good deed for the day

Plotkin left gluetraps and it turns out I really have been hearing a mouse crying in the kitchen all day. I couldn't figure out where the sound was coming from, and thought maybe it was all in my head. It wasn't.

Plotkin was the exterminator. He would catch them on the traps, let them suffer awhile, and then drown them in a bucket when he could be bothered. I don't like gluetraps. I'd rather poison them, except for the part where they die in the walls and smell.

This is the first place I've lived with mice. At McKibbin we had RATS; huge rats. They never came in the apartment, though. Not that I ever saw evidence of.

They scare me, and I am not cool with them running around and shitting, etc., but I've never killed anything in my life and I don't wanna start in case I can't stop. The whole thing breaks my heart and/or creeps me out.

I put the trap in an aquarium and vegetable oil on the trap. It is the tiniest thing. Its hind legs were sticking out and into the air, and I worried for a moment that it was in rigor, or dead with nerve spasms. When I touched the trap it sprung to life. I could almost see its heart pound out through its chest.

Soon the mouse's entire body was covered in vegetable oil and it stopped moving. I was worried again that it had died, from fright or from the vegetable oil, but then it put its hind legs down and pulled free of the trap, running into the shredded Sports section of The Daily Advertiser. I knew exactly where it was at first because the paper pulsed, no doubt from the exertion and terror, etc.

The paper is pulsing no more, but I think it is still alive. I put a french fry, three peanuts, and a hershey's kiss in the cage and surrounded it with stuff so the light doesn't come through as much. Let it chill out and get its bearings.

I don't know what to do with it. I mean, I caged it so I could make sure it got better and wasn't killed right away by whatever. I'm leaving town in two days and don't have anyone to fob it off on. It will take a couple of days to recover anyway, and then if I let it go in the apartment it will survive to breed more someday.

I wish I could talk to mice. Give them areas of free roam, and prohibitions so we could all live together.


poor old kaw liga

this boy is kryptonite. i am lucky i have no lex luthor. instead this superman is gonna keep away keep away. tried to kiss cheek people tonight but they kept moving me towards their lips. people making out with their friends as they say goodbye. too much. it's too much display for too little advantage. show started late and could hear actors changing behind me and had to fight the urge to turn around and make sure they weren't going to kill me. assassins!

watched some videos. gio is so watchable but there is no message. almost a waste, but like fireworks. everyone talking about fireworks. fireworks and london. before i left found people to commiserate with me over the death of mrs. slocombre. on the way home cabbie was native english speaker. $6 but gave him $10 cos he seemed interested in our conversation but didn't intrude. stephen just slipped out the backdoor and i've got 20 pages to write before i sleep. good luck with that.


The Internets is Serious Business

Googling myself and if you look hard and intuitively enough you can find Catch Cloth, the rules blog, both myspaces, my livejournal, my xtube profile, almost everything just from my name. All you would need is a reason to be interested.

I want to deny it all, but then I don't know who I was anymore than who I am. Some of it isn't even really about me - or from my point of view. I've never done cocaine with a Dominican cab driver; had him shine a flashlight a Filipino boy's asshole while I play with it in the backseat. I mean...there would be too much glare off the bulletproof glass divider. I riff on people I meet or observe and the things they say and feel and say they feel.

Let me also say that not everything I favorite on Xtube is something that turns me on. Sometimes I add things because people say something funny, or they are especially depressing, or peculiar.

The internets are serious business.

If you are researching me as a consideration towards hiring me for whatever...it must be true that what I spew on to the web is representational of what's it my head; although how you interpret this I don't have a lot of control over. Is your interpretation me? Maybe. I've had ten relationships in my life and each one failed because my partner failed to misunderstand me. I don't want us to make the same mistake.

When I die it's going to be mostly this that's left, unless it's just me that dies and someone else picks up my torch.

I've had a strange life. Actually, I've just had my life, and maybe I react to it with surprise when there is none at all. Or maybe my perceptions of reality are what make it genuinely strange. I hope I am remembered as a faker, but the good kind of faker: a tremendous liar with hidden truths that are more peculiar than his fictions.

I guess this is what I find curious about me. I can lie to anyone and have them come out of our interaction believing that lie so completely that if provided a stimulus they will disseminate and act upon that lie. It's telling the truth where everything falls apart. My convictions are swept aside. My earnestness might not be believed. Everything only works when I am actively manipulating the situation, and when I actively manipulate everything is fine.

I feel like I do this for GOOD and ORDER, although I would rather be defended by others on this than make the claim myself. I can manipulate my way into fucking anyone. Almost anyone. It's when I let the defenses drop and try to be "real" that the world gets the better of me. Even if I don't want to be "real" I still get lazy after a while.

