read On Being Ill by V.Wolfe

"They march to battle.  We float with the sticks on the stream ; helter-skelter with the dead leaves on the lawn, irresponsible and disinterested and able, perhaps for the first time for years, to look round, too look up - to look, for example, at the sky."


"But with the hook of life still in us we must wriggle.  We cannot stiffen peaceably into glassy mounds."

if he wasn´t here i would have to make him up

Amanda is taken to a mental clinic after she slices her underarms open with some glass shards and throw various objects from her balcony.  The doctors do not have anything to recommend her, and so Amanda´s fate takes its course. “I kept hearing the voice of my dead father and seeing faces everywhere,"  says Amanda, deeply moved.  The sympathetic lady wants to dive headfirst into a puddle. Now Amanda can finally take care of her son again. “Love is the best medicine,” laughs Amanda Beyer (36) from the city of Innsbruck in Austria. It is 7 years prior, and Amanda suffers from postpartum depression after giving birth to her son Justin. Every day the learned machinist visits her.  “Suddenly I began to notice things again that I had ignored for years, like the chirping of birds and the beautiful weather.  It was as if a boulder had been lifted off of my soul.  I have only my Victor to thank for that.” Finally, the hidden wells of her mother´s love spring up from the depths, and she accepts her son Justin.  “My duties as mother gave my life structure again,” Amanda says knowingly. “Mama is simply swell since she´s become healthy,” says the youngin.  “I love playing with mom.  “I´m a passionate rummager, I love going around flea markets and looking at all the old stuff,” gushes Amanda.  After eight years the little family takes it´s first vacation and spends two wonderful weeks in Italy. Exotic bracelets and earrings demonstrate Amanda´s readiness to live her new life. If my Victor wasn´t here then I´d have to make him up.  Love heals all wounds...”

Written by Reportage Team Berlin 
Translated and edited by white n00b with a laptop 

public access to my past

Thus Spoke Zaragoastra

Thus Spoke Zaragoatsra

visit to the doc

Well Doc,

Too much milk
makes me sick

too little fiddle
makes me whittle

too many people
soils my steeple

too few naps
make me crap!

etc. etc. etc.

Doc says,

THE "ME"
"THE" MY
The
Too much "much"
and too "little" little!

I'd say it's
Anxiety
with a capital A

I ask
"Well, doc, what can I do doc?

Doc says,
"pills? drills? biofeedback?"

"what's BIOFEEDBACK!?"

two dreams about [ ]

first

 We go into an abandonedish building that is still being used across the street from the house in Kingston where I spent my adolescence.  “I can’t believe this is still in use.”  [   ] laughs as the building sways back and forth in the wind, the floor levels on either side seesawing up and down, six feet at a time it seems.  An old balder man in a wife beater brushes his teeth and another one, or the same one, with a bigger build, struggles to get up and down the stairs.  “Incredible what it is we live with around here huh?" I say.
As we go back downstairs something deeply disturbs [   ].  I don't know what to do, [   ] is inconsolable.

second

we meet again....
some kind of airport looking place, it seems to be some indistinct metropolis, Toronto at least, but also Kingston, also Vancouver/ some emptier city out west or in Florida.  It's summer.

We are in a van, driving around.  We pull up to the fence alongside the Rondout neighborhood center.  There are a group of hysterical people that seem to know [   ], even though we're in my neighborhood.
We started cruising down spring street and then took a left onto colonel chandler.  I pushed back into my seat a bit, maybe even reclined and asked.  “So [   ], how’s life been these past 3 years?  Or has it been 4 years?  [   ] put up four fingers to correct me, maybe [   ] was smiling.  I remember that i knew exactly that it had been 4 years, 4 long years.

“You know, nothing too much, each year turns into the next.”  “Yea” “I’ve got a degree from Columbia.”  A vision of a Facebook page comes up and I look at [  ] degrees listed.
At some point we are cruising through a neighborhood that looks like where Dina lives in Franeker.  I said “growing up some crazy stuff happened to me here.”  I was referring to Kingston, the Rondout.  “Like what?” “Just crazy stuff... but it happens to everyone in my neighborhood so it's just the way it is.”

Things had really gotten much more subdued, for us both, yes  (perhaps all this relates to the email i took apart and blogged, the drunk dialing [  ]'s answering machine, and how different [   ] voice sounded somehow, even though it was the same answering machine as 4 years ago.)

 My brother's voice tells me something wise that brings the context of the dream into question, I might be aware this is a dream at this point.

