Archive for 1995

Kluck


15 Sep

My street name is Gabriel Thy,
and I am the last of that sorry generation
which begat muster hanging from a tree.
If I got to choose I'd aim to be a diamond needle
or a tadpole analyzing the science of absorption.

"I believe in Glenn. I believe in what he's trying to do."
(Helen Miller of her husband)
But beyond sanitized analytical crumbs, I require
two minutes of God talk, said a child from Africa
writing to ask the hand of Dana Plato
in marriage. It looks like they shot
the goose. There goes the neighborhood, and yet
at bottom, she was overly sensitive,
ripe to a sense of failure and doubting the bet
forcing her to dither a test of her courage.

To the east there appeared an unsightly
contagion of broad punk buildings,
loathsome in their uniform demands and raiment. Scars
of unmanicured lawns and maimed rose bushes
perpetuated the myth that all landscapes
are, if not created equal in the eyes
of the juke box next to a young woman,
return to the scion-infested fuss upon
which they were erected.

Equation Needed: a child dies, goes to heaven
almost automatically. Most adults go straight
to hell for chasing choices in a very uncatholic fashion.
                                 The dilemma, the devious business
of growing old, more sinful,
what percentage, no,
what are the odds that child A will reach full maturity,
even middle age, and still retain the gift of God?
Child B?
Child C?

"Sounds like a John Candy flick," smiled Charlemagne,
wet between the ears. Old McDonnell Douglas
and his flying machine is dying with the words
"only two elephants to a bunk." He used
to be a traveling preacher, traveling on fish sticks,
a golden calf muscle, a disposable literary
technique reeking of the after-effects of a gorgeous
feast, crapping in the diaper of the damned.
Some friend you are, with your ceiling fan
broken. "Vile Geezers, Ode to Benny Hill!"
snaps Wilcox, the Greek exhibit
stranded with the white girl in yellow
pumps on the hood of some candy blue
'76 Camaro LT, questionably butch
as racy as the car, buckles, and tires.

The Perpetual Fan says, "I sweat. I am nano nano
perspiration machine. I eat sweat eating
vanilla ice cream, and the psychic
rendering of memory, one man per invasion,
because whatever choices you make are bound
to become wrong choices after a while,
over and over. Curious bump on the back of the head
no matter whom she slept with because the global anatomy
sounds like a broken record never to fade from the language
any more than hitching your wagon to a falling star,
an exploding star, a star with mammories,
fairy dust wits, a star collapsed in upon itself
like a furious black hole Momma

everybody née everything reminds me of somebody.

[ 1995, Washington DC ]

War Is Hell


30 Apr

But then, I am no military expert. As the facts
themselves reveal, it can be said
I know very little about
almost anything I aim
to declare.

Just ask the silence...

[1995, Washington DC ]

Madness, Dynasties, Chicken Soup, And The Underdog Factor


30 Jan

circus

Circus of Extremes

samplex

Date: Mon Jan 30, 1995 5:27:49 PM America/New_York

Well Space, what's this I hear on the tube about that strange Seattle weather? This has been some wicked winter from the earliest going. Done that ski thing yet? Never had the urge myself, water or snow, although I grew up on the coast and had cousins who were what one might call river athletes, and since I've been in Washington I've declined several invitations to join a group of friends on the slopes. Guess my sense of physical adventure is not very striking if it doesn't include a ball and scorekeeping. Sorry the Steelers couldn't pull it out. In fact, I ended up watching the only first half which was thirty game minutes longer than I'd planned, but as soon as the halftime festivities rolled in, I rolled off the sofa and headed back to my work. Without a strong allegiance to either squad I discovered myself silently pulling for Pittsburgh, the underdog factor I suppose, although as a once vocal now dormant NY Yankee, Notre Dame, Green Bay Packer football, and U of Kentucky basketball fan since childhood as I gnawed my way into sports knowledge with a definitive yearning for my own place among a dynasty's giants, I am just as more apt to dismiss an upstart team in favor of the "best" team as not. But Dallas is now Steinbrennerian, football following the lead of baseball, and sports allegiances as I knew it and loved it is a thing of the past. But you know, Adolph Rupp recruited year after year with powers other schools could not hope to match. There has never been a level playing field. But as fans, while we worship the past, we fear changes lest we lose our own identification with a patch of life which indeed was NEVER stagnant or just the way we would like to remember it.

But this is old song and dance for us. We've nearly exhausted the subject, although I would certainly like to publish some our our correspondence on our WWW site if we can ever get that GeoCities sysop to respond because like I said before there is no way to reapply with your current E-mail address because we are already seeded a spot, and the computer kicks out any reapplication when using CCGS84a....Hey, just had a brainstorm! You've got secondary alpha suffixes, 84B,C,D,E available to you, right? We could probably try one of those and succeed. There is no valid explanation why the original homesteading failed. Their computer just registered some code improperly, discharging what can only be considered an anomaly, locking us into an address on the frontside, but also locking us out because their computer failed to issue you a password because it jumbled your E-mail address on the backside of the procedure. It's worth a shot. I'll await your word.

