>>>> RCPT TO: thoreau1977@yahoo.com
<<<< 592 NO MX RECORD FOUND
592 Can't resolve MX domain entry

Now, I have no idea what that is all about, but the message is interesting. I wonder if anyone else has seen this or anything like it before. I would like to unravel this one. So, I am on a quest.

Today is Monday. Monday is what today is.
We go to work, slave away for a while, make some money, go home and waste our time, too tired and shagged out to focus on our passions.
So, last night, I made M promise me that this year... we will be insatiable.
That is a resolution.
So this morning, Monday, we woke up at 5:30 to drive in the rain, to slave away for eight+ hours, to wear ourselves down to the bone.
And in the next year, we are going to make it happen.
I am going to publish photos. M is going to write a book.
It is time. It is time to let nothing stop us, especially ourselves.
Happy new year. What do you resolve to do?

jazzgod1 came over the other day and showed me and M THIS

We sat in silence for about 10 minutes after watching. I had no idea...

Note: you must have REALPLAYER and a fast connection.

HIGH
MED
LOW

if you need REALPLAYER go HERE

Watch and weap.

Six AM rolled in with the giant thundering repetitive clap of rotating blades slicing through the air at 340+ bpm. Tossing and turning in the bed only exacerbated the problem. The pillow over the head did little to help as well. M and I were in for the long haul for this one.

Our bedroom window faces the back micro-alley of our buildings, so noises from the street and such do not normally reach the bedroom, blessed be, if you will. Sleeping is usually aided by this protective wall system. However, when the origin of a rapidly pulsing noise is 300 ft above the building, this micro-alley becomes a rather effective echo chamber, filtering the sound into its most basic components, amplifying it, then directing the sound at our window (much like a Bose Wave Radio) to create a cinematic surround-sound experience in our beloved boudoir.

45 minutes into this marvel of acoustic achievement, Mr. Alarm Clock chimes in to the cacophony. I hit him exclaiming "No thanks, Mr. Alarm Clock, Mr. Helicopter has done your job for you this morning. You may now take the weekend off, without bonus." I call 311; this particular situation and hardly constituted an emergency. The non-emergency operator had no information and then replaced my '3' with a '9' connecting me to emergency services.
After a long hold with the 911 center, I was informed that a fire was in progress a few blocks away. Yet, they did not have any of the helicopters dispatched for this event. I was then informed that it must be a news-copter.
Ohhhhhhh.

Well, this must have been one big fire, cause Mr. News-Copter-7 hung around for an hour and a half. At which point, now near 8am, I am assuming the all consuming holocaust of hell must have packed up and moved south for the winter.

Well, fuck you Mr. News-Copter-7. Fuck you very much.

"That's the way it was. They all were just, like, getting drunk: drinking Margaritas in those glasses. This was it, they were getting drunk at our office party. I was drinking pineapple juice, you know? Orange juice, water, Shirley Temples, you know what those are? Ginger ale and cherry syrup. You know I follow things..."
These were the first words The Babbler spoke today on 'El' platform. The poor woman in front of me just stood blank in response, almost tearing-up in the sheer, cold wind. The Babbler continued.
"I see what goes on, I was drinking ginger ale. I am glad, my friend, to be sick THAT way. Don't you think. I don't think they understand, you know? I make art! That's what I do. You get it, I know."
Her point made, she resumed stomping her foot to what she most likely perceived as being in (and was most assuredly out of) step with whatever music was playing on her vintage 1875 headphone assembly: an activity I failed to mention previously. The poor woman in front of me remained a stoic Easter Island head-statue. The Babbler walked off.
"A most interestingly random human encounter." I watched my words condense into a small and brief burst of cloud. The statue laughed; Medussa was gone, so I guess it was OK.

But selling to lawyers is like trying to fuck an ithyphallophobic.

Ask me about self immoliation for fun and profit.

For all you Jews out there...

