What follows is the beginning of a project I'm undertaking, where I'm receiving dictation from my guru, Ladi-Da Los, from THE HOLY MISTAKE?!. I feel blessed and cursed at the same time to have been chosen to be the transcriber of such a monumental opus such as this. THE HOLY MISTAKE?! has long been treasured in Yuthan culture as a mystery school initiation for acolytes of it's monk class. Taught as an oral tradition for centuries, it is now been allowed to disseminate into popular culture.
Ladi-Da has informed me to tell you to, "Understand, that even though this work is useed to initiate those ready for knowledge of the Yuthan Monks view, history, and interraction with the Clwnkind, it should not be taken as a literal presentation of the beginning of the Nothing-times. There is no amount of preparation that could prepare one for this event called 'The Holy Mistake'. The great masters are just letting people hear this for shits and giggles."
In leiu of this warning, I present you with the first paragraph of THE HOLY MISTAKE?!. I will be updating my blog more often, as I transcribe more of this work. Understand, because of the volatile nature of this knowledge, I must take it slow. Each word has been infused with giggle energy meditation, and strung together as artistically as it has been, packs a metaphysical whallop to the funbag.
Enjoy, and leave feedback, please.
Dr. Nemo
THE HOLY MISTAKE?!
"In the final days came a monstrous hope; terrible and mocking. The dog’s yelpings were silenced while the lambs kept watch. A hush settled among the grasslands. The only noises to be heard was the twitching and snorting of the nervous horses as the ominous breeze swept across the landscape. This hope. In deference to the guilty heart. Smelling of spring fruits and young things that have yet to lose something that they never knew they had. A ferocious virginity, like the warmth before the anaesthetizing onset of exposure. Bear witness, child. For this is a cautionary tale for the inevitably damned. An illustration of the beginning of the nothing-times."
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
The "C- word".
Cunt.
Possibly the most powerful word in the American language. It felt dangerous just to type it, forget actually saying it to someone.There are words out there that could be debated as being more powerful. I won't type them here, not because I feel that they shouldn't be typed, it's just that I have an itinerary that needs to be accomplished, and these words might lessen the impact of the blow.
What I believe, makes a word like this so powerful, is that it conjures in the head a demoralizing picture of someone (usually someone who has a history of being demoralized) as the ultimate state of human depravity. In this case, not only is this word used to describe an historically repressed person, a woman (let's admit it, womankind has been, and is the most repressed creature on earth. "Woman Is The Nigger Of The World"-Lennon.), but it also reduces her to a body part. Not only that, a sexual organ. The sexual organ itself, by means of it's utter hideousness, being the descriptive and qualifying element of the whole person.
I can truly understand why someone would be offended to hear this word. I myself, cringe at it's use.
HOWEVER...
that being said, there are some people out there in this plentiful world, who, in my opinion, have gained the right, by their actions, the ability to be entitled this most illustrious sobriquet.
Let me tell you about one of them.
Following up on a job posting for a major museum in Salem, cover letter and resume in hand, I find myself at the door of their main office. Upon entering the lobby area, I notice that the receptionist, a bespectacled portly woman in her mid-to-late fifties is chatting with a much more elderly woman standing before the desk. As soon as I step into the room, the receptionist cranes her head around the older woman and calls across the room at me, "Umm, can I help you?"
Now, because I know that they were in conversation, I'm taken a little offguard by her immediacy. However, I inquire with her about how I might leave a resume for inspection by Human Resources. She tells me that I need to fill out an application and hands me one, asking me what position I was looking to apply for. I tell her that I believe it was for a front desk position.
A look of horror crosses her face, and she says, "I don't think...You probably mean for across the street at the museum."
"Yes, customer greeter," I respond. I think she thought I was after her job for a moment.
"You have to fill out and return the application," she retorts.
I ask her for a pen and she widens her eyes again, and after a few seconds hands me one. Now, I'm trying not to read into this too much, but by her reactions it seems that she just wanted to be done with me. She didn't expect me to fill it out in the lobby. In fact, had this been the first time filling out my credentials, I probably would have taken it home, however, I had already perfected my resume twice, once more after accidentally deleteng it upon first completion, and I just wanted it to be out of my hands.
