More advice from the 1971 best-seller by "M," "the sensuous man"

from a chapter titled "What Turns a Women Off"

"The Bad Timer

Many men get refused not because they are lousy lovers, but because their timing is bad -- and this includes thousands of husbands. Tune in to what she's doing a few minutes before you pounce. If the sink is overflowing, your youngest child has just broken and swallowed his front tooth, the oldest is smoking pot on the front porch, her bridge club is due any minute, and that's when you walk in and grab her, is it any wonder that she refuses you? Being rather small-minded and inconsiderate, she may not be able to juggle thirteen crises and ball you at the same time. How would you like it if she walked into your office while you were trying to meet a deadline on an important report and started making passes? Unless you're the coolest exec going, you wouldn't be able to get it up. Timing is of the essence."

from "miscellaneous turn-offs"

4. Careless smokers, who burn holes in women's clothes, upholstery, and rugs. These junior pyromaniacs wield cigarettes like torches, dropping ashes on rugs, grinding butts out on table tops, resting lit cigars on the lady's coat. And, to top it all, they give the lady a kiss and an embrace while holding a lit cigarette behind her back. Result: one burned dress. If you smoke, be considerate and be careful. Any rule of Smokey the Bear goes just as strongly at home as in the forest.

5. Men who don't say who they are on the telephone. "Guess who?" Guessing games are strickly for preschoolers. If you're a good lover, she'll recognize your voice eventually, but in the beginning say, "Hi, Mary, this is Bob Soandso."

The people in this city call me country/Because of how I walk and talk and smile

* Listing of various types of insanity known to affect authors.

a few from the list:

"The cover doesn’t look like I imagined it would. I must now do my best to bring Western Civilization to a screeching halt."

"Picking up a quickie work-for-hire gig writing a media tie-in novel isn’t going to affect my productivity on the ongoing series I have under contract at another house."

"I write brilliant sex scenes. How come you keep cutting them?"

"I’ve set my novel aside because I’m working on a nonfiction book about [some complex, recondite, and divisive subject where even the experts tread softly, about which I’ve very recently conceived an obsessive interest] that will finally Set Everyone Straight."

[via making light]

* The Day the Music Died, a must read.

With Maeterlinck's Great Book
by Thomas Lux

The Life of the Bee, I beheaded a bee
staggering on the glass
patio door as I opened it
to read above book
on above patio. The bee sluggish, first cold
coming on. I angled and aimed
the book's spine
to detach its head,
and did so. I had fifty or so more pages
to read. I was indifferent
to irony's blue acid bath: I don't get lost in
one hundred year old books
about bees every day.
All I felt
was a desire to shake the hand of Maurice Maeterlinck,
who loved these creatures
and showed it so
in the choice and order of his words.

Favorite novel read this year: Stoner, by John Williams

not all who wander are lost

* Today is the birthday of Guided by Voices' guitar player Doug Gillard.

* Unbelievable sound archive of readings by authors and poets such as: charles bukowski, michael brownstein, ed sanders, anne waldman, william burroughs, as well as allen ginsberg, charles olson, joe brainard, frank o'hara, and many more. maintained by the UbuWeb Visual, Concrete, + Sound Poetry and The Electronic Poetry Center at SUNY Buffalo.

* Fluxus artist and beck grandfather al hansen on the shooting of andy warhol.

tonight I'm swimming to my favorite island

four paintings by maike abetz and oliver brescher:


electric ladyland, 2000


red with purple flashes, 2001


the optic nerve, 2001


kristallo, 2001

Three Poems by Mark Strand

Coming To This

We have done what we wanted.
We have discarded dreams, preferring the heavy industry
of each other, and we have welcomed grief
and called ruin the impossible habit to break.

And now we are here.
The dinner is ready and we cannot eat.
The meat sits in the white lake of its dish.
The wine waits.

Coming to this
has its rewards: nothing is promised, nothing is taken away.
We have no heart or saving grace,
no place to go, no reason to remain.

Courtship

There is a girl you like so you tell her
your penis is big, but that you cannot get yourself
to use it. Its demands are ridiculous, you say,
even self-defeating, but to be honored, somehow,
briefly, inconspicuously in the dark.