Still sick with this infection now ten days old. It's not a cold, it's not flu, but some sort of viral infection in my throat. Need antibiotics but don't want to waste time two-stepping with some inept HMO doctor. I went for a full physical two months ago and was astonished that the doc gave me a clean bill of health. I definitely suffer from anxiety tensions and food-related chest & neck/head pains. He suggested they were symptoms of my MADNESS. This was my first visit to this man since I only go to the doctor about once every five years, and our insurance plans change three times that often. I was very detailed in my family and personal health histories, and from all this he assessed that I was tainted with madness! Not that he was far wrong, but he was a general practitioner, an old hispanic man with a crippled left leg, and after chatting with me thirty minutes on a very positive and articulate day for me, he renders my chest pains and neck pains real but irrelevant because they are merely extenuating circumstance derived from my mental anxieties. Yes but why after every meal do I get a rush of pains in the back of my neck? Anyway, to cut to the bottom line, I feel that physicians, in this country at least, in their we-are-the-healers-arrogance despise and dismiss patients who genuinely and without coy sheepishness try to discuss intelligently the mysteries of one's own health, and with my outward appearance and my penchant for avoiding doctors in general (thus no routine billing for them), they are prone to pat me on the shoulder and send me out the door with nothing more than a word to exercise, I'm still young, et cetera et cetera. I could go on about this but the Prodigy mailreader might not, so until later.

Fats

Where's Jimmy Hoffa When You Need Him (Blowing Bubbles In The Sand)


25 Jan

metaverse

Metaverse

samplex

Wed Jan 25 17:31:58 1995

Fats, the weather out here has been uncharacteristically cold lately. At night it's getting down in the low 30's. We've even had light snows. It wasn't this way last winter. But at least it's not nearly as pitiful as what you north-easterners have contended with.

Can't wait till SuperBowl Sunday. I'm probably gonna yell myself hoarse & drink myself staggering drunk that day, especially if it's a close game. I'll be going to a party at Sarah & Laurie's pad, not that those names should mean anything to you. And not that either of their bodies are so familiar to me. But it should be an interesting day nonetheless. Go Steelers!

The baseball owners have approved interleague play begining in '97. Now the players have to agree to it to make it a reality. When they'll do that I don't know. I've heard they won't make that decision until a collective bargaining agreement comes. The way it's set to work is that each team will play 15-16 games against teams of the other league. And it'll be just east vs. east, central vs. central & west vs. west divisions. So the Phillies won't be coming to Seattle under this plan. Personally, I don't like these proposed changes. Or maybe it's just the timing. These folks have their priorities all out of order. If they think that they're gonna win back fans with this crap instead of concentrating on straightening out the economics 1st, then they're only fooling themselves. Not until the day where the majority of players take Ripken's attitudes will the fans truly 'come back'.

I suppose every relationship has its own unique balance & only the ones in it can know what will irreversably push it out of balance. But if I understand what you're saying, Sue's giving you the freedom to go out & play. And you, you seem hesitant to take her up on that. Good luck.
I recently went out & bought me a pair of rollerblades. I needed something semi-fun to open a door for some exercise. So far I haven't been able to get out & use them so much with all the wet weather. But I'm glad I finally made the effort to do something physical. Something's got to control this gut of mine from pushing across my lap when I sit down.

At work we're currently going through some tough contract negotiations between our union & management. Yesterday, they gave us our benefits package options then told us we needed to turn them in by today. And in the absence of an agreement, we don't even know how much money they plan on taking out of our checks to cover each plan. So how the hell can we make such a decision? That's just an example of the tactics we've been confronting. As if it's not enough that we may be faced with salary cuts & cuts in our vacation time. Meanwhile, there's a pay freeze & the layoffs haven't ended. Where's Jimmy Hoffa when you need him?

As far as your marriage situation goes, I don't know if there's much I can respond to what you're telling me. I suppose every relationship has its own unique balance & only the ones in it can know what will irreversably push it out of balance. But if I understand what you're saying, Sue's giving you the freedom to go out & play. And you, you seem hesitant to take her up on that. Good luck.

Space

Snow, Floods, Fat Chances In A Vehicle That Stifles Change


25 Jan

eating-oblivion

Eating To Oblivion

samplex

Date: Wed Jan 25, 1995 1:02:12 PM America/New_York

Hey Space, guess you've heard of the recent deluges that this side of the continent has been suffering through in recent days. So far we've personally only suffered the minor inconveniences of that long melted 30 inches of snow piled up so high there was no going anywhere, and I did finally get sick about three nights ago, and am just now pulling back from the toxic stage into recovery.