I go take a seat to fill it out, and the two women get back to their conversation about the elderly woman's dead husband, and how "it's all for the best now that he's in a much better place" and "blah, blah, blah."
I complete the redundancy of filling out the application. In fact I'm pretty much copying what I have on my resume onto the lines provided. Then application, cover letter, and resume in hand I approach the desk and put it into her out-stretched hand. With a curt "Thank you", she takes my resume, gets up from her desk and starts to trudge down the corridor thumbing through my application.
"Have a nice day," she says over her shoulder.
I go home.
Now, I know that with a big company like "The Museum That Shall Remain Nameless Albeit Obvious", one has to check in on the status of your application. The problem with this, being that there was no contact on the website. Not even a phone number to call.
Three days later,there I am, outside the main office doors again, dressed to the nines, to inquire about when I might hear something about maybe having an interview. I open the door, and find the receptionist talking to a couple of well-dressed businesswomen who are juggling leather binders while removing their jackets. The conversation seems lighthearted. That is, until I'm noticed by the receptionist.
The smile leaves her face, and once again, distressingly cutting off her conversation, inquires, "Umm, can I help you?"
I tell her that she probably remembers me from the other day when I turned in an application and resume and was wondering if anyone...
At this point she cuts me off by starting, "You probably didn't understand what I told you when..."
Just then the phone rings, which she immediately answers. Taking a message, she puts the caller on hold gets out of the chair and waddles down the hallway and through a door, leaving me and the two business women at the desk. Unlike me, it seems that the businesswomen were used to this kind of service, and remedied their own situation by gathering their things and walking down the hallway and entering another door.
In a state of shock, I'm left alone at the desk, wondering what it was that she could have told me that I didn't understand. She barely said anything to me. I mean, she barely treated me like a human. No smile. No "Good luck with your resume, we'll call you when it's been reviewed." Just the cold shoulder.
I thought, "No wonder she thought I was after her job. She sucks. No customer service whatsoever. No personality. Just some strange sense of entitlement."
She then comes shuffling back to the desk, steadying herself as she lowers her enormous ass into the chair, picks up the phone and relays a message. Hanging up the phone, without somuch as a glance in my direction, she starts,"Look, things don't work that fast. This is a big institution. You'll get a postcard, if we even look at your resume, to set up an interview. Just because you filled out an application doesn't necessarily meann that you're going to get an interview. We get tons of applications every day..."
And she went on, but I was only half listening at this point. I was numb. I couldn't believe how I was being treated by this bitch. She doesn't even know me. I wanted to cut her off, but I wanted to stay polite, too. Who knows how much power this woman holds here. She could just toss my resume in the circular file if she finds me not worthy. That's also assuming this hasn't already happened. Judging by the look of the desk's contents it seems that she's been here a while. It was a clutter with kitty-cat pen holders, pictures of relatives, and all manner of polar bear trinkets and clippings. I could picture one of those cute little polar bears lovingly tearing through her sweater and putting an end to her entitlement.
After she finishes her tirade, and tells me to await the postcard, I answer, "Oh, ok. You see I had no idea. I wouldn't have bothered you had I known this. Thank-you. Have a nice day."
With a smile (A SMILE!!!!) she says, "You, too," as I turn and exit through the doors from whence I hath came.
CUNT!
You know... if just...I mean..she probably...aaaah fuck it. She's a cunt. As Angelo Moore from the funk band Fishbone put it..."Sorry, that's just how I feel, man!"
As if that weren't enough, when I get home, waiting in the letterbox for me is the stupid postcard.
"Dear Applicant,
We have received your resume and/or application..."
Ugh.
If I had just checked my mail, I wouldn't have had to go humiliate myself like that, and I wouldn't have had to mentally call that woman the dreaded C-word in my mind. (If Woody had gone straight to the police, none of this would have happened!)
Goddamn CUNTS!
Possibly the most powerful word in the American language. It felt dangerous just to type it, forget actually saying it to someone.There are words out there that could be debated as being more powerful. I won't type them here, not because I feel that they shouldn't be typed, it's just that I have an itinerary that needs to be accomplished, and these words might lessen the impact of the blow.