When she closes her eyes in horror,
you take it all back. You tell her you're almost
a girl yourself and can understand why she is shocked.
When she is about to walk away, you tell her
you have no penis, that you don't

know what got into you. You get on your knees.
She suddenly bends down to kiss your shoulder and you know
you're on the right track. You tell her you want
to bear children and that is why you seem confused.
You wrinkle your brow and curse the day you were born.

She tries to calm you, but you lose control.
You reach for her panties and beg forgiveness as you do.
She squirms and you howl like a wolf. Your craving
seems monumental. You know you will have her.
Taken by storm, she is the girl you will marry.

Keeping Things Whole

In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.

When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.

We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.

New York City in the 1940s

Photographs by Vivian Cherry.


Harlem, watching an airplane fly overhead


Washington Square Park, 1948


Hell's Kitchen, 1947

The American Family Association is conducting a poll regarding Gay marriage/Civil Unions that they are planning to send to Congress as representative of American opinion. Here's the catch: They've only told their members about the poll.

Well, now YOU know about it. Vote, and tell your friends, no matter how you vote on the poll. Let's just make this a little more representative of the real world.

Vote Here

Our secret's safe & still well kept where even Richard Nixon has got soul

* From the recently released Nixon tapes:

“Reagan is not one that wears well,” Nixon said.

“I know,” Haldeman agreed.

“On a personal basis, Rockefeller is a pretty nice guy,” Nixon said. “Reagan on a personal basis, is terrible. He just isn’t pleasant to be around.”

“No, he isn’t,” Haldeman said.

“Maybe he’s different with others,” Nixon said.
“No,” Haldeman said.

“No, he’s just an uncomfortable man to be around,” Nixon said, “strange.”

* Introducing Sonya Thomas, a DC area resident and odds on favorite to win the International Federation of Competitive Eater's Rookie of the Year award. As noted at the link, Ms. Thomas is single, 105 pounds and can eat 134 chicken wings in 12 minutes. [via save the snow]

Potluck setlist

spiritualized -- come together
pere ubu -- non-alignment pact
television -- see no evil
sparklehorse -- sick of goodbyes
smog -- short drive
mountain goats -- cubs in five
the kinks -- do you remember walter?
ric menck -- million tears
the caribbean -- officer garvey
the fugs -- doing all right
olivia tremer control -- opera house
dukes of stratosphere -- 25 o'clock
the who -- whiskey man
velvet underground -- one of these days
pavement -- price yeah!
archers of loaf -- wrong
guided by voices -- watch me jumpstart
le tigre -- the the empty
the buzzcocks -- I don't mind
mclusky -- collegen rock
dead kennedys -- government flu
frank zappa -- into the slime
silver jews -- smith and jones forever
flaming lips -- christmas at the zoo
thalia zedeck -- strong
holly golightly -- walk a mile
black nasty -- a.c.s.u.
yo la tengo -- rock and roll santa
the fugs -- kill for peace

"Nihilism is best done by professionals."
-- Iggy Pop

I'm just a feather on your breath

* Lester Bangs interview:

"cs: Do you see Rock’n’Roll as being young peoples music?

Lester: I don’t know, I mean everybody seems to think so I’ve always wondered about that because. For instance The Velvet Underground, I keep harping on them cause they’re about my favourite group ever. I mean those are really adult songs, about adult things and I think that’s really great.

cs: Can you just expand on that?

Lester: Sure, a song like ‘Pale Blue Eyes’ is a song about adultery, it’s about somebody, it doesn’t say what sex or any of that but it’s about somebody having an affair with someone else’s wife or husband. Which is not quite the same as wanting to take your girlfriend parking, and seeing how far you can go. And there have been a few other things in rock n roll that has been as adult, some of Van Morrison’s work and. I don’t know, on one hand. . . . . see I guess one thing I don’t buy is that in your life there‘s this one adolescence surge of rebellion and then everybody calcifies and drops dead, I just never believed that. I know that speaking in terms of my own life that as I’ve grown older I’ve actually felt better, more in touch with myself and the world, and less confused."