I was in the backseat now, a bank perpendicular to the front seats.  I saw [  ] get back in.  [   ] put [   ] foot up on the dash and leaned back, maybe [  ] started driving away, that's when I woke up.

new thoughts on old butter

have you ever really sat down
and looked at a stick of butter?

I have
(in my wildest dreams*)

So,
let´s share our experience.
Experience is valuable*.

Let´s = let us.
For all you n00bs out there.

(hey that´s me)

It was sitting at my table,
but I wouldn´t call it my table.  I was subletting.  It was somebody else's table which, in order to melt a stick of butter on, I was leasing at a fixed rate.

(oh yes take me there)

Ok.

Our supertenant had been keeping the window open, even in the winter, because too much heat allows too much moisture to collect on the ceiling (not intended for moisture) and mildew forms.

It slowly melted after I closed the window to turn the heat up.  

It should be a proverb, but there are already too many proverbs, in too many languages, one is liable to devalue it.  My favorite proverb is ´early ripe, early rot,` which teaches us the value of letting our reserves spawn themselves, of not looking for a climax.  Both of these stories remind me of the golden egg as well.

It begins its slow descent

and I wondered if I should have turned the heat up in the first place.  After all, what would there be to learn from a brick changing into a puddle?

By this point the butter was getting there.
I hoped the table wouldn´t get ruined if things got out of hand.


it began to smell, its corners softened.

"What now?"  It had been a long time with the window closed, and look, it was seeping into the cracks of the table.
"If I open the window now it will harden."


I looked on,
it´s corners passed away.

I poked into the lump and the lump got on my finger.

Yuck.

It coated my finger.  I wanted to whine, or rub it on my shirt and then whine.  Instead I licked it and licked it clean.

(oh god yes, oh god!)


Eventually it began dripping through the table and onto my feet.
I didn´t want to lick my feet, so I took a roll, and rubbed it off.
Then I ate that, and

realized that by eating all of the butter, it it wouldn´t have to go to waste, especially not if I spent the next 6 hours walking or jogging in place.  I could even go to the park.  So many possibilities.

I ate all of the butter in various reprehensible ways,

and then I did so many things,

not just once, but more than once.

Epilogue:
I thought it was interesting that whereas I was feeling like a puddle before watching the it, afterwards I felt as complete and enticing as a whold cold block of untouched butter.

the end.
wow!
a climax*!

*The following text is fictional, or at best pseudohistorical dammit right?
*This is what endeavor teaches us no?
*Alternative ending

another old email out of context

Re: helloo...

The truth is, ive kinda

been seein this comin for a while now, but it hasnt
really bugged me.
------------------
helloo... 

>hey sjoerd, 

 i had to
>write this up real fast  
>at any rate, this is how i feel and this is how im gonna deal with this particular situation. 

>the reason i didnt tell you in school is because i honestly didnt have the courage,

>please write me back and say a little somethin cuz i just wanna know youre position on the matter 

something´s in the kitchen with dina

Stuffed Cats

The pharmacist sleeps in Garfield themed sheets.   

"I´ve even won a goblet."

But a hobby is intended to reconcile the seriousness of life.  

"In the end it´s worth at least that much to me!”

Story by Reportage Team, Berlin
Transl.  Woody Harrelson

shots in the dark greeted with smiles abroad (excerpts of old emails)

Dear           ,

> >I'm
> > > > >moving into my apartment
> >tomorrow,
> > > > >I've been living out in a suburb with my
uncle
> >and
> > > > >working as a city gardener, so I have yet to
> >really
> > > >pretty
> > > > >neat place so far
up
> >too
> > > > >late being an internet junkie again, bis
nextes
> > >Mal.

> >hey sjoerd.
> > > >
> > > >thanks for the mail.
I would like to meet up with you sometime
but
> > > >week of december becuase  unfortunatley I'm
>moving

> > > >We'll keep in touch and see what sort
>of
> > > >plans will unravel.
> > > >

Highlights from a Valentine´s Day in the Clouds

“Michael isn’t just some vacation fling,” says Vanessa.  “Love is in the air!  I found my man in the heavens and brought him  from cloud nine down to earth as my personal souvenir.  Valentine’s Day is our lucky day!.”
 
 She apologizes and seeks to mitigate the damages with a napkin.

He’s a passionate kayaker, especially in white-water.  The 1.88 m (6 ft 2 in) tall althete loves athletic challenges as a contrast to his career as a civil engineer.