There's apparently no danger of Sue & I going splitsville. We are family as we say in our own petit l'amour vernacular, but she has even suggested perhaps I need an extended vacation somewhere somehow fresh and invigorating. Perhaps a spring flight to the west coast, or a Mardis Gras bolt. I dunno. It sounds like a good idea to me, but in the thick of winter the odds that I could exile myself to fun status without crippling anxiety about the homebase are nil. So for now I shall quench my thirst for change simply on the dream and the knowledge that my amazing wife wants me to do whatever it takes to get straight with myself, although she is little more than a dedicated patron of my so-called arts at this point. Love is a pretzel logic with or without the salt of the earth thing ever making sense. Maybe I'll just eat myself into oblivion, taking myself out of the game that way. I love her too much to stray too far away.

Doubt I'll even THINK of the Super Bowl on Sunday much less watch it unless at the last minute some fearless bodysnatcher entices me to join their riotous beer guzzling cult in honor of yet another American moment when all good citizens are called upon to gaze and rejoice at the goodness of it all. Green Bay, I might have watched, oh fickle me.

Have there been any winter rumors or dugout calls from any of the Nuthouse regulars? The way I'm focussed on the Net these days, art in general, technology in particular, I wonder if I will be true to my urges, and rejoin Prodigy just to hang a few curves with the old gang again this spring. I'd like to compete, but geez, I haven't folowed baseball, and what is this I heard for the first time only a couple of days ago, INTERLEAGUE GAMES in 96????? Eeegaaads!!! Gone is the sport of my youth. On the bright side maybe I'll get a shot a catching the Braves in Baltimore. Some local TV buff mumbled something about Atlanta visiting the Orioles in midsummer, oh well. Change is inevitable even in on the one-perfect diamond. Then they lowered the mound, and brought in the fences.

Did you ever resubmit that addressing problem to GeoCities? If you haven't you should. The web is closer to you than you think, although you haven't relayed any info concerning the web and that geek pal of yours you planned to hit up for a few answers.

Don't really have any great windbreaking news to pass on to you at this time. My earlier anxiety with Sue has passed simply because I've given up and have been given the green light to seek pleasure wherever I can find it, although I've gone nowhere in my search to date. Can you believe this woman? No urge to change herself, but no urge to dump me into the street where I probably belong.

Oh I did have a terminal falling out with my mother, but I will save that garbage for later.

Fats

The Washington Wind Or Just Plain Gone Fishing On Company Time


20 Jan

Are We Too Early

Are We Too Early

samplex

Date: Fri, 20 Jan 1995 10:00:36
To: nbc4dc@nbc.com

After all these weeks of not hearing my own personal favorite Washington Bullets replacement name mentioned on the air, and also having gone to one Boston Rotchick on Wilson Boulevard with the sole purpose of registering my entry, only to discover they had no display case for entering, I'll be offering my suggestion to George Michael for his pleasure...the Washington WINDJAMMERS, or the Wind, Jammer's et cetera.

I know it seems a bit long, but no longer than the TIMBERWOLVES, and possible references drawn from both the Washington political scene and basketball culture are many, so have at it George.

Yet another GM fan,

Gabriel Thy

.
.
.

Date: Fri, 20 Jan 1995 10:53:46
To: themac@tiac.net

Abviously you guys are not open for business, yet. It has been what, four full working days and still no movement from either you or First Virtual indicating I am now enrolled in your club, so I guess I'll fade away and test my new FV account at some other savvy joint. Too bad, I was really interested in the Tiac connection and some of your teaser blurbs indicated to me you might have something, but then life is full of detours. Thanks however for your previous and always courteous customer service.

By the way, my contact was Jon Smith and I initially tried to join on January 16, 1995. My FV account came thru with flying colors supposedly, but I have heard from neither them nor your service concerning this application I made on this date. Rumors are flying, so what gives?

Membership bones,

Gabriel Thy

Owning House In Deflated Market Up To One's Neck In Debts


16 Jan

letters-seattle

Letters From Seattle

samplex

Date: Mon Jan 16, 1995 5:30:27 AM America/New_York

Thanks Space for your comments. I think your prescription is exactly what I need but unless I want to leave Sue alone (not a very palatable option for either of us despite my current dismay at the sorry state of what was to be a our cutting edge artistic union) and venture out into places unknown, I am lodged in this crackhole of a city at least until our finances collapse or regain strength. Owning a house in a deflated market up to one's neck in debts does not offer much hope to the escape artist traveling to the new vista which you found in Seattle, and I found so many times in the past. But anyhows....thanks again. Just airing clears the anxiety, and charts the rhythm. I appreciate you being there to help thwart my illusionary misery.