* Interview of Lael Morgan, author of the award-winning book, Good Time Girls of the Alaska-Yukon Gold Rush, an engaging account of the women of the demimonde during that time.

(Q) "Good Time Girls leaves one with the impression that the women you wrote about -- many of them prostitutes -- were considered an integral part of their community.

(A) The prostitutes were pretty much left alone. In addition to the fact that married women -- even as Fairbanks and Dawson began to settle -- did not object to the red light district. And the prostitutes had really great amounts of money. People didn't trust banks and they [prostitutes] were trustworthy: miners would leave their stuff with them. And the prostitutes were great about investing in the community. They bought locally. If there was a fire and a house was burned out, the girls on the line would take up a collection to get that family on its feet again. They staked a lot of businesses. So they were somebody you didn't mess with: they were a real economic power and socially they behaved themselves. But they had to, it was too small a town to be outrageous."

* Interview of John Cage by Ted Berrigan:

"INTERVIEWER: How does Love come into all this?

CAGE: It doesn't. It comes later. Love is memory. In the immediate present we don't love; life is too much with us. We lust, wilt, snort, swallow, gobble, hustle, nuzzle, etc. Later, memory flashes images swathed in nostalgia and yearning. We call that Love. Ha! Better to call it Madness.

INTERVIEWER: Is everything erotic to you?

CAGE: Not lately. No, I'm just kidding. Of course everything is erotic to me; if it isn't erotic, it isn't interesting.

INTERVIEWER: Is life serious?

CAGE: Perhaps. How should I know? In any case, one must not be serious. Not only is it absurd, but a serious person cannot have sex.

INTERVIEWER: Very interesting! But, why not?

CAGE: If you have to ask, you'll never know."

praise the lord / pass the ammo


[via metajournalism]

We drove through the delta in a black Cadillac

Tale
- - by Frank Stanford

The maid used to pull the drapes
So I could see dust

When it didn't rain
I bought gum and worked in the boat
There was a locked up shack down the road
With a stack of records in the bedroom

We could tell when strangers were around
From what they drank

The girls waited in the orchards
There was no need to lie

Linger
- - by Frank Stanford

The moon wanders through my barn
Like a widow heading for the county seat

It's not dark here yet
I'm just waiting for the bow hunters
So I can run them off

They put out licks on my land
Every summer

When it gets cool the animals are tame

I've fallen asleep
In the trees before

I dreamed someone's horse
Had wandered out on the football field
To graze
And I was showing children through a museum

The bow hunters make their boys
Pull the deer's tongue out bare-handed

At dusk when I hear an arrow
Coming through my field like a bird
I wonder what men have learned
From feathers

The animals wade the creek
And eat blackberries
The wind blows through the trees
Like a woman on a raft

Sudden Opera
-- by Frank Stanford
In Arkansas the liquor costs
The wind lifts a finger
And that is all

You look over your shoulder
When you have a chance
Your bottle is empty

If I could go somewhere
I would go
where the music doesn't have knuckles
And the dancers don't wear boots

I'll never leave here
The creeks are so cold and solo

My tie-rack is a convent
The pool hall is closed

Clerks never think, feet never bleed

* Short, LA Weekly piece on John Fante.

* Chicago Christmas, 1984: How a holiday party went wrong, by George Saunders

* Sinister Santas. [via travelers diagram]

Last Potluck of the year, come out and make it the best!

the bar was dark but I found the light

Not safe for work, but do check out Black Nasty's remix of the Velvet's Sunday Morning.

Three Poems by Ted Berrigan

Anti-War Poem (for Robert Harris)

It's New Year's Eve, of 1968 & a time
for Resolution.

I don't like Engelbert Humperdink.

I love the incredible String Band.

The War goes on
& war is Shit.

I'll sing you a December song.

It's 5 below zero in Iowa City tonight.

This year I found a warm room
I could go to
be alone in
& never have to fight.

I didn't live in it.

I thought a lot about dying
But I said fuck it.

Laments

So long Jimi,
Janis, so long.

You both were great.
We love you.

But, O, my babies
you did it wrong.

