Freewrite

Br R T Y U G The Mystifying Oracle

“These aint no ordinary lyrics man, this is your Obituary”

O-bitch-uary

Elliot’s not dead, he’s in Pawtucket, and he’s recovering, he is, or at least the internet says so. “Master El.” The internet says so. I know we remember the things we say, the things the other person says. I know you remember me because you ask questions later on that show you still remember, and it means you still think about me, when I’m not there.

I know Adam loves me because he tells me so, but also I know this because he tries to cheer me up when I’m obviously mad [at him], and he says my name in a sing-songy voice when he nuzzles me [while i'm still mad]. I am not sure what it means that I think about other people sometimes. It might be normal. Normal, that is, it might be acceptable for a healthy romantic relationship. Romantic? Scratch that, it doesn’t have to be romantic to be healthy and beneficial.

I need my paycheck; I hope it’s A) paid with the proper wage rate, and B) padded with the amount missing from last time. Don’t rip me off. I work.

Sometimes I want to be a “foxy lady” again. For the fun of it, for the fun in it. I’ve almost forgotten the fun of it, and what it’s like, and I can’t believe I don’t remember, because it hasn’t been very long. I haven’t called Sydney yet. I’m the worst when it comes to “keeping in touch” and “calling.”

People should not keep in touch. People should go with the flow.

I just got a text message and I think it’s from Adam, and the suspense is too strong to keep me away any longer.

I need a bike

I wish Mike Mullet were home because he’s the only person downstairs I comfortably enjoy being around. I’d ask him if I could borrow his bike. Mine caught a flat two days ago, and I haven’t been able to fix it.

You know that scene where the person’s walking down the sidewalk, some asshole car drives by, right through a HUGE deep puddle, and the victim on the sidewalk gets SPRAYED in dirty water, leaves, and urban debris?

Yeah, that was me about ten minutes ago.

At first I was mad that the radio was on when I walked upstairs, because Sinnae’s always leaving all the lights on and the front door wide open when she goes to work, and I don’t think I should pay half of the electricity bill for that reason. But I’ve been listening to the radio for a while now, and it’s actually quite comforting, to have these voices, static, murmuring all around me.

Also, that stupid party is in two days and I’m so nervous, the board’s not ready, and our place is still a wreck.

today is tuesday, almost friday, the end of the month

i am working, working on cleaning, clearing our space, for the halloween pre-party, painting the giant ouija board, i need to make my horse-helmet, and rest of the costume, bike class is finished, slipcasting class is halfway, but i need to decide on my final product, i need to reschedule my radio sit-ins because i blew both, i need to call American Payroll, and i need to do 2007 taxes because i need to do my FAFSA because im supposed to go back to “school” next year.

i’m annoyed that sinnae is going to WORK at the AVON for HALLOWEEN because this thing the two of us are hosting, i’m going to be the only one now, great, me, crowd control, yeah right

response post to the hypnotism session

Yes

Yes.

Yes, I am alone right now.

Yes

Yes I am sure

No

No I am not sure

Am I not sure? I am not sure. Someone could be here with me. Technically. But-

No

I am sure.

Yes, I am alone.

No

No I am not cold.

What? If I were drowning? What if I were drowning?

Well then-

-then yes, I would be cold. I would be drowning in the living room, I would be alone, and I would be cold.

Yes, I am sure.

Unless the water is warm- possibly dirty- I’m not sure, then- it could be warm. I might be drowning, and I might be warm.

So,

No.

No, I’m not sure.

I might be alone. I’m not cold, though I’m not sure whether or not I might be cold if I were drowning, right here, right now, possibly alone.

GET RICH QUICK

“Sometimes, I look at those salary slaves… imagining I could have easily ended up that way, living such a  life.”

A minor line in “Ichi the Killer”, spoken by a minor yakuza character, I pondered it over on my bike ride home tonight. Salary slave…

Are you a salary slave? Are you bound to your wages, dependent on your next paycheck? Have you ended up this way, living such a life? Even if I’ve freed myself from the fear of social stigmatization, the symbols, the signals, the boundaries, the desire to scale the pyramid…

Am I still a slave to my own MONETARY NEEDS?! Food?! and shelter?!