Lend me some sugar, I am your neighbor...

Turn your volume up, and watch this: Chanukah

Yeah, fo real.

I can barely hear the faint sound of the sirens through the double-pane windows. My office is built like a tomb; the cold brick walls are crumbling from the inside out and a dank draft slithers through the cracks. My view is distorted a little by pretty pellets of precipitation that have sprawled themselves on the window. It’s not like there is much to see right now anyway; the exterior is a gray limbo, water soaking into the road and bricks has dulled and darkened everything. It is eerily beautiful, like a graveyard in the fog.

It has been raining all morning, and is just starting to let up. Even though it is cold, the humidity clings to the air with its last faint hopes of reclaiming the summer. By the sheer fact that the rain is here, I know that it will be much colder soon. There’s no more room for dust in the air; the density is gone. The droplets have cleansed it and are now a kind of harbinger. Sea change.

Water is an ideal conductor of sound, much better than air. I wonder if the moisture in the air helped the howling sirens, which is most certainly an alarming sound, perking the ears to attention and, in this particular case, annoying the piss out of me. I am guessing that the design of the siren is to do exactly that. Today, they are going off for what I would think is an obvious reason. There is no impending tornado, no bomb attack, and no severe weather. Today, Pearl Harbor was attacked.

Now, I know it was a really, really, really long time ago, but still, I shouldn't have to explain to anyone who went through grade school what the significance of December 7th is. And that is precisely what I had to do this morning to an employee of the State. A government employee. A representative of the nation and the powers that be doesn't know that today was one of the darkest days in our history.

"Don't you think that it would be a national holiday or something?"
"I am not quite sure that this is one of those occasions that you celebrate."
"No, no, I mean some kind of rememberence or something, you know, like Veteran's day."
"Yeah, it is."
And then the sirens went off.

And the truth? Everyone knows what December 25th is. Everyone knows February 14th, and April 1st, and September 11th...
Yeah, that. I am truly disappointed in this country.
"In the wake of 9/11" (I hate using that phrase) it is as if this country has forgotten the deaths of thousands. Why should this surprise me at all? Actually I am not sure that it is 9/11 that has done this, but I believe that 9/11 has solidified it. This country has been slowly turning into a United States of Amnesia.

It is truly appalling to see something precious flushed down the drain. And in this particular case, it is most certainly ironic. The flow of information has never been more free in all of history, as it is truly accessible at the touch of a finger (or a keystroke, as the case may be); nonetheless, the average intelligence and educational level of the population seems (by all accounts and observations) to be getting lower by the minute.

I think it would be too easy to blame the system. Certainly, the system, in and of itself, cannot be blamed for anything. It is a system, one either chooses to follow and use it or not. The people who set up the system aren’t to blame either, as I am quite sure that it was set up with the best intentions and, likewise, for the purpose of the advancement of society to a more educated and wealthier state. Neither goal is being achieved but for a select few who wouldn’t have to worry about such trivial things as intelligence and prosperity anyway: all they have to do is inherit it.

I would also argue that the media is not to blame. The entertainment and news sectors produce a product that is consumed, en masse, and enjoyed in kind, the content of which is derived from the finest minds in psychological manipulation, possessed by individuals within the society, and most certainly products of it as well. It is there to entertain and educate, and indeed, it does both. It is media: perhaps the greatest symbol of what this country stands for at this stage in our development. Hurry up and change the flag.

No. The blame for this shift in priority from smarts to farts is in the people. It is a simple matter of choice. The need and importance of education is beaten into almost every one of us from the earliest possible moment from almost every source. If not our parents, then our first teachers, and if not them, the TV, the radio; messages disseminate themselves through these channels and fire up those tired synapses into high-gear, well, for some.

