Posts Tagged ‘Mouse’

Moving To Hollywood


09 Sep

equality

Throwing Lots of Equality

samplex

Date: Tue Sep 9, 1997 6:28:48 AM America/New_York

SO WHATS UP GABRIEL? PARDON MY GRAMMER, OR WHATEVER. I DIG THE PLIPPANT SCENEWASH ICON OR WHATEVER THE HELL THE THING IS THAT KEEPS ON CHANGING TO PROLIFERATE YOUR NEW WEB TYPE INSIGHT. THING ARE GOIN PRETTY HIP ON THIS END, THURSDAY IM GONNA BE MOVIN TO HOLLYWOOD, MARYLAND THAT IS. WELL IM BACK AT THE ELECTRICAL WORK AGAIN, IT SEEMS TO BE WORKIN OUT PRETTY GOOD. STAYIN OUT OF TRUBBLE FOR THE MOST PART. JUST THOUGHT ID DROP YA A LINE AND LET YA KNOW I WAS STILL ALIVE. IT TAKES A LOT TO KILL ME. LET ME KNOW WHATS GOIN ON WITH SCENEWASH?

LATTER DAY SAINTS,

DANGERMOUSE

P.S. YOU CAN LINE ME AT THIS SITE AND I WILL EVENTUALLY RETREVE IT!

Ahoy there Mouse! Why all the shouting? Netiquette states ALL CAPS is shouting, and should be avoided unless...

Well, okay, you may feel like shouting. You may FEEL like a danger mouse, and yes, it seems you have lived a life fraught with untoward danger, but shouting over the Internet is all rather useless, don't you think. Okay, so you didn't know. Maybe you just tried to avoid the hassles of periodic capitalization by simply making everything sing in caps, showering me in shouts, but it doesn't matter. After all, what or where has any of our conversation ever led? An occasional good time. A few blurred memories. Even a few scab & pus fotographic moments. But really, what have we left that matters? You left me your GED scores. That was strange. You left me some pictures of a child you boasted as your own, but that was long ago, and I've never heard mention of her or the mother ever again. What is real, and what is ephemeral, Mouse in this dangerous life of your'n? For all this, you, me, she, and she were born?

Decay ain't cool man, Decay is what every man, woman, and child is at war against. I'd love to position myself so that I may have something for you sometime. I'd love for you to position yourself to be ready to accept that something, but we both probably still have quite a ways to go. Life ain't about the easy touch. Life is about beating back the boredom of decay and decadence.
Hollywood? Yes I've been there. Lived there as a child before I moved back to Georgia on the first day of my first grade in grammar school. A few years ago Sue and I drove down there again to show my brother Miles Allan who was visiting for a few days, his birthplace of Lexington Park. He hadn't been there since the family moved away a couple of months after he spilled out into the shiny cracked world you and I curl up in the shade to mock today.

Scenewash will get moving soon I hope. Been busy as french fries in bubbling hot oil since we last chatted up. Got two new clients. Still trying to sort out iMote from Scenewash, upgrade a few sections, and that sort of thing. Don't overlook iMote. Although it now sports the business and technical end of my work, there is enough information there that may lead someone like yourself down a new path. You could surely learn a few things about the web industry that may earn you a spot on a design team. You're intelligent, savvy, and dedicated. At least I know I haven't been able to shake up off. But you've got to clean it all up dude. Drop the self-destruction bit, the brain scramble, the wasting motif. You've got enough juice to rise above all that crap, so why don't you?

Good luck in this next tour of freedom. I wish you well. Hell I wish you better than well. I wish you great things almighty. Decay ain't cool man, Decay is what every man, woman, and child is at war against. I'd love to position myself so that I may have something for you sometime. I'd love for you to position yourself to be ready to accept that something, but we both probably still have quite a ways to go. Life ain't about the easy touch. Life is about beating back the boredom of decay and decadence. I'm not trying to preach at you, to you, or against you. I'm just stating my own case in the only voice I have.

GT

Pulp Exhaustion Spatially Explained


27 Dec

sop

Standard Operating Procedure

samplex

Bracken just spilled outa here. Using MacLink Plus to convert his DOS MS Works pages into Mac MS Word docs. We added an extra step taking his Works to Word 2.0 DOS, but we've been losing quite a bit of formatting, and Len isn't looking forward to handsetting it again. By staying in Works, we are hoping the trip straight to Mac Word 5.0a will take hours off our stress times and put smiles in all the right places.
Hey Landry, just a short one to tide me by. Hope your spirits are just where you want them. I'm afraid my friends are beating me up again with their shit for sherlock behaviors. Tim's hanging on by a thread. I asked Steve to stay away. Jennifer will be arriving Saturday for a romp until January 3rd. I wonder how much of her delightful self I will be able to gratify without cracking under the strain of the "oh so coy" gone beserk! Thanks for the card, and merry mucking to all concerned. Hey, I've got Jack's autograph stashed somewhere in a stack of cards. Why would you need it?