I labor daily under the assumption that manipulation, lying, and deceit are SINS. Today I am thinking that they are no more good or bad than one can say a gun or a hammer is EVIL within itself. Intent is everything and there is still all this programming to break through and I'm 32 and feel my brain hardening and I worry that I won't corrupt the world and put it on track towards better things.

If I can give just one point of view to just one other person goodly enough to read my rantings, then maybe I can affect their perception. And then it might spread. Without attribution, without conscious focus; a ramble becomes a stray thought becomes a koan becomes a different approach to reality.

This happens to me all the time. People on the subway, my roommates, bureaucrats who give out the hydrant permits: all of these people affect my perception (usually in ways they do not intend and without agenda) in small clicks - 360 clicks in a wheel and the world is new again.

So how can you fault me? How can you deny me employment because of what I say in my Myspace "About Me", when each phrase has the chance of pushing collective reality in some small way towards a minutely different direction?

Besides, how can anyone judge me? A boy once told me he couldn't imagine being my boyfriend because I was too much like a comic book character. My ex-roommate compared me unfavorably to Ignatius J. Reilly. I am an absurdity. I don't exist. I am a fictional character. Fictional characters don't have real life boyfriends.

Whatever. If this is about a job then you are something like show-folk and are barely real yourself. You and me might be equally damaged. Maybe you wouldn't like my style, but it is what it is.

In six months I will be 33. Jesus time. I've gotta streamline all this life I have into a new identity so I can actively control perception of my manipulation. No matter what I do. If I stay here or drive cars across the country or escape on a boat to Cuba I've gotta get all this together and start with the miracles soon, or start doing something I can do when I'm old.



the last days of adolf hitler they were in this bunker under the earth with a ventilation system that made this constant whoam whoam whoam whoom sound. it was a backdrop to every interaction. every dream. every tinkle.

like, three days before he killed himself he completed a scale model of his hometown as he would remake it after the war. documentary with "hitler's friends" says they didn't take it as a cue that he was mad, rather that he must have some secret weapon to be making such plans while they were in imminant danger of being killed/captured.

and in the background while hitler makes the scale model, while strategy is debated, while the secretaries type up letters to people who are already dead; there is this constant sound in the background of the whoam whoam whoam whoom.

i think about this all the time these days. not to compare myself to hitler, but i feel like i am in this place making the scale model while death closes in. failure. the achievements of a non-essential man.


today's opiates only serve to make us restless

I don't know if you have this where you live, but in Manhattan we have an OnDemand channel on digital cable called Response. You enter your viewer ID number with the remote and then you call the generated phone number and leave 15 seconds worth of message into a machine.

They give you a little thing to read on the screen. Mine was These are the times that try men's souls. In this time of hardship the summer soldier and the sunshine patriot shall shrink from the service of their country...

The system takes cues from random permutations drawn off your ID number, and combines this with the information it derives from your voice, using what they call in the brochure Aural Augery Imaging. They throw all this up against Jung's commentaries on the I Ching and sort of predict your future by taking the totality of your present state and staking out the highest probability outcome out of all likely possibilities. This is your Presence of Being, or POB.

Your POB is then paired with programming Response Network OnDemand has clearance for and the television show that will have the greatest resonance with you in your current state is selected and played.

What's totally amazing is how accurate the network is in determining what it is you need to see. There's no flipping involved. It's just there. The choice is made for you and it's always right on.

I'm finally going through all these boxes of everything from when I move or rearrange the furniture - like layers of Troy in the ground - and I just wanted something to have on while I sort old Schedule A's and call sheets by project and date. Response selected an episode of Night Court for me in which Dan Fielding laments that his whole life can be fit into cardboard boxes - that he eats TV dinners over the trash can alone every night.



gresham's law

everyone has a certain number of words to get out each day. i've said almost nothing to anyone in three weeks, so here are all my words at once.


been looking up rash diseases online for hours trying to figure out what is wrong with me. scabies? bedbugs? if it's crabs then it isn't just crabs because i've had crabs and this is more than that.

the time table is weird. if it's scabies, then i picked it up doing crafty on IASA, which is seemingly possible cos it's a filthy job but i haven't fucked in 4eva. how would i suddenly get bedbugs? or scabies? or crabs? besides toilet seats...

but then it could be something i picked up in this most recent rental car. spent 10 hours a day in that car, so it's totally possible that an infection of anything could be that immediate.

anyway, driving myself crazy and then i stumbled upon this:

so now it is possible that i am having an allergic reaction to pennies. cos...see...during the five days i spent a lot of time dividing an enormous amount of pennies into different jars by date. over 15,000 pennies (and separating them from twice as many coins of other denomination) as it turns out.