Meanwhile, haven't you ever gotten around to figuring out how to write your E-mail OFF-LINE? In this scenario you would not be kicked off, and could take great pains to write what you wanted to write, not that you don't already take the pains (uh, a flat joke?). The only downside to writing offline is that in Prodigy—at my last observation—the writer is limited to X number of characters and/or lines equivalent to the six pages times eleven lines I am familiar with, and sometimes one is wont to compose more than that whereby the E-mail program simply cuts off the excess at the bottom. Actually all E-mail programs have a limit. It's just that Prodigy's is sinfully more limited than most others. Let me know if this is still the case, that you are still composing online. That's a waste of your online time, although unless you are being more exploratory than in the past because I know you said you use Prodigy for little save BBM & your few penpals, except for the tendancy of the variables of a clean connection to foil you by suddenly disconnecting you (a very good reason to try to offline composing, then uploading method in itself), you have no reason to change your routine now. Anywaze, lemme know. Your pal in the other Washington,

Fats

Fit To Be Tied As Extremities Forgive Ev'ry Non-Conforming Knot


15 Jan

joy-equation

Joy Is Not An Equation

samplex

Date: Sun Jan 15, 1995 7:12:08 PM America/New_York

Space, yeah, the weather and no frills government service contract this city has in place is enough to make me slide to the floor in embarrassment. much to my surprise, I have so much built-up resentment (I've found myself dumping five dollar bills on bums after pleading to them that I had nothing, or at least no change to give, and then despising myself for such ambivolent generosity) living in this part of the city I probably would only need a few days working as a postal clerk to find myself suddenly armed & gunning down a whole mess of innocent strugglers in some McDonald's or hellhole nearest to thee my God. Not really, it's just a metaphor for a strange feeling that I'm fit to be tied as my extremities forgive ev'ry non-conforming knot even as sheer will fails to extinguish some unexplainable need to do something I am told I cannot. And in this fashion I speak only in literary terms. Hence, the Poets.

The fact that I am occasionally shocked by a quick but impacting sentiment whispering to me that perhaps I should finally take my crazy mother's advice and seek some counseling—draws the thick solid line in the sand for me. Am I that near the jagged rock bottom when everybody else around me thinks I'm in total control of everything I touch, taste, and feel, and yet my own inner speech sounds like what you just read?
I'm not in good straits these days, but that sounds like a broken record (as my Dad used to say). I need a reality check. I need a change of environment. But I'm too weak, too old, too disapated from self-pity to initiate that change. Life with Sue is a pathetic crime against the nature of love. We are best friends. That is all. Nothing like a realization like that to split the brain not into left sphere, right sphere, but into the reptilian and deadening silence. Damn it. Life is pretty fucking good to me, man, yet I still yearn for more. I make myself miserable coveting what the world has to offer but that which also forever seems to elude me. Therapy is something I've always rejected as a costly and ineffective (for me) luxury of the pampered and the pathetic simply because I'm a competitive neurotic, a logosholic, a negationist.

Tell me I've got it all together, I set out to prove you wrong, and how pathetic I am, always hunting for that something vital I might have left out in my story, after all, everything is a story, isn't it? Tell me I need help, Doctor Mundane, and I set out to prove how hard and hustling are the muscled beasts I stride reins in grip ready to gallop to the very ends of this earth. Blame me, I either accept it reflect it. Neither position is worth the trouble, but blame nobody, and surely I will beg to differ, wanting to get at the bottom of what moved the mountain to Mohammed, and why in the world, why. But basically, I'm looking for passion in normalcy, or actually, normalcy in passion, or steadfastness, or surprise, or art and politics in every grain of sand, and those are things I've never been able to find for myself. I glimpse it in the lives of others, but not in mine, unless I manufacture it. And if I'm so great in manufacturing it, why aren't I being compensated for it? The fact that I am occasionally shocked by a quick but impacting sentiment whispering to me that perhaps I should finally take my crazy mother's advice and seek some counseling—draws the thick solid line in the sand for me. Am I that near the jagged rock bottom when everybody else around me thinks I'm in total control of everything I touch, taste, and feel, and yet my own inner speech sounds all too similiar to what you just read?

Twas a pity Green Bay couldn't slap down those Dallas showboats. I watched most of the first half. Guess your Steelers gave you a cheap thrill and you've got two more weeks to whoop it up. Didn't Irvin of Dallas used to play for Atlanta? As you know I only follow football and all sports rather superficially these days, but I enjoyed watching that half. Favre is quite the unsung wonderboy.

Don't remember whether I answered your query a few letters ago about that Dylan quote at the end of my postings. I need to change it I guess, but it's something my E-mail program automatically attaches, and is called a signature. Anyhows, I'm feeling a bit better now that I've aired my despair in yet another whining of the fats. Thanks Counselor.

Gabriel

S A M P L E X

"Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw. Souls grow on bones, but die beneath bankers' hours.""


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