This message is relayed under a static haze of advertisements, mirror checks, food preparation, candy coating, annoyance, abuse, tragedy, pornography, lies, and death. The brain is soaking up so much information, and learns early on that there is little if any value to most of it. The tragedy is, of course, that the opposite is true. Every little piece of information we get, no matter how trivial it seems, has some extrinsic if not intrinsic value. And to prove that, most of what we see, touch, taste, hear, and feel is absorbed and stored in the brain. So, then where are things going wrong? Why are we becoming the dumbest, fattest, ugliest, and most destructive nation in the world?

The plain and simple answer is: because we have chosen to do so. That is it. The population (or at least 51% of it) has chosen to elect officials who stymie the advancement of humanity. They have chosen to eat fattier foods in astronomical quantities. They have chosen to abandon their children to the babysitter in a box, to consume immeasurably beyond the level of necessity, to adopt a policy of fear in place of a policy of curiosity, to place blame in place of investigation, to cower in ignorance, to waste the precious few resources we have left, to destroy instead of create, to shoot first and ask questions later, to rely on belief instead of evidence, to favor a green piece of paper over the source material for it, to cling to permanence instead of accepting change. We have shut ourselves inside of our own trap.

In a consumer-based economy, the only value you have is how much you can consume. Your bank account and your credit determine your status. Need proof? How many welfare recipients are making the high level decisions that affect their lives, or ours for that matter? In theory, there is a perfectly logical reason for this. Those who can work the system successfully, must be reasonably intelligent and have some sense of responsibility. Therefore, it would only be reasonable to assume that they should be in a position of making decisions that would effect those are not as successful. The problem is that some, if not most of these people don’t have the civil responsibility to match, and therefore most of the policies that are endorsed and made by these people are rather self-serving, usually at the cost of the less fortunate.

The founding fathers had a great idea. They set up an economic and governmental system that worked, and was a great departure from the hierarchical and caste systems of the ancient world. All men were created equal. Some men, however, became greater than equal, and wanted to stay that way. The founding fathers may have had too much faith in humanity, or more to the point, humanity faced with absolute power. They knew this too, creating checks and balances and spreading out the power of the government. What happens when all of these people who are supposed to be governing each other, fall victim to the smaller, yet still great amount of power that they possess (or should I say possesses them)?

Rich get richer, poor get poorer. It is the oldest story and communism is certainly not the answer. Either is socialism. There is no answer, not an easy one. There is a great and fundamental change that needs to take place in the education and consciousness of this nation, starting at home. Trade in thermonuclear warheads for textbooks. Don't abandon faith, but have in humanity, not just God. Try to understand instead of destroy. We can start today. Or in four more years. The democrats aren’t the answer, either are the Republicans. The old system works, it just needs to be cleaned out. We can start locally. I say “we”, because, even if the government controls everything, WE still have the power to choose it.

I have so much more to say, but no time. I am deeply sorry for ending this post this way, perhaps I will amend it at a later date.

I was going to post this yesterday, but.... I was too concerned with Myanmar and Greenland.

So instead you get it now.

M had worked since 6:30 that morning, and was therefore quite tired by the time 7:30 had rolled around that evening. She and I were both rather hungry, so we stopped for food at a local diner. The place was just bordering on 'too small to be a greasy spoon' and 'too big to be a fast food joint'. The red laminate tables gleamed against the white porcelain tile walls and counters. Bar stools lined the counter, and an ass was in every seat. I didn't think this place was normally that busy. There was an event nearby this evening, and so the place was unusually busy.

Above the counter and kitchen (if you could call it that) hung posters of various musicals. Les Miserables, Hello Dolly, Little Shop of Horrors, Cabaret, Can Can, and our personal favorite, Titanic: the musical. I reeled as M commented how in ten years there would be 9/11: the musical. I would be so excited. Think of the whole line of shows, they could all have the same cast and producers, Earthquake: the musical, Chicago Fire: the musical, Fallujah: the musical. You know, a review style show, people dancing and singing, jubilant at their own eminent doom and destruction, flayed flesh flying around on stage(fake of course, they would use scrap meat from the yards), and at the end, all the characters, alive, dead and horrible mangled would get up in a kick line and send the audience into cheers as they recap the themes of the show in harmonic unison. Beautiful. They would be better than "Cats" and people would see them again and again, all would get Tony noms and the primary cast members would go on to have incredible careers in that daytime drama show about love and deceit.