Vanessa loves to go on long trips to Asia

Gorgeous Buddhist temples, shiny golden cupolas and fantastic beaches invite one to discover the exotic country. Yet first Vanessa has to save enough money from her salary as a salesperson in a big bookshop until she can finally get away.  Because she travels so often, Vanessa can speak English very well. 

 Stewardesses bring snacks and tomato juice, and at 10,000 meters (32.000 feet/6.2 miles) over the earth, the airplane came into heavy turbulence, and the entire machine was abruptly shaken.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” stutters Vanessa. 

The stewardess has to disrupt the puppy lovers` canoodling

Both would rather spend their free time reading than watching tv.  

Half an hour later, as Vanessa and Michael are standing at the hotel reception desk with their luggage and bouquet of roses, the hotel manager asks “Two single rooms? Or one double room?”

After their kiss in Asia, the American looks forward to the happy in end in Europe

“Ich liebe Dich, Vanessa!”  Michael moves into Vanessa´s little apartment and is astonished as to how closely related the German and English languages are.... Valentine’s Day is our lucky day!.” 


Written by Reportage Team, Berlin, Germany
transl. and assembled by Illuminati69
 

PART OF MAY

                MAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    A AAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    A AAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY 
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY 
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYY 
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYY 
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY 
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY 
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYY 
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY 
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYY
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYY 
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYY 
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYY 
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYY 
                    AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY

The Tough Times : Another Amadeus Post on Craigslist

http://berlin.en.craigslist.de/zip/2094320429.html

On November 29th, 2010,  Amadeus Hostel, lost it's worst worker.

On November 30th, I went to the doctor with my severance pay, and got my fix of Cortisone for the eczema on my arms, chest, forehead, stomach and leg area.

On December 1st, I got my first case of the Cortisone blues, and considered quitting my new job at Alcatraz Hostel so that I may have more time to think about how things got the way they did, and this picture of King Saul by Bruegel:

death 2 commentary

Richard M. lures the girl into the forest with a doll.

“Help!  My neighbor is always photographing my daughter,” says Angela Burbach (42), a grocer from Zurich in Switzerland, as she takes her daughter Julia (9) protectively into her arms.  “I can’t find peace of mind for one minute, I’m so scared for my nine-year-old daughter.  I am sure that my neighbor is a creeper!”  In despair she pushes her face into her hands.  Her nerves can’t take it anymore.  She can not understand why it is that her creepy neighbor won’t leave her little daughter alone.  For months, he’s been giving her little gifts.  He photographs the nine-year-old kid again and again, speaks with her and watches her playing on the monkey bars.  Julia has gone from being a happy child to a shy, guarded girl.  She has become insecure and timid.  “The neighbor is really weird,” she says.  “He always gives me gummy bears, cookies and tells me how pretty I am.”  The girl with the blue eyes and merry blond locks doesn’t know to react to the neighbor, who always comes off as a bit too friendly.  Richard M. (38) lives in the same house as Angela and her daughter, and he is at first glance friendly and helpful.  When the single mother moved in to her new place two years ago, her neighbor helped her with numerous little favors.  “He repaired Julia’s kid’s bike and would accept packages for us,” remembers Angela, pensively.

(an excerpt from "My Neighbor is a Creep" by Reportage Team, Berlin, transl. badly by Illuminati69)

Remnant of Bard's Webmail/ Some Misplaced Confusions Revisited/ MMMM Please White Boy

Dear Sjord,

Your comments on Nietzsche are full of interesting observations and
nuggets of insight.  However, as you also correctly note, you do not
quite control the material  You need a question that you will answer.
What is this question?  I know that you are aware of many issues in
this work but for the sake of your paper you need to choose one or, if
you choose several, they should be related by a common question.

Here are some of my specific responses to your observations:

Quoting md811@bard.edu:

> Dear Gennady,
>       I hope in my essay to write about the practical and rational
> throughout The Birth of Tragedy, but especially focusing in on its
> creation of New Attic Tragedy.  It seems as though the appreciation of
> the beautiful or sublime nature of the original tragedy was destroyed
> by its having been monopolized and made practical by Euripides and
> Socrates.  The problem with this judgment, however, is that although
> the life of Tragedy was made fruitless as a mythology under the yoke of
> Socrates and Euripides' interest in public opinion, the Tragedy as an
> art form nevertheless succeeded itself by taking on a new form that
> affirmed both the moral convictions of the author as well as the
> audience?s immediate will to be identified with practical decisions
> seemingly greater than themselves.