Poem

In Joe Brainnard's collage its white arrow
does not point to William Carlos Williams.
He is not in it, the hungry dead doctor.
What is in it is sixteen ripped pictures
Of Marilyn Monroe, her white teeth white-
washed by Joe's throbbing hands. "Today
I am truly horribly upset because Marilyn
Monroe died, so I went to a matinee B-movie
and ate King Korn popcorn," he wrote in his
Diary. The black heart beside the fifteen pieces
of glass in Joe Brainard's collage
takes the eyes away from the gray words
Doctor, but they say, "I love you"
and the sonnet is not dead.

if rock and roll dies it's not my fault I do the best with the leftovers I got

* They fight then they play: chess boxing. [via the agitator]

* Who has the biggest balls of them all: a look at the men who ride the new york subways with their legs spread wide open. [via maud newton]

* Pretty much Fucked: A study of america's poor.

I don't know where to get it, but I'd wear it

I saw you standing in the parking lot

Excerpts from Joe Brainard's masterpiece I Remember:

"I remember Leadbelly records smaller than most records."

"I remember rumors about what Marlon Brando had to do to get his first acting job."

"I remember the tobacco smell on my fathers breath."

"I remember how sad and happy at the same time Christmas carols always made me feel: all warm inside."

"I remember rolling balls of mercury around in the palm of my hand, and shining dimes with it."

"I remember on cold mornings, counting to ten before making myself jump out of bed."

"I remember wondering how one would go about putting on a rubber gracefully, in the given situation."

"I remember that Lana Turner wore brown to one of her weddings."

"I remember the rumor that the reason Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio split up was because Marilyn couldn't get turned on without another girl in the bed with them, and Joe got fed up with this."

"I remember the "casting couch."

"I remember digging around in ice cold water for an orange soda pop."

"I remember trying not to look lonely in restaurants alone."

"I remember stories about how LBJ got off on holding private conferences while on the john."

"I remember (stoned) reaching out for a joint that really isn't being passed to you yet."

"I remember (stoned) when the most profound though in the world totally evaporates before you can find a pencil."

"I remember green grass knee stains."

"I remember looking for four-leaf clovers, but not for long."

don't buy the realistic

* xmphora on the Iraqi school system:

"With all the dead bodies, and the absence of gas and electricity, and the looting and the crime, the Americans have made much of the supposedly wonderful job they have done in restoring the Iraqi school system. Leaving aside the fact that the Iraqi school system needed restoring largely because of the American sanctions and the American bombs, not to mention the looting which took place because the Americans failed in their obligations under international law to keep the peace, it should not be surprising that the story told by the Americans about the Iraqi school system is another big lie.

"Bechtel got $1.03 billion to work on the school system, which is, needless to say, the real point of the exercise. They then subcontracted the work to shoddy Iraqi subcontractors, presumably in order to keep as much of the $1.03 billion as possible, and the subcontractors did lousy work. Bechtel never checked the work or even appeared at the school sites. American soldiers occasionally turn up at the schools to ask perfunctory questions of what they can do to help, but the schools never receive any of the requested help. Khadija Ali Medshwal of the Naguib Pasha Primary School in Baghdad said:

'I hate it when they turn up unannounced. The first time they came here, they went from classroom to classroom with guns dangling over their shoulders, asking the terrified children whom they loved more, Saddam Hussein or George Bush.'" [via skimble]

* juan cole has a sinking feeling that Bush just lost the war on terror.

* His Indie World: Christgau on the wrens.

* A series of sneaks era interview of Spoon's Britt Daniel [via chromewaves]

"'I'm a big fan of Robert Pollard's songs,' says Daniel, buffing his nails nonchalantly on his T-shirt. 'That probably was an influence, yeah, but I definitely wasn't thinking, 'Let's go make an album that sounds like Guided by Voices.'"

The sky's the limit on this chartered trip away

* George Clinton arrested in Florida for cocaine possession.