What I believe, makes a word like this so powerful, is that it conjures in the head a demoralizing picture of someone (usually someone who has a history of being demoralized) as the ultimate state of human depravity. In this case, not only is this word used to describe an historically repressed person, a woman (let's admit it, womankind has been, and is the most repressed creature on earth. "Woman Is The Nigger Of The World"-Lennon.), but it also reduces her to a body part. Not only that, a sexual organ. The sexual organ itself, by means of it's utter hideousness, being the descriptive and qualifying element of the whole person.
I can truly understand why someone would be offended to hear this word. I myself, cringe at it's use.
HOWEVER...
that being said, there are some people out there in this plentiful world, who, in my opinion, have gained the right, by their actions, the ability to be entitled this most illustrious sobriquet.
Let me tell you about one of them.
Following up on a job posting for a major museum in Salem, cover letter and resume in hand, I find myself at the door of their main office. Upon entering the lobby area, I notice that the receptionist, a bespectacled portly woman in her mid-to-late fifties is chatting with a much more elderly woman standing before the desk. As soon as I step into the room, the receptionist cranes her head around the older woman and calls across the room at me, "Umm, can I help you?"
Now, because I know that they were in conversation, I'm taken a little offguard by her immediacy. However, I inquire with her about how I might leave a resume for inspection by Human Resources. She tells me that I need to fill out an application and hands me one, asking me what position I was looking to apply for. I tell her that I believe it was for a front desk position.
A look of horror crosses her face, and she says, "I don't think...You probably mean for across the street at the museum."
"Yes, customer greeter," I respond. I think she thought I was after her job for a moment.
"You have to fill out and return the application," she retorts.
I ask her for a pen and she widens her eyes again, and after a few seconds hands me one. Now, I'm trying not to read into this too much, but by her reactions it seems that she just wanted to be done with me. She didn't expect me to fill it out in the lobby. In fact, had this been the first time filling out my credentials, I probably would have taken it home, however, I had already perfected my resume twice, once more after accidentally deleteng it upon first completion, and I just wanted it to be out of my hands.
I go take a seat to fill it out, and the two women get back to their conversation about the elderly woman's dead husband, and how "it's all for the best now that he's in a much better place" and "blah, blah, blah."
I complete the redundancy of filling out the application. In fact I'm pretty much copying what I have on my resume onto the lines provided. Then application, cover letter, and resume in hand I approach the desk and put it into her out-stretched hand. With a curt "Thank you", she takes my resume, gets up from her desk and starts to trudge down the corridor thumbing through my application.
"Have a nice day," she says over her shoulder.
I go home.
Now, I know that with a big company like "The Museum That Shall Remain Nameless Albeit Obvious", one has to check in on the status of your application. The problem with this, being that there was no contact on the website. Not even a phone number to call.
Three days later,there I am, outside the main office doors again, dressed to the nines, to inquire about when I might hear something about maybe having an interview. I open the door, and find the receptionist talking to a couple of well-dressed businesswomen who are juggling leather binders while removing their jackets. The conversation seems lighthearted. That is, until I'm noticed by the receptionist.
The smile leaves her face, and once again, distressingly cutting off her conversation, inquires, "Umm, can I help you?"
I tell her that she probably remembers me from the other day when I turned in an application and resume and was wondering if anyone...
At this point she cuts me off by starting, "You probably didn't understand what I told you when..."
Just then the phone rings, which she immediately answers. Taking a message, she puts the caller on hold gets out of the chair and waddles down the hallway and through a door, leaving me and the two business women at the desk. Unlike me, it seems that the businesswomen were used to this kind of service, and remedied their own situation by gathering their things and walking down the hallway and entering another door.
In a state of shock, I'm left alone at the desk, wondering what it was that she could have told me that I didn't understand. She barely said anything to me. I mean, she barely treated me like a human. No smile. No "Good luck with your resume, we'll call you when it's been reviewed." Just the cold shoulder.