I loathe bitterness in any creature, but why do these [punk] actors continue to abuse my natural good humors? What am I doing about it? I guess I'm trying to shake free with an abrupt refusal to step into their fly splat worlds anymore. I gain nothing but aggravation working either side of the equation as I have been known to do, neatest of the neat, noisiest of the noisy. But day after day, year after year, I am forced to choose between an "in my face boredom" and the "sheer terror of the bingeing without consequences".

But the consequences DO EXIST, and even now the Tattooed Elephant is buckling under the weight of these riotous friendships with little or no solid justification, just the dead weight of momentary blather sticking to our ribs. I'm sick of it all, exhaustion confirmed, and them who have or will continue to pursue it...

(and the buzzard winks trying to get a piece of her. She's enjoying the attention, but she's not as easy a target as they might beg to think, and will make them work for every inch.)

We are supposed to be taking a limo out for New Year's Eve, courtesy of Skip Bafalis, a partner at Sue's firm. Two potential complications: no driver has been found, and Skip the owner was rushed to the hospital Christmas Eve, spent the whole next day having exploratory tests run to no conclusive end. He was released sometime yesterday. Still no solid lead on a driver, but bangedup Sue has a maybe or two up her sleeve.

Steve was originally invited, well, he sorta presumed he was invited by default, but last weekend he brought much chaos to this house, and has perpetuated it by further examples of his mute reckonings. Say anything, do nothing. A mile a minute flows off his tongue, uh, followup, what's that?

But neither Sue or I are in our middle to late 20s, or even 30s. Get a grip people, get a gashwhipping grip upon yourselves, and know that you are talking to someone who knows what it is all about. This is a private home and studio apparently shy of staff beyond the principles. Keep the puns in the pants. I can't care anymore. There is no other interpretation.
Tim has been cashing in on street crack, bringing crack dealers and cracked friends to the D-house. A fucking idiot, pimping that shit here after I had made it clearly an uncool deal! The handwriting's in the till that I will probably smack him with the pink slip by early spring if not sooner. He doesn't want to leave, and he doesn't want to lose his lifestyle. I can't blame him, but nobody can plug Tim's life better than himself. And you know me, "I'm a very possessive asshole. I'm trying to bring order to this mess I call my life of peers and all I get from this friendship ring is a future filled with agitation, no no no no peace essence at all."

I am scheduled for a battery of five or six tests in the new year, including brainwave and brain physiogomy scans. Full blood work. Doctor seems to think my problems are neurological in nature, neck and nerve pinchings rather than a brain tumor, but I'm testing the whole noodle kaboodle to rule out the latter. Brain cancer is dropping folk in high numbers in the late 90s it seems. I may or may not be one of them. Most relative I suppose is mother's younger sister Kitty, who died in February at 52 of said vermin.

So all in all, things are rather normal with the Dollhouse ground zero gang. Abused by friendship, alienated from most of the family where it really counts, I only find comfort, despite our plethora of well-inventoried flaws, in my baby baby baby sue...

Lynn, why do I despise the noise when so many seem to embrace it? The problem is not the noise and chaos itself. That I handle quite well in dosages I administer to myself with the greatest of ease. Achievements GT are legendary. But I know I can no longer riot as persistently as this class of 1996, and I want out. Of course Sue loves Tim, Tom, Steve, Jack, Mouse and whomever no less than I, and she DOES LOVE rent day, but something has got to give, me or the outside world. And she said three times denied, three wishes granted. I mean, what is the meaning of meaning if we scat in our own master's house, and act like, uh, catch ya next time, anywaze?

Many times I have asked folk to arrive on a date and at a time I specify. Many are the times when playing it by ear is the only game friends will play. Well, I've rolled that carpet over. I've had my fill with self-gonads at the expense of my own overwhelming desires that I continue to put aside in order to entertain yet another stiff torture at the wiles of the wolfpack.

That’s the way it is among all of us, bound by handshake uselessness & special moting, too offcentered to get much more done than self obliteration one adult beverage after another, word gaming for prizes void in several states, and ogling sessions that defy a national screening; we, the slurfish leisurely class, spamming the spectacle dot dot dot.
I played the idiot punk quite fantastically. That role is a part of me, now. The world will not soon forget that part of me, but geez Louise, this ain't a bar, or a hotel anymore, although I'm not exactly sure when we were penciled in for those tours of duty, it is certainly a reality checkpoint. But neither Sue or I are in our middle to late 20s, or even 30s. Get a grip people, get a gashwhipping grip upon yourselves, and know that you are talking to someone who knows what it is all about. This is a private home and studio apparently shy of staff beyond the principles. Keep the puns in the pants. I can't care anymore. There is no other interpretation.