* a craigslist experience

* Dr. Ruth was a sniper:

"Ruth was 17 with no home, family or country when WW II ended . All she had was the hope of starting over again in a place where she would feel welcome. That place was supposed to be Palestine. But Palestine was not the land of milk and honey of which Ruth had heard. On May 14, 1948, Israel declared its independence. Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Egypt and Irak immediatley attacked the new nation, and once again Ruth's world collapsed. Ruth, dedicated to the building of a Jewish homeland, joined the Haganah and was trained as a sniper. On her twentieth birthday she had just finished up guard duty when an Arab shell exploded at her feet, seriously injuring her. Her recovery was slow, but she survived to walk again." [via metajournalism]

At the Lion's Head
-- David Markson

Vodka-weary
I scowl at the bar
And confront a midnight revelation:
In ten years
I have contributed thirty thousand, cash,
To the fiscal well-being
Of this saloon.

If I wake, mornings, to
Reality,
Is there a refund?

Dialogue in Milan
-- David Markson

"But oil on plaster yet again?
It cannot set, will flake and fade
Before your own life's done. Old fool,
Near fifty now, at least this once
Leave something permanent. That horse
You planned, too huge to cast, the years!
Go, cross the town, to sit and stare
Or single brushstroke fix! The hours
Of waste amid those notes, those drafts,
What fruit therein, what end? Back south
Commissions fall to younger brush
Not only Raphael in Rome
But Buonarroti too, nor even stone
But on the wall as well, what skill
So little realized, so much
Diffuse..."

"'Let the street be as wide
As the height of the houses.'"

Hey Mr. Tambourine Man

her fucking body broke my eyes

The Moon is the Number 18
--- by Charles Olson

is a moonstrance,
the blue dogs bay
and the son sits
grieving

is a grinning god, is
the mouth of, is
the dripping moon

while in the tower the cat
preens
and all motion
is a crab

and there is nothing he can do but what they do, watch
the face of the waters, and fire

the blue dogs paw,
lick the droppings, dew
or blood, whatever
results are. And night,
the crab, rays round
attentive as the cat to catch
human sound

the blue dogs rue,
as he does, as he would howl, confronting
the wind which rocks what was her, while prayers
striate the snow, words blow
as questions cross fast, fast
as flames, as flames form, melt
along any darkness

Birth is an instance as is a host, namely, death

the moon has no air

in the red tower
in that tower where she also sat
in that particular twoer where watching & moving are,
there,
there where what triumph there is, is: there
is all substance, all creature
all there is against the dirty moon, against
number, image, sortilege ---

alone with cat & crab
and sound is, is, his
conjecture

The book I read was in your eyes

* Free Tommy Chong

* Tonight on Comedy Central: the Hebrew Hammer:

"Just as such indelible films as Melvin Van Peebles' 'Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song' and Gordon Parks' 'Shaft' were reactions to Hollywood's inability or unwillingness to portray strong, sexy Black characters in the early 70s, Kesselman's Hammer is his way of creating a new hero for a new generation.

"Like any exploitation film, 'The Hebrew Hammer' pitches stereotypes like flaming fastballs at a knowing audience. But it would be wrong to say that Kesselman, by creating a 'Shaft' with peyos, is satirizing the Blaxploitation genre. Instead, Kesselman is honoring the genre, proud that he, too has made a picture with a built-in audience in mind."

* And just in time for the holidays:

All her friends call her Alaska

* San Francisco's top Mayorial hopefuls list their
top five records.

Based on the picks, I, like Tim Thompson, would have to vote for Matt Gonzalez:

"No. 4:

Gonzalez: Pavement, Slanted and Enchanted

Newsom: Miles Davis, Kind of Blue

I can't really knock either of these picks. Next to Chet Baker Sings, Kind of Blue is one of the best make-out records ever made. It's also slow, pedestrian jazz, whereas the Pavement disc is a schizoid jarble that's still puzzling more than a decade after its release. It's hard to know if a taste for the unstable is a good thing. I'd rather have a more even-keeled mayor than someone who's liable to break into a Stephen Malkmus-esque freakout in the face of a challenge. Then again, the lyrics for Pavement's 'Conduit for Sale!' are as good an excuse as any for not following through on campaign promises: 'I'm tryin'/ I'm tryin'/ I'm tryin'/ I'm too tired.'"

* Nice guardian article on Keith Richards as he approaches 60.