1.  I do not think that N sees that the reason why Socrates and
Euripides subverted tragedy was due to public opinion.  Rather, he
sees this subversion as a more general existential tendency of humans
to fear life, Being, since it brings destruction.  In this sense,
Euripides and Socrates reflect, as well as shape this existential
fear.  From N's point of view, this shift in focus away from the Will
as the underlying reality of all life effectively killed tragedy as an
art form, and in a larger sense killed art as an activity isomorphic
to life and Will.  That which constituted the essence of tragedy and
art was destroyed.  So, later tragedies, in N's view, are not really
tragedies any more, nor are they art.




 I have not yet gained enough
> control over this text to provide a full thesis and solution to this
> problem, but I have a number of unresolved yet relevant observations:
> Nietzsche gives little time to the birth of reason and critique, and
> within the brief description argues that the birth of critique was
> accomplished by merely the unified efforts of two individuals, and
> moreover two thinkers.

You are right, he does not spend a great deal of time on the birth of
reason and critique.  He does suggest that they are born out of the
principium individuationis, the principle of individiatuion.  They are
born out of the Appolonian element as a reaction to the awareness of
the imminent destruction.  Again, Socrates and Euripides are not only
shapers of this new attitude but also reflections of the more general
fear of humans.


He seems here to deny the arc of tragedy within
> his story; there is no discussion of tragedy?s placement within any
> type of geographical context, while at the same time the universal
> suffering and pessimism of the Greek people is taken as a necessary,
> albeit probably temporary within the development of Greek civilization.
>  Nietzsche wills a rebirth of tragedy in Wagner?s works not out of a
> deluded fantasy for the golden age of pessimism, but rather because he
> himself understands Tragedy as religion and productive in the context
> of his own intense pessimism about the contemporaneous ineptitude of
> reason at redeeming humanity of its rapid change and sublime pressure
> during industrialization.

I do not  think that N implies that Ancient Greeks were pessimistic.
On the contrary, they were, in his view, profoundly optimistic even in
the face of destruction.  They could balance their existence between
the fear of destruction, the joy of merging with the original oneness,
and the illusions of individuation.

I hope these responses will help.

Best,

Gennady

Re: Beautiful

http://sjoerdd.angelfire.com/beautiful.html#hellyea

Common Time 2

http://sjoerdd.angelfire.com/furelise3.html#commontime

Common Time 1

http://sjoerdd.angelfire.com/furelise2.html#commontime

A whack at sincerity

More to come shortly.

: ( ?

Pax Berlinus

Agro krag dreams of yore!

Stopper thee poopee stream

cascading aboard my

wayward  n00b-vessel!


SWEET SWEET POOPEE STREAM!

Like yam's o'er salmon roe!

beep beep tv screen!

Scream at me,

and take it slow!

THE CONTEXT:

welcome to the thunderdome.

ADDED December 1, 2010:

"In a recent paper, he and his co-author, the physicist V. G. Gurzadyan, describe a pattern of concentric circles detected against the universal backdrop of cosmic microwave radiation generated by the Big Bang.  These circles, they say, may be gravitational waves generated by collisions of superbig black holes before the Big Bang."

CARSON DALEY 
CARSON DALEY
CARSON DALEY CARSON DALEY
CARSON DALEY    CARSON DALEY
CARSON DALEY  CARSON DALEY
CARSON DALEY CARSON DALEY
CARSON DALEY

Anatomy

Hey all y'all avid blog readers, nymphomaniacs, train enthusiasts and trend-setters.


Here is an html animation of an eye:


http://sjoerdd.angelfire.com/eyelink.html#eye




Over the next weeks I will be adding to and taking away from the thing, because it's what you wanted, and who am I to say you can't get what you want

how to get the most/least eye for your bang:
Command +/-


enjoy


<3,


CARSON DALEY

A return (l8ly poasted)

I feel this blog has lost it's spark, it's purpose, it's chutzpah.

The purpose of this post is to reassess the purpose of this blog.

Last night I cut my finger.
It reminded me of the purpose of this blog,
but it also reminded me that I had health insurance.

In other words, this blog seems useless.

Still, seeing  blood slide out the slit in my fingertip stirred my habitual dread.

"Oh fuck, this is the end," I yelled to myself and the two men comfortably seated behind the door of the men's bathroom stalls. How they hogged the dirty bits of toilet paper - my only hope.  ONLY HOPE.