So we finished our food and walked over to this event. Walking into the venue we both felt great that for the first time in a while, we were not the oldest people at the show, as the opposite had been the prevailing trend at the last few concerts we had attended. This helped alleviate some of the stress of the day and of being in such a large crowd. It was sold out. The place was going to be at capacity. This isn't a hot prospect. The lavish decor and overall mood of the place set a different tone, all stone and tile, rich in color and design. More classic than modern, and warm. Deep, dark greens accenting cream with a hint of red. The main stairway opened up to the ballroom upstairs. And approaching the bar upstairs, we both were amazed at the view in front of us.

We were a little late. It was close to 8:30, but the place was already packed. A virtual sea of nearly 4000 people had gathered on the main floor. We stood at the bar in the back, ordering drinks and tried to sift our way around. Focused in the center on the opposite end of the building was the stage. The roof arched overhead like an airplane hanger. It was entirely massive and comfortable at once. We were on the main floor. 15' pillars flowed into arches that lined a threshold from the main hall to the main floor. Around the edges were various staircases and bars set up.

M and I walked around the side of the floor to another bar. Once there, we strafed sideways through one of the arches, nearly tripping on the one step down onto the floor. We were at that instant, in the sea. Looking around provided an incredible view of the lush recreation of a medieval court. The mock stonework and towers lined the upper deck, supported by the pillars and archways. Right there, standing in the middle of this, looking around at this magnificent interior architecture, the lights dimmed out. The crowd screamed in anticipation. The lights on stage blasted on, pointed almost directly at the audience. It was blinding, the guitars and bass and drums blasted a wonderful cacophony into our ears. The entire crowd, bouncing and staring into the purple, white and green hues.

The music penetrated my ribcage, a debaser of my biology, I could feel my organs rearranging themselves. It was damn near ritualistic, the throbbing crowd, fixated on the blinding lights and the creators of this sound. The clash of near metal licks and poetic verse. I wasn't drunk, but more incensed at the whole affair.

The room was gigantic, packed with warm fresh bodies. A plethora of young minds, warped by a wave of mutilation projected at them by the array of speakers. Overwhelming, pulsating, random and gorgeous. The dizzying array of noise, heat and light made me ask myself, "Where is my mind?"

By the end, the bright white lights flashed and beat the crowd into a near epileptic throb. We had made our way up to the second level and looked out over the crowd, in flashes, disappearing into the white.

At the end of it all the Pixies left the stage, having thoroughly rocked the shit out of us. M and I, as satisfied as a couple of sex addicts leaving an orgy, walked home. It was time to pass the fuck out. I don't know if anything I could write could do it justice. But I had to give you just a sense of what it was like. I don't think I did that good of a job.

HELP CANADA FREE GREENLAND FROM THE IMPERIALIST TYRANNY OF DENMARK !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FREE MYANMAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Can someone help this guy,
He is staring at his screen again,
Focus on the little details,
the numbers and letters.

He can't see very far,
His eyes trained on the pattern
he thinks it all makes sense
but doesn't feel any better.

He's been lost in the words,
drifting around in the meaning
the clutter in his brain,
all the things he knows.

So can you help this guy,
because he seems a little lost
looking at his feet move
instead of where he goes.

Look out
here he comes
losing his balance
he cant even see the horizon
let him
feel around
finding something
something to put his eyes on.

Look at this guy,
sitting in front of the tv
watching hour after hour
to find his salvation

He's become nearsighted
he can't even see the wall
trying to keep his finger
on the pulse of the nation.