Jingle Jangle Mornings

* An Austrian trade union has claimed the repetitive playing of Christmas carols in department stores is "psycho-terrorism" for salespeople.

* Spreading Santorum: A must read. [via skimble]

* The Justice Department said Thursday it would review complaints from political watchdog groups that Republican House leaders tried to bribe Rep. Nick Smith, R-Mich., to vote for a Medicare bill.

We're not being led, we're being misled

10 years ago today, Frank Zappa passed away. Frank, your genius is missed.

He makes his home in a state of mind

Three Poems by Michael Brownstein

The Wind (1974)

The wind
Blows everything away
Including love
Including hate
In waves the wind
Can you hear it calling
Can you hear the wind calling your name?

It Can't Be True (1974)

That we belong to one of the last generations
To see an uncontaminated sky
And walk through enough forest
Stretching for hundreds of square miles
Uncharted and completely surrounded by itself
Holding us because being there
Is a real suprise, vast and everyday
And not just the unspoiled tip
Of an island fenced off by the gov't.
For one brief, clumsy weekend
Fucking away from the glare of the city's
Shiny hallucination

The Sacred Life of the Future (1974)

The sacred life of the future
Will be personally architectural and more
Finely spaced and carefully tuned than ours.
And when something new finally does
Come down to replace it we'll be left
With more than the tall shiny "Go Fuck
Yourself, buddy" of today.
In the future, fine.
In the past, not so good.
At present, its paradise.
Life inside the sexual tin can.
I lift two fingers and its a man.
The fingers walk and its a women.
In the future such constellations
Will become ingredients
Dissolved in the space between each other
Instead of from on high, as it is today, in outer space
Pounding the other person into oblivion
With a big white rubber foot.

He readeth best who careth best about things great and small

the rime of the ancient editor. brilliant. bravo Mr. TMFTML

Nothing escapes my notice, except the passing of time

* Wanna bang on the drums all day? click here.
[via wood s lot]

* 25 records that should not have been made.

* Wisconsin folks wait in 2 hour lines on Thanksgiving for turkey 'nuggets'

people often change, but memories of people can remain

* Interview of Yo La Tengo as they prepared for some shows in Japan. [via largehearted boy]

* Nearly 10,000 troops have been killed, wounded, injured or become ill enough to require evacuation from Iraq since the war began, the equivalent of almost one Army division, according to the Pentagon.

* George Bush, the uncompassionate conservative [via nonsense verse] :

"The machismo is what I suspect is fake. Bush is just another upper-class white boy trying to prove he's tough. The minute he is questioned, he becomes testy and defensive. That's one reason they won't let him hold many press conferences. When he tells stories about his dealings with two of the toughest men who ever worked in politics -- the late Lee Atwater and the late Bob Bullock -- Bush, improbably, comes off as the toughest mother in the face-down. I wouldn't put money on it being true. Bullock, the late lieutenant governor and W's political mentor in Texas, could be and often was meaner than a skilletful of rattlesnakes. Bush's story is that one time, Bullock cordially informed him that he was about to fuck him. Bush stood up and kissed Bullock, saying, 'If I'm gonna get fucked, at least I should be kissed.' It probably happened, but I guarantee you Bullock won the fight. Bush never got what made Bullock more than just a supermacho pol -- the old son of a bitch was on the side of the people. Mostly."

Come and see me soon If ya get back from the moon

* Excellent 1971 Rolling Stone article on John Cale and Nico:

an excerpt:

"John Cale is staying in a white faced hotel in South Kensington. The hotel features a downstairs dentist and a hall of mirrors. The smell of anaesthesia hangs heavy and the mirrors reflect John Cale, moving through the lobby towards the door.

"'Take good care of him,' his lady calls out from atop some stairs. John keeps moving. 'We're only going for a walk. What could happen... in London?' 'People get lost on walks, don't they?' John says without stopping, moving out of the lobby into the rain and then into a pub.