Then I realized that I had made a bow-tie out of gauze, because it was halloween, and anything goes, Rose.

see, look at the nice bow tie!

fingy = better
nose = swollen with staph and garlic

YIPPEDY YIPPEDY YIPPEDY YIP THAT'S ALL FOLKS!

some sketchies (2 NEW SKETCHES!)

sjoerdd.angelfire.com

Personal Business

Hi Dijk,

It is DD Dragon,

We would like to schedule an interview with you this week. We prefer to use Skype if that is okay with you. What time is conveinent for you? We prefer tommorow morning/afternoon or Friday morning/afternoon. Right now we are quite busy but would really like to meet you and answer any questions you may have.

About the visa, you can come to China on the tourist visit but it is best not to extend it. If you plan to work here long time it is best to apply for a work visa with company sponsorship after you arrive.

Thanks,
DD Dragon


Dear DD Dragon,

    Sorry that I only got to reading this letter now, I was away on
vacation for a short while.  In any case, I would very much enjoy to
interview for the position at your school. I will be available for an
interview on Tuesday morning, anywhere between 8:00 am - 4:00 am my
time (2:00 pm - 10:00 pm your time).  Please let me know what works
for you.  Thank you very much for your interest and time.

Sincerely,
Sjoerd Dijk

startled during a midday nightmare

a cumfessional

some scetchsz

as me sayed

plan b

    Today, at around 3:00 in the afternoon, I met with a comfortable and outgoing gentleman who interested himself in the roots of my names and intentions here in Germany.  I met him in his home.  As I walked in, I noticed my information already sitting on the living room table.  Everything was in its right place, and you didn't have to look around much to notice that.  You know some one is a good designer when you don't have to examine anything closely to feel their intentions.  The only thing that caught my eye was a book on Mao's China, and only because I had read "I CHING" written down its spine in bright yellow letters.
     He was charming.  He charmed me.  He had slicked back black hair, dyed it seemed.  He asked questions about my parents, about Austria, Holland, Korea.  Eventually I stopped answering and smiled. He looked down nervously to try and collect his thoughts before we got to business.  In the pause I had the chance to look at his couch, his kitchen, his flip flops and his fancy pajamas.  "I am sorry I look like this, I did not expect you so early," in German, of course.  "Don't worry, you look better than I do," I replied, smiled and he looked down at his crotch, which he had covered in papers and pamphlets.

     He sold me my health insurance.  My loins moaned deeply.


if this doesn't go as smoothly for you,
here is a recommendation:

+

Therapy vs. Ingmar Bergman

update on the gold rush

UPDATE as of (10:02 am)

Interviewed.  The questions still stand.

+

                                         

The Gold Rush / Myungho's Tele-Interview

7:29 - My 7:30 phone interview with an ESL Representative in Seoul.






No answer, so many questions.

The MESSAGE

The real purpose of this blog is to expose myself to the world while I come to terms with my fear of spontaneous combustion.




spontaneous combustion can happen anytime, to anybody who doesn't believe.


Why would I spontaneously combust, you ask?


The reasons are endless.


For example:


-You put on your sweatshirt, made in China.
-You forgot to say goodbye to your friend before you left the country.
-You didn't empty the bin.
-You thought about one particular vagina/penis too much
-You didn't say grace.
-You did say grace, to a false idol.
-You didn't pick the hair out of your tub.
-You don't have health insurance.
-You hate your boss enough.
-You work at amadeus hostel in berlin
-You think your boss is a tragic anti-villain.
-You want to die.
-You drink too much
-You go to church too much.
-You haven't called your grandma.
-You haven't called your grandpa.
-Your grandparents are dead.
-Your tv is on.
-Someone you used to know and never thought twice about is on that tv.
-You played flashlight tag once in 5th grade, and it was too much fun to understand the rules.
-You have a crush on someone, no two people, no four people, overseas.
-You think you can wake up tomorrow morning.
-You like looking in the mirror.
-You like emailing.


What happens?


You burst into flames. You die - but you don't damage anything else other than the chair you're sitting in.


Why is that the way to go?


Because no one will see it happen, and someone will reenact your death on the discovery channel, the way the imagined it to have happened.


Why not leave it up to a bacteria or cancer?


Personally?


Personally


Because you can't go to a doctor


What's the problem with doctors?


They know too much, I love them.


I LOVE DOCTORS!


Is it your dream in life to combust?


No, it is my dream in life to marry a doctor.


So then why this fascination with spontaneous combustion?


It is the last way out that the discovery channel (led by doctors DUH) can't solve. They can't even solve IT.


And IT could happen anytime?


IT could happen anytime you mock it.














Sincerely,
john waters


LEAVE ME POSTS BECAUSE YOU EXIST