No, but… I am still a slave to money-earning method, that is, hours-and-wages, or, money as value. To be traded for labor or else.

What if I said, “FUCK THAT?!” What if I said, “I WILL JUST HAVE MONEY.” As in, I will just have it, I am not trading you anything, you, give me your money, and the money, now, appropriated, hahah ha ha ha!

The variable= the will

The equation ???? = the way

The answer= end result! $$$$ profit $$$

me+ ???= $PROFIT$$

Also:

-I am telling Sinnae about how I will start a website in which we document our artistic explorations of internet memes.

-Pop Art: Instead of what it is, what it will be.. that is, tacky.

I am very serious about this.

DEADLOCK

You respond curtly, as if to mean, “How dull,” “How unamusing,” but I wonder if it takes a dull and unamusing person to interpret such simple and open statements as dull and unamusing.

///

I ordered the Hunan chicken.

They served it to me on the same “ming”-style plates that I recognize from home. Except this time, what lay on the plate failed to titillate. Every dish they make involve the same defrosted vegetables, same rubbery meats, same sauce-from-the-cans. The only thing that makes it Hunan, Szechaun, or Sukiyaki, are the various ingredient sequences, and permutations of arrangement- that is, on the “ming” plate.

The fuschia bits in the egg rolls bother me the most. It contradicts my biological instincts, to ingest things that glow fluorescent under UV lights. Though I usually eat everything clean off my plate, I leave the fuschia behind

Sergei breathes loud and awful

I hear him wheezing and I know how it feels. How can I help? I’d put him out of his misery, if I could come up with a solution.. the least miserable.

God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

What else can I say to my pets? I’m sorry!

some new things to me

1. Cool in the Pool- Holger Czukay

2. Chico Hamilton Quartet

3. The Republican National Convention riots

4. how Blair snapped under pressure and killed two chickens with a hammer

5. old maps and their funny symbols and placements

6. “Cartography” as a field

7. $2000 bibles with gold edges, hinges, and historical-like illustrations

8. The oldest map, the T & O, had three parts: Asia, Europe, and Africa

9. “Phares Dans La Tempte- La Jumet”, Guichard lighthouse photo

10. Adam ate a chicken sandwich today and they paid him $100

Freewrite

Something to say, something to say…

I’m going to write a book, and I had a few stories ready. There was this woman… there was this man… and what was unusual about them was… well I can’t remember now what great ideas I had then, while I was riding my bicycle, but I vaguely remember the color green. I have many good ideas and moments spent on my bicycle. It might be rewarding to start carrying a voice recorder, like Hunter S. Thompson did, except I’m not a copycat, I’m an improver.

Haha, I’m not a copycat, fuck that, I’m so “avant-garde”

And I say “avant-garde,” with quotes, because what’s so special about it anyway? Ah, it’s french. It’s french and that makes it incomparably different to any term in English.

I wish more of my friends would get along. Or perhaps I don’t wish it, like I’d like to will it to happen- I think it would be nice though, wouldn’t it? If everyone I liked, liked each other. Though i don’t know better than God would. It’s probably best this way, for reasons unknown to me. If all the people I ever liked, liked each other, I’m sure other complexes would arise; For example, I’d probably wish all the people I ever liked didn’t like each other so much, because I want the be the person they prefer in the situation we’re all in, or you know, some relationships, I might like to retain as “intimate,” or whatever.

I love to scream, primal scream, at the top of my lungs, and/or vocalizing how I want, what I want, however I want it. Just vocalizing, not verbalizing. I don’t do it often, but when I can, when my possible range of sound is unlimited, with no direct consequences attached, I feel free.

Sergei’s dying. I’m waiting for it.

THE GREAT PUZZLES SO FAR

WHO? WHAT? WHERE? WHEN? WHY? HOW?

A. God

B. Love

C. Truth

D. Evil