"John Cale's face is soft. fleshy. He looks like he's wearing a suit even when he isn't. Since leaving the Velvet Underground, he's been in New York 'twiddling thumbs' and working with quadrophonics for CBS. He produced the first album for the Stooges and did the arrangements and producing for Nico's last two albums. After seven years, John will soon be leaving New York for L.A., a terrifying prospect. 'They say I'll have to learn how to drive a car. I will, won't I?' He's going to work for Warner's Reprise and will also be doing the soundtracks for films. But now, on Friday night, he is two days away from working his first gig since Boston, 1968, with the now-dead Velvet Underground.

"The Velvet Underground was a whole other dimension in the rock world. New York, New York, sweetheart, strungout vicious and twitching in spangled pants and see-through shirts coming into your living room to destroy your middle-class sense of propriety and well-being. Andy Warhol, of course, found the Velvets in a Greenwich Village nighthole and made them the band in his traveling freak show, the 'Exploding Plastic Inevitable.'

"To this day, you may hear it said that the Velvets were just another Long Island rock and roll band. Yes and no. Songs like 'I'm Waiting for My Man,' 'Heroin', 'Sister Ray' and 'I'll Be Your Mirror' do not come from hanging out at Nathan's in Oceanside (at least not back in 1967). One day Brian Jones brought Nico around to Andy's factory and the whole other dimension acquired another wrinkle, a lady with a unique voice. There in the background was John, bending and distorting notes on the viola so that you can hear the smack flow in 'Heroin' and 'go rushing on a run' right along with the music. Another wrinkle. Not many classically-trained musicians get as involved in the pop jungle as John, who also plays organ, and guitar, and writes words as well as music.

"'In Chicago, I was singing lead because Lou had hepatitis, no one knew the difference. We turned our faces to the wall and turned up very loud. Paul Morrisey (later the director of Trash) and Danny Williams had different visions of what the light show should be like and one night I looked up to see them fighting, hitting each other in the middle of a song. Danny Williams just disappeared. They found his clothes by the side of a river, with his car nearby... the whole thing. He used to carry this strobe around with him all the time and no one could figure out why till we found out he kept his amphetamine in it.'"

Failure Does Not Concern Me; the Condition of life is defeat

* A hate Bush event organized by Larry David's wife, Laurie.

* Ten best black comedies, by Neil LaBute.

* Ecstacy research flawed:

"A primate study it published in 2002, with heavy publicity, warned that the amount of the drug Ecstasy that a typical user consumes in a single night might cause permanent brain damage.

"It turned out that the $1.3 million study, led by Dr. George A. Ricaurte of Johns Hopkins University, had not used Ecstasy at all. His 10 squirrel monkeys and baboons had instead been injected with overdoses of methamphetamine, and two of them had died. The labels on two vials he bought in 2000, he said, were somehow switched.

"The problem corrupted four other studies in his lab, forcing him to withdraw four other papers.

"It was not the first time Dr. Ricaurte's lab was accused of using flawed studies to suggest that recreational drugs are highly dangerous. In previous years he was accused of publicizing doubtful results without checking them, and was criticized for research that contributed to a government campaign suggesting that Ecstasy made 'holes in the brain.'"

"Dr. Ricaurte, a 50-year-old neurologist at Hopkins since 1988, is probably the best-known Ecstasy expert in the war on drugs. He has received $10 million from the National Institute on Drug Abuse, more than any other investigator of the amphetamine analogs known as designer drugs, club drugs or diet drugs, including MDMA, better known as Ecstasy, and its close relative MDA."

mystery train three way plane expressway to your skull

Stupid Punk vs. Smart Punk
-- by kim gordon

When I first moved to NYC. I
was at the Kiev. Johnny Thunders was
in the next booth. He was there with some
friends. He threw sugar in my eggs having
"a punk moment." I told him to fuck off...
He called me four eyes. I blushed and bit my tongue.
He's a dead punk. He's a dead punk.

History of Punk in Prose
-- by Thurston Moore

ricky rivitts picks up an electric guitar
hammers out atomic wimp trash e-chords
delivers punk to queens and arthur
killer kane -- sub-ugly to teh dolls
where everyone is fabulouslessly unfucking beautiful
raunch n roll supershit
"16 and bored to the bottom of our bowels"
ricky rivitts will always rock and rule
monster-glam, can't get it up at the coventry
his balls are like 2 cherry bombs