Tag Archives: Howellnymns

My Personality Disorder Is Calling Me

Kate In The Kitchen
Kate In The Kitchen
samplex

Date: Fri, 13 Sep 1996 21:45:56

You did it, buster, and without a speck of help. But can you get that image map thing to work? HTML personality is easy, but coordinating all that other stuff, now that's the sinew of the true hypertext bone bearers...

Our anniversary. Number 11. Nothing external planned. Was hoping Steve would drop by tonight but I guess he has now slipped into a bouncy inertia which is leading him straight to the woman of his dreams, or maybe mine, whatever. He's too busy for me in this hour of ephemeral need. After nearly a year of alleged indifference—my sensors cannot decode his silence, or general slack—concerning women, but he is now on the prowl.

I am comforted by the fact that I finally got something up on iMote even if the HTML is bogus. It was worth this evening's effort. Now onto the hot bard wire, as a sweet paraphrase of Tom Howell's wedding message would have us...

My personality disorder is calling me...

GT

"Create like a God, Command like a King, and Work like a Slave..."
—Brancusi

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On Tue, 29 Oct 1996, Gillian McIver wrote

I really really hate Bob Dylan he is a lousy hippy for god's sake and religious too. What kind of anarchism is this? —Gilt Ikonoclast

Too bad you're woefully misinformed, Gillian. His anarchy blew the world away, felling millions, and frankly, is the ONLY kind that makes any sssssssense until the next one arrives. That worked for him. That will work for me, not that I'm comparing personalities, or results, merely reiterating that single principle of speaking for myself, myself only. Dylan outwitted everybody, but the guy upstairs as he might put it. How he pulled this off was HIS OWN voice in the wilderness, the ultimate anarchy, sister. He DID IT now you DO IT.

IkONOCLASM is a two way mirror. I see you and nothingness GREW? Who's your point guard, the harried bomber hanging out down at the dynamite factory or the hand grenade general store tossing a couple of quick soda pops down the gullet while plotting the next outrage? It's ALL BUT been done before. Line up, sigh and sign autographs. Anarchy is on the skidz...

But yes, the firebugs will have their way again. It's the way of nature. Terra and cosmology.

GT

"I fought with my twin, that enemy within, 'til both of us fell by the side..."
—Bob Dylan

Quoting Marx, Groucho Marx

punkThanks for the fabulous email, Tom. Let's face it, you and I have never been email chums. How could we with your persistent cynicism, a rival in status, a superior in hubris? The damned sandbox is just too small for the both of us on most things no matter how many Donovan Leitch albums I throw on the turntable. You snark on me. I turn the tables on you. Wittgenstein versus Popper in tone, the hour growing late. Your rather subjective description of what specific meaningful task email performs for some anonymous technogeek as representative of the whole as to what a piece of email is or can be—is something of a marvel worthy only of one who thinks everyone else should squat in the same corner as he does.

For Tom Howell to lecture Gabriel Thy on "walking along the littered shore line of the twentieth century, looking for treasures in the trash" expecting to break through somehow is quite funny—given the subject matter, let's call them the dry bones of men, of relic-worshipping superstitious ages, and other metapsychological artifacts that you've established as a baseline for inquiry in terms of your own artistic career.

To paraphrase Groucho Marx, who is said to have quipped in some venue or another that he'd never want to join a club that would have someone like him, I would observe that I just don't want to join a club or school that would need a debate in accepting me or not. Not now, not at this point in my kinetic energies. Oh, I may exhibit a social pang to run with some herd every once in a while, but I've never known a group that didn't try to enforce a form of groupthink, and thus I brazenly adopt my role as a role-wrecking anarchist. Liberty of choice taking full responsibility for those choices. But one can never be sure what's lurking around the bend. Remaining open to equations unforeseen and seizing upon one is not quite the same slow dance of the glamour years, as you so aptly point out. The noise of competition is indeed deafening, so I refuse to compete. I quit the club scene years ago, keeping to my work.

As for expecting to breakthrough, who are you kidding? I gave that up about the time I met you. There's no place to go. I do what I do because I am compelled to do it. That is all, just long enough to face Death himself without malice. So what drives you off the cliff?