I thought, "No wonder she thought I was after her job. She sucks. No customer service whatsoever. No personality. Just some strange sense of entitlement."
She then comes shuffling back to the desk, steadying herself as she lowers her enormous ass into the chair, picks up the phone and relays a message. Hanging up the phone, without somuch as a glance in my direction, she starts,"Look, things don't work that fast. This is a big institution. You'll get a postcard, if we even look at your resume, to set up an interview. Just because you filled out an application doesn't necessarily meann that you're going to get an interview. We get tons of applications every day..."
And she went on, but I was only half listening at this point. I was numb. I couldn't believe how I was being treated by this bitch. She doesn't even know me. I wanted to cut her off, but I wanted to stay polite, too. Who knows how much power this woman holds here. She could just toss my resume in the circular file if she finds me not worthy. That's also assuming this hasn't already happened. Judging by the look of the desk's contents it seems that she's been here a while. It was a clutter with kitty-cat pen holders, pictures of relatives, and all manner of polar bear trinkets and clippings. I could picture one of those cute little polar bears lovingly tearing through her sweater and putting an end to her entitlement.
After she finishes her tirade, and tells me to await the postcard, I answer, "Oh, ok. You see I had no idea. I wouldn't have bothered you had I known this. Thank-you. Have a nice day."
With a smile (A SMILE!!!!) she says, "You, too," as I turn and exit through the doors from whence I hath came.
CUNT!
You know... if just...I mean..she probably...aaaah fuck it. She's a cunt. As Angelo Moore from the funk band Fishbone put it..."Sorry, that's just how I feel, man!"
As if that weren't enough, when I get home, waiting in the letterbox for me is the stupid postcard.
"Dear Applicant,
We have received your resume and/or application..."
Ugh.
If I had just checked my mail, I wouldn't have had to go humiliate myself like that, and I wouldn't have had to mentally call that woman the dreaded C-word in my mind. (If Woody had gone straight to the police, none of this would have happened!)
Goddamn CUNTS!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Midnight O'clock!
Back from the Gulu-Gulu cafe, where I, in my most extroverted form, made living sound upon the boisterous yet accepting crowd. It gives me new hope, to feel that I am accepted, playing choice tones, upon the constructed sonic art of others.
I have been invited back, by those who are running the show, every wednesday (we'll see how long that lasts). However, it felt great, to be accepted tonight.
I read my own poetry, drank beers, and played on a number of peoples' sets that I've never met before.
Life is G____!
for now
Peace and Sweet Dreams.
B
I have been invited back, by those who are running the show, every wednesday (we'll see how long that lasts). However, it felt great, to be accepted tonight.
I read my own poetry, drank beers, and played on a number of peoples' sets that I've never met before.
Life is G____!
for now
Peace and Sweet Dreams.
B
The first blog...before there is something true to say.
...and so it begins. The morning slowly automatically adjusts it's resolution. Blur slink through the speakers, imploring "we're all drug takers", like LSD shamans trying to get some play in a club that sells drinks in plastic cups that glow television blue from the neon bar light. I look down at my homemade cappuccino, which, because of my lousy machine, is pretty much a strong cafe au lait.
A very strong cafe au lait.
An extremely yummy and powerful cafe au lait.
I change my mind... great machine, bad marketing.
Either way... drugs.
Drugs to jumpstart my mornin' horsey.
Drugs that will set me down the path of the day's accomplishments. (start a blog, pay bills, clean rug, take an Illustrator CS lesson, draw for my children's book, design my business card, play saxophone)
One down, six to go.
Oh yeah, I wanna buy some beer.
Seven to go.
I hope drugs don't get in the way.
A very strong cafe au lait.
An extremely yummy and powerful cafe au lait.
I change my mind... great machine, bad marketing.
Either way... drugs.
Drugs to jumpstart my mornin' horsey.
Drugs that will set me down the path of the day's accomplishments. (start a blog, pay bills, clean rug, take an Illustrator CS lesson, draw for my children's book, design my business card, play saxophone)
One down, six to go.
Oh yeah, I wanna buy some beer.
Seven to go.
I hope drugs don't get in the way.
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