Steady Stream Of Sameness

24 Dec

hunger

Steady Stream Of Sameness

samplex

Date: Tue, 24 Dec 2002 11:13:22
From: Stephen E. Taylor

Hey there—wanted to wish you and Sue a Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and rising fortunes with the post-solstice daylight gains.

Yule finds me in Bloomsburg anticipating the forecast snow with childlike glee. Trips to local orchards, general stores, a freshly (and on our order) slaughtered goose lies in the fridge awaiting tomorrow's roasting like an insecure Friar's Club member.

Tonight it's a fine piece of friendly grass fed cow that's roasting. Apple cider quaffed and cookies baked...Christmas tunes bobbing up and down on the CD carousel with a purring fire in the family room. Good to be back home with the folks for a bit. Looks like I'll be here through the early days of January before returning to Philly in the hopes of making something more of 2003.

SET

Nothing new it seems under this sunny side of life, Steve, or me. Steady stream of sameness, gaming for the rich variety that has been my own past, present, and future sameness. My change is loose, and while the tones grow coarser, they nevertheless remain the same after all these muddied tracks of wobbly foibles lost in the whimsy of the uncharted memory stick we each clutch uniquely according to the redoubtable drives and infernal combustions of our own struggling natures.

Alarming Matthew Manus has been trying to get me to re-buttress his own buttery realm of sticks and stones with an odd assortment of half-measured email quips and a Sunday afternoon phone call I missed, fortunate I was to have BS to buffer, but no thanks—the weights and measures of our previous three and a half year toil encourage no need for ubiquitous jokers on the run. Meanwhile, you might guess I know nothing of nothingness.org, the Spudster, or any of those sad little puddles of leftist charm leftover from the quintessential flummox of Lenin reading a book on Marx.

If indeed a password were required, neither you nor the unsavory bootjack could enter but would indeed be blocked, or perhaps saddled with another name for delightful exits perched exactly where you rode in from, save the request for ID and code, forced entries once again the pickled folly of the fruitless to be surveilled by the highly equipped.
The raw facts are that I have whittled nary a whit new, and damned near nothing onto the wash spots in ages. New to you? Probably a few additional chainthinker hiccups have made it to the site within the past year. Like MacArthur Park I shall return with a vengeance, no doubt, but suffice it to say that I am in no mad rush, no longer feeling the excruciating pressures of web publishing. As far as I'm concerned I've already perished in the flames of the economic burst. Keeping up was just too tough for one person with too many interlocking interests to keep me focused on a shifting mirage of minor chords, Manny, Moe, and Jack would have me dancing around in suiting their own peculiar fancies...

You must earn your own bars and stripes on this battlefield of little or no return, my friend, a pop pop slam dunk for a smartly seasoned surf monkey like yourself. Alas, the cage that is the rather recent past fails to muster any new hope in my isolated corner of the ring. Meanwhile, I play the ditto, mimicking my own yawn of yore, still splashing around inspired photographs and the painted word, bouncing back and forth via the manuscript blues, busy work down at the lab, and even an occasional awkward muster to sweat at the gym, aiming to perform miracles in silence, solemnity, and the slow boil. The password scene is only a front, easily backed into an open wound only eloquent passersby can detect. If indeed a password were required, neither you nor the unsavory bootjack could enter but would indeed be blocked, or perhaps saddled with another name for delightful exits perched exactly where you rode in from, save the request for ID and code, forced entries once again the pickled folly of the fruitless to be surveilled by the highly equipped. One day perhaps soon, I may complete the password hack, and pass the struts and strider along to those few in forensic flutter about my darling daily debriefing.

I imagine you to be among them. I am often wrong about the right people.

GT

© 2002 - 2013, Gabriel Thy. All rights reserved.

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


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