Month: June 2005

the animals, they are stuffed.

I found The Maze at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art sometime in the 80s. I was mesmerized by it, but never got anywhere near solving it.

It was like a graphical choose-your-own-adventure or an early graphical computer game. At the time, there was a reward of some few thousand dollars for the first person to solve the riddle of the book. I never even came close.

I still think it’s pretty cool that they’ve hyper-textualized this book and put it online. Go internet!

Cory Doctorow’s new novel, Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town, is available for download. Having read his other short stories and novels, I heartily recommend it.

It’s a beautiful book too (check out that cover by Dave McKean!) and probably worth buying.

American George Weller was the first foreign reporter to enter Nagasaki following the U.S. atomic attack on the city on Aug. 9, 1945. Weller wrote a series of stories about what he saw in the city, but censors at the Occupation’s General Headquarters refused to allow the material to be printed. Weller’s stories, written in September 1945, can be found below.

I love declassified material.

in essence, a whirlygig

grrrrr. these natterwaulers sit on the stoop and
gnaw their cronechy bones. good with peanut butter,
that marrow is. open your eyes–you’ve got at

Feeling a bit groggy this morning. Here at OSKA,
bright and early. Saw a couple of wicked cool bands
last night: Vagabond Opera and Circus Contraption.
Loads of fun, they were, in spite of the sour mood.

Oh and let’s not forget the cat.
The poopy poopy cat.
She’s newly gotten from the shelter and I’m inclined
to ascribe it to a case of the nerves. The
alternatives are far less attractive. (Parasites? I
don’t even know what sorts of digestive difficulties
afflict cats these days. Peruvian lament?) To the vet
with us! Otherwise, she’s the very sweetest of cats
and reminds me a little of Ned, now that she’s been
all cleaned up and groomed. Otherwise known as The
Hairy Beast until a proper name is found.

I’ve been in the depths of recreational reading
these days. I picked up a copy of A GAME OF THRONES
(based on the maybe recommendation of C. maybe,
because I may have misremembered what book he was
recommending, it was so long ago), then borrowed the
sequel, A CLASH OF KINGS–I sense a theme–from a
friend of mine. In the meantime, I read another
jaunt into fantasticality with THE DARKNESS THAT
COMES BEFORE–this time recommended by H’s husband
upon their visit. That was a good one. Centers
around a character who can plot out probabilities on
the fly and has an uncanny ability to read people,
playing them like an orchestra. It reminds me quite
a bit of the Paul Muad’dib character from DUNE.
Although, in that case, his powers were drug-induced.

Also, read THE PIRATES: IN AN ADVENTURE WITH
SCIENTISTS! Complete with Evil Bishop Action! Fun.
Entirely fun. How can you not love a book with Mr.
Bobo the Man-panzee?

[metanote: not so much linky action here, because
I’m writing this up in notepad. The internet is
verboten, apparently. Also, it’s a little too early
in the morning to type up a bunch of html, methinks.]

It’s amazing how much a mindless reception job can
get the old writerly juices flowing. When in the
rush of school, I just can’t seem to make the time
for writing. Which is really a cop-out, because I
do actually have the time. Sheer laziness I suppose.
Maybe the trick to get me writing is to become so
bored that I gravitate towards it simply to relieve
the sheer mental numbness of the day.

Feeling a bit groggy this morning. Here at OSKA,
bright and early. Saw a couple of wicked cool bands
last night: Vagabond Opera and Circus Contraption.
Loads of fun, they were, in spite of the sour mood.

Oh and let’s not forget the cat.
The poopy poopy cat.
She’s newly gotten from the shelter and I’m inclined
to ascribe it to a case of the nerves. The
alternatives are far less attractive. (Parasites? I
don’t even know what sorts of digestive difficulties
afflict cats these days. Peruvian lament?) To the vet
with us! Otherwise, she’s the very sweetest of cats
and reminds me a little of Ned, now that she’s been
all cleaned up and groomed. Otherwise known as The
Hairy Beast until a proper name is found.

I’ve been in the depths of recreational reading
these days. I picked up a copy of A GAME OF THRONES
(based on the maybe recommendation of C. maybe,
because I may have misremembered what book he was
recommending, it was so long ago), then borrowed the
sequel, A CLASH OF KINGS–I sense a theme–from a
friend of mine. In the meantime, I read another
jaunt into fantasticality with THE DARKNESS THAT
COMES BEFORE–this time recommended by H’s husband
upon their visit. That was a good one. Centers
around a character who can plot out probabilities on
the fly and has an uncanny ability to read people,
playing them like an orchestra. It reminds me quite
a bit of the Paul Muad’dib character from DUNE.
Although, in that case, his powers were drug-induced.

Also, read THE PIRATES: IN AN ADVENTURE WITH
SCIENTISTS! Complete with Evil Bishop Action! Fun.
Entirely fun. How can you not love a book with Mr.
Bobo the Man-panzee?

[metanote: not so much linky action here, because
I’m writing this up in notepad. The internet is
verboten, apparently. Also, it’s a little too early
in the morning to type up a bunch of html, methinks.]

It’s amazing how much a mindless reception job can
get the old writerly juices flowing. When in the
rush of school, I just can’t seem to make the time
for writing. Which is really a cop-out, because I
do actually have the time. Sheer laziness I suppose.
Maybe the trick to get me writing is to become so
bored that I gravitate towards it simply to relieve
the sheer mental numbness of the day.

when the bullroarer steps from the rushes, he’s wearing some kind of mink or maybe the severed head of a boa constrictor. he’s not the kind of fellow you’d invite over for tea, that one.

there’s something slimy about the bullroarer. maybe it’s the way he drolls, occasionally, out of the left side of his mouth, casually catching escaped saliva with a battered tin cup he keeps for just that purpose. once full, he dips the gathered expectorant into a wheezy machine strapped to his back. when asked about it, he only smiles wetly and rubs his nose with one finger. the machine–more like a large bladder with straps–has a large red button, beneath which is written in scattered yellow script: “DONOTEVERPUSHTHIS BUTTON”. it hasn’t been pushed yet, but that may have more to do with the skink set above it in a sling. the skink, he’s bob.

when he’s sleepy, the bullroarer sighs, chews some food and just goes to sleep. he sleeps standing up, like a horse, the better to get a running start upon waking, or so he says. his frayed sandals give strong testimony to this statement.

not a one to mess with, our bullroarer eats live barracudas for breakfast, with his bare hands he pulls them out of the tankful that he wheels along behind. he says they’re quite tasty with a bit of salt and just a drop of lemon. failing an actual lemon, a lemondrop candy will do. no one knows anything at all about his origins, however, he just showed up one day on our front stoop, selling girl scout cookies. the uniform didn’t fit right, but the cookies sure were good. especially those samoas. mmmm.

we’re not sure what prompted his eventual meltdown. it happened one morning when we were scraping our burnt toast into the rubbish bin. of a sudden, he stood up, shrieked and dashed himself to pieces against the cuisinart.

funny old man.