THE REASON i did this is because:
1. For the two days after IASA and before Rhode Island I wasn't sure I even had money to pay rent.
2. It was something a character I was...am writing did and I was being all method.

Every job I have petty cash and am buying things all the time. I always let my coins accumulate and squirrel them away at the end of the night in my apartment because I am OCD and also cos the spare change from petty cash expenditures really adds up and can sustain you at a minimal level of existance for anywhere from 2 weeks to 3 months, besides rent.

So...you know...using what's there. Anyway, pennies made after 1982 contain zinc which kills you if you swallow them, and can cause RASHES if you handle. Yesterday I put 7,000 of these poison pennies in the duane reade coinstar. I touched each and every one of those 7,000 cent pieces.

I mean, I'm allergic to everything. Random everything. I'm not allergic to poison ivy or oak. I am allergic to raw okra, latex, sunlight, tobacco, and penecillin. I've been allergic to soaps, colognes, and occasionally the sweat/phermones/whatever of certain sexual partners.

Maybe it's not the pennies. Maybe I have AIDS. Maybe I have skin cancer. The point is I AM NOT A DOCTOR, and I'm going to stop washing everything cloth in my room for the night and make an appointment at callen-lourde tomorrow.

that's what's up with me.

EDIT: No STDs. No cancer. Eczema. I have a eczema-allergies-asthma triangle. I am surprisingly healthy.



We got MTV in 1989-90. Even then the complaint was that they didn't play enough music on Music Television. Now, of course, MTV is a wasteland of daylong marathons of bite-sized reality shows featuring real people no one cares about or would want to know; but back in the day, despite the dearth of music, we at least had Remote Control and Liquid Television.

In the 90s there was a once a week, two hour long block of music videos with the programming name 120 Minutes. Today in the shiny aughts you can watch 120 again on VH1 Classic (channel 136 in mnh), which is weird cos when I think of Classic VH1 I think of Peter Cetera and Phil Collins. In its day 120 felt like the antithesis of VH1, and even of MTV.

I suppose I'm lucky that the decline of MTV occurred at the same time in my adolescence that I desperately needed something normal to rebel against. Once I listened to Acetone's Cindy I never looked back.

But those were different times. We had internet (more BBS's, really, and sites made up entirely of text, milk was 10 cents and we walked to school in the snow, etc.) a year later, but it was nothing like it is now. If you wanted to hear, say, an obscure song by blur, then you had to go to a fringe music store and order it out of a large hardcopy book that was updated monthly. Then the shopowner would call England and you'd have your import single in 2-8 weeks.

Now I just type the name of the band into my little google box at the top and pages come up with the full song and music video, and this media plays at my discretion and on demand. I can save this media and it can all be free. Almost everything that is currently existing is there for you, and then everything from the past is only slightly scarcer.

My thought is this. Every weekend they would throw in some old music videos from the early 80s, along with all the new "buzzworthy" videos. In 1992 Video Killed the Radio Star was already over a decade old, and it felt ancient. Like it was part of the Torah, and we were living in Macabees. Anyway, this would be your chance to see a music video by the Kinks or Echo & the Bunnymen without having to order a VHS/CD/tape/LP from somewhere far away. Images of the world from before our individual awarenesses.

A Depeche Mode video, were it to be played on MTV today, would be well over 20 years old. The 1991 equiv of this would be a Grand Funk Railroad video, or Janis Joplin singing live. This did happen sometimes but it always felt ancient. Smells Like Teen Spirit is further away in time from us today than the Buggles were to me then.

So how will the succeeding waves of Youth react to this type of world? Will they take advantage of having access to almost the entire history of music and noise from around the world, or will the increasing variety of choice force them into finding one narrow niche and running down it with blinders on?

I mean, I feel like I had too much choice preventing me from committing to anything. And look at me. Instead of having a solid job and a house and broodlings, I'm a faggot in new york who can't even put a name to what his career is, if it is a career at all. For the next three weeks my gig is to drive stuff back and forth between the city and some place in rhode island. Four hours each way. In three weeks the job goes away and I go back to the void, waiting to be summoned again.

No choices. They give cheddar to the swamp rat and it runs through their maze. Set up your nest in a building somewhere and stay there until the developers force you out; again and again and again.

I need to leave and can not wrap this up properly, but it sort of feels like the world was more interesting (if frustrating) when you had to seek and quest for everything good and beautiful in this world to identify with and use for building your sense of who you are, than today where everything is just out there all the time like a table full of too much cocktail food and it's all like - "that's nice. that's nice." but nothing really grabs you and you end up just drinking too much and throwing up.