This guy is stuck
eating twinkies and soda
stay inside all day
all for his protection

So can you help this guy?
he's been inside for years
he would go somewhere
but forgot which direction.

So, look out.
I say to him.
You can see all around
But don't know where you are.
Hey there,
I say to him,
You want to go somewhere
start reaching for the stars.

I just bought GTA San Andreas.

The problem is, I won't have the time to play it till about February....2007.

Here is a link to all of the previous RUBEN entries through Ruben Part III.

For those of you who are still paying attention to this...
here is Ruben part IV.

We had stored the ashes and some small bits of bone (still encased in celophane from the cigarette pack) in a small stone pot jar M bought me. The jar currently resides on the shelf of a wall unit, cleverly obscured by various curios. No one would ever know what is inside, except all of you. Shit. The cat's out of the bag. It is a nice recepticle and holds the remains rather well. I don't mind this being its permanent use. Not that it isnt a nice jar, it very much is. A green soapstone deal, with a round orange and brown spot stylishly blemishing one side (if you can consider something round having sides) lending the artice some interesting promenance. This however is not the point of this entry.

This is...
G called us and said that he was throwing a party. We were to pick up a keg, for which he was to pay us back. Being the classic beer snobs that we are, M and I picked up something nicer (and a bit more expensive) than Icehouse or Bud. I would say that for the one beer I had, it was worth it. Unfortunately, no one drank enough. The party wasn't quite full enough to warrant it. I should have bought a pony.

Instead of drinking, I lavished in some K and some Pot. The weed went over well and the K, well, it just made me a little dizzy and a bit stuffed up. Nonetheless, a good time. Some surprises made us a little upset.
One- The two girls who are to be wed soon, well, they just sat there chatting about what they were going to do for their weddings and the enormous rocks they were sporting (and still are), the Vera Wang dress they "needed". Alright, this was not so surprising, but more just annoying.
Two- I have always felt like I am outside of the group a little, and I am. That night, the default allergy attack from the K, made me feel even more so. I tried to keep a good mood, despite the discomfort. This was also not that surprising, but again, a bit annoying.
Three- The bulk remains of Ruben's ashes sat, stoic, on a chair out on the deck. I hadn't noticed, till someone took the bottle of Jack resting on the recepticle and had one for Ruben. Then we all had one for Ruben. You know, one last time. OK. But surprise, what the fuck was he doing there. It was a bit of a smack in the face. Nothing we were expecting at all.
Four- apparently, as we found out later, G had sex with someone that night. (This is not at all surprising) but Ruben's ashes were under his bed as he did this. He even made a smug comment about it in the middle of the act. The response was even worse, "I've done that before." All the 'reverence' he had for his best friend, I think just flew out the window.

That is it, in a nutshell. Shit. I just shake my head when I think about it. G called me the other day, and wanted to get together. I don't know, if I am in the mood for him anymore. Not like I was that simpatico with Ruben. Lord knows I was fuming mad at him for years, as a lot of people had been. But shit, there is respect for the dead, especially if the dead is one of your best friends...
One more on this Ruben kick and then we are done, I promise.

Call that line...

M left at 6. I woke up at 7. I left at 8:30.
Sometimes, I love taking my time in the morning.

I went through about 3 coats, until I found one appropriate for the rather dreary weather. The rain prevented me from using any sort of leather garment, aside from shoes, and it wasn't cold enough to justify a heavy jacket. The old oversized trenchcoat from my goth days won the match and was accompanied by the cutest PINK umbrella. My machismo was in full swing this morning, let me tell you. Nothing could stand out more against a black trench coat on a drabby day. I was a honking siren of gay...
I probably can't do that in Louisiana, or Georgia, or Texas?


I think I want to quit smoking. I have had one today. Maybe that can be my last. Mmmmmaybe not. But close.

Enough about me.

Here is Ruben Part I

Here is Ruben Part II

And here is ( Ruben Part III )