Epilogue

It is too bold for any scribbler to keep his scratch papers public to the world, nevertheless, all these small scraps of me on this blog look and read as amusing to me as they are embarrassing. Looking at the course of my transformation from an experimentalist stripped of his beloved native tools of communication which he had precariously improved over the years, is stunning to myself. The challenge of driving this newly built verbal vessel is inviting me for the new. Time to set sails for new shores.

Note

I am tangled up with routine, soon will find more time.

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She was arrested and charged with resistance and battery around Hoover tower. They didn't let him in.

She switched from math to poetry. "May be it is better for you to pick up a job that leaves you a couple of minutes a day. A well paying job? That's how they get you."
They didn't get her. Just marked her with numbers. Took off her clothes and numbered her on her thigh.
"What is the point of self centered narcissistic writing?"
He didn't make it to Hoover tower because last Friday she sat and didn't stand up.

Cortazar

I ran into Hopscotch by Cortazar, not all accidentally, a friend of mine who is fluent enough in Spanish was carrying the book around and mentioned that it is an involved sample of Spanish prose.

Well, so I should tell you how I met this obscure surreptitious friend of mine, who ignored my cellular announcement of coming to the city. Later during an intermission, guess what. That's him in the crowd. In his dark green a la revolucion army coat, his tired eyes finds my puzzled face. He is more weathered than I was expecting. Hey where have you been? I know that he goes through hard times, but better than mine.

Cortazar like Borges has his own presentation of labyrinth, but his experiments rather remind of .html files. At the book introduction, he, ignoring the reader's bewilderment, advises two ways to read the book, first you can read it normally to the half and it will be finished, Or you start from some chapter, might be seventy something and at the end of each chapter he will refer you to a new chapter. This is the only novel in hypertext I know of out of the net.

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Sand and sky.
So you stay in town tonight? Why does anyone want to pick up a moist connection for a life time? what is the sharp connotation of passion in her eyes? Is it true that all of us is a new lost child after twenty five? Did you find everything ok?
No I didn't. You.
I was held responsible for the places and times I don't care about. Poor pair of lively hazel eyes. Aren't you mistaken.
I will collect all my pieces off your hand.
"Ok ok". You are off back to my madness. See everything is pretty here. Even you.

Another Blog: Flicto

I will be writing a new blog: Flicto. The new one will be more politically incorrect. I will write solely about what I should be writing about. It is a flictorama.

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We lie on a pile of hay. The black land is done. Beautiful. He scratches his stomach and asks me if I know what is hiding behind that row of tall trees.
-Russia
His index finger to the reverse direction
-Acres and acres of swampy wetlands, salmon and hungry birds
Left
-Sun sinking
Right
-The cows

“Cartoons”

Annoying things are going on these days around the world. Flaming hate and angry mobs on both sides cursing each other. Reading Huntington 5 years ago, I couldn’t predict it might happen this way. I hope this wide and hideous gap of hate and misunderstanding between two sides of this holy war embarrasses the directors of the show.

“Good Byology” by Kerouac

I happened to watch ( thanks to the Boticelli’s girl for sending me to the Green to check out the VHS) a visional trilogy of the beat :
“Pull my Daisy” by Robert Frank,
The poet accompanies the painter to his house where a wife is starting the world by unleashing windows in the morning. They would be joined by Allen and others and the bishop( Allen Ginsberg the way he is, as a balding child, his daggering words narrated by Kerouac) during the half an hour of their questioning the “bishop”: ” Bishop! Is America holy? Is your sister holy? Is holy holy?..”

“The last Clean shirt” By Alfred Leslie and Frank O’Hara. A comprehensive description here.

“Birth of a nation 1965”

More to come.

Soothing HTML ( the kid I haven’t become)

It doesn’t sound like me and most of the links don’t work anymore, but that’s a part of the fiasco.

12/23/03

Just imagine you are walking the streets in a nowhere like San Simeon, there has been an earthquake here lately, but I do not see any damage at the beach, it should have been severe in the town. Sitting at a table outside facing the pacific ocean, I am wondering how the girl sitting at the other table can stand the cold with those brief pieces of cloth. It is not my concern right now. I guess she should have her own concerns. This is a nice piece of land facing the largest pond of the planet earth. I will leave in thirty minutes and most probably I will not come back. I will not see this girl either. But this place each day will face the ocean the same way without giving a %$&* about me. See, next week school will begin again. As you are a wanna be Ph.D. like a wanna be pop star in the game, you will take the exams and you will do the projects. If the logic is ‘Get in the game or go to hell‘ let ‘s get in the game. It is a sunny day in winter and these things do not matter. If your coffee was not that crappy, you might have felt better. You will spend years trying to help these people to “communicate” with their wireless walkie-talkie s. You will teach their kids how to play the same way and you will write pieces like this, but you know what? you will never see the girl again, becasue she left right now.