Do I sound mad as a Mississippi monk on morphine? dear pets? After all these words of banishment I now contemplate staying home in exile even should limosine wax available, wave as the gag orders go their own chauffered way, as I stay back to protect my dwindling investments and bruised heels, aching heads and breaking shoulders, keeping my own puns to the grindstone...yuck what a miser of energy, spirit, and tailwind. But conservative reckoning is a day I must endure, and will embrace as a grand homecoming, despite all the kidz who would steal my middle age thunders kicking me in the shins when it's my pain they can't stifle.

Bottom line: I am tired of being treated as if I were both deaf and mute as my memory reviles and reputes the waste of conversation which never engages real meaning for longer than any particular drunk and hangover harry. At least when I remake the bed in the morning I know I feel better for it, and meaning is multiplied into dividends. No so with a three day drunk where nothing is everything and reality quotients are deemed counterfeit in a fuzzy display of carelessness and forgot me knots...

spam

Human Spam, All Too Human

Bitter blizzard of sins my own carelessness purchased on credit and oops, a ditch. The barge of Bob's party proved that friendship resolutions are best kept at room temperature. Tilting ambition quotas task me as I crumple, long too busy with luck sucking. Periphery bucks buckling. File jitters fluttering. Poor judgement furniture. Pass or fail remarks. D-house or bust. Ain't got the holy chimes to tell everybody everything I know about them, and ain't got the battle bones to listen to all their own rants and riddles about it. Too tight. Too loose. That’s the way it is among all of us, bound by handshake uselessness & special moting, too offcentered to get much more done than self obliteration one adult beverage after another, word gaming for prizes void in several states, and ogling sessions that defy a national screening; we, the slurfish leisurely class, spamming the spectacle dot dot dot.

Sick and tired of the never-yielding pap. Oh I love my spanking fresh weekdays. Short? You betcha, but my sanctuary for creative work that makes sense to me as I lay in store against the coming weekend of friendship madness.

Bracken just spilled outa here. Using MacLink Plus to convert his DOS MS Works pages into Mac MS Word docs. We added an extra step taking his Works to Word 2.0 DOS, but we've been losing quite a bit of formatting, and Len isn't looking forward to handsetting it again. By staying in Works, we are hoping the trip straight to Mac Word 5.0a will take hours off our stress times and put smiles in all the right places.

I'll keep you all jigged on the fleet fool nostril. Which reminds me of then and now. What do you call a fool in the mirror? A loof...

Flawed and flogging it...

GT

Nothing But A Creeping Annoyance Was Lost


21 Jul

word

There's A Word For That

samplex

Date: Sun Jul 21, 1996 1:11:28 AM

Brave sister—Steve is back in the Dollhouse fold, safely tucked in righteously as an original DH cast member after we kissed and made up, laughing and muddling thru blanket apologies, a case of beer, a few games of "perquacky" and juicy cat calls from the next wave of memory hounds setting up camp. Licking the Pussy, Nickel Ball, and Perquackey stalk our energies for reasons neither of us can quite make the case. Sue should telephone early Sunday morning after the cruiseship docks at 8:30 in Miami, a mere seven hours away—right before she gears up to cross the long Floridian peninsula depositing her Aunt Lou back in Albany GA, where Sue will fold into the lives of her shiny folks for a few days. The well-publicized whore in a box scenario was scuttled by default. Mouse failed to call at midnight after getting off work. Indifference had already settled over us like a rude collapsing smog, so nothing but a creeping annoyance was lost.

How was Mum & Auntie's visit? Did you make it to the Ontario waterworks? Today was a beautifully crisp sunny visitation. I signed a neighbor's petition in his race to get on the ballot for the DC School Board. I told him I din't speak the language of public schools. I wanted the Feds out of schools, and perhaps give schooling over to capital and its minions. Ha! The candidate scoffed at my suggestion like any good Republican trapped in an ultra-liberal jurisdiction would. The government sugar daddy model is the only configuration these major parties know, especially in dealing with the poor and the stupid and the college educated who need money for every project a new brood can think up. Watch your toes, professors...

Yep, keep 'em poor and stupid. Now that's a job for those who like motorcycles, trap doors, and house warming blessings in the name of Jesus Christ without knowing the Nazarene was a Jew down to his dying breath, so I want to be one too, leafy spinach & spam balls, and country music exercise videos. I'm sure there's a word for that. Despite the position of the mid-day sun in the Eastern sky where you sit to study strange behaviors of people still moved by ordinary magic, I can be such an ass sometimes. I wanna go with...

Good luck, Wayne Curtin! You'll need it...

GT

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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