Monday, July 24, 2017

The Great Unpluggering



Following are the contents of the last three messages I received via Facebook Messenger, which are also the only messages I received since May of 2017:

"Ed! See you Saturday evening at the TP cafe?"

"Fuck Off Ed. I've never really liked you in the first place.. Keep on sucking."

"Maybe I go to your landlocked janiror job and reech on the floor. Get dust"


No new reasons to live there (tho' the first needs a little more explaining that I care to go into -- you'll just have to trust me). Which brings up the question, since you've only held onto yr FB account so that it theoretically makes it easy for people to contact you, but that contact is sporadic at best and generally annoying and/or meaningless, and the demeanor of your supposed 'friends' since the height of La Resistance (aka the live-action Crossed comic)  can best be described as "outrage burnout" or a bunch of zomboid post-grads animated only by their restless egos (When there's no more room in academia...) just clacking away at their own ennui...WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE? Other than to constantly remind yrself of the utter lack of affinity you have not just with Joe 30 Pack but with other ex "scene cats", what good does it do? Other than to stay your inevitable Kaczynski-esque transformation (again, in theory; it just might as well be speeding it along), what good does it do?

At this point in the unwinding of history and space and time and what-passes-for-sanity, the line between worthwhile and otherwise pursuits has never been wider or harder to see, if that makes sense. I'm going to try to post here on a weekly basis, as a way of keeping my thing (as in 'do your own thing, man') out there in as direct a way as I can comfortably and affordably manage. There's supposedly a lathe-cut 7" coming out on Unread in August, but negotiations have broken down in the last couple of days, so we'll see. No live shows coming or expected in the foreseeable future. What's the point, other that to waste money? Just sit in your hole and stream the shit you heard when your voice was changing. Live in the past, it's a lot cheaper.


Sunday, January 3, 2016

Embrace Decay


"Humans tend to try to manage things: land, structures, even rivers. We spend enormous amounts of time, energy, and treasure in imposing our will on nature, on preexisting or inherited structures, dreaming of permanent solutions, monuments to our ambitions and dreams. But in periods of slack, decline, or collapse, our abilities no longer suffice for all this management. We have to let things go.

All things “go” somewhere: they evolve, with or without us, into new forms. So as the decades pass, we should try not always to futilely fight these transformations. As the Japanese know, there is much unnoticed beauty in wabi-sabi -- the old, the worn, the tumble-down, those things beginning their transformation into something else. We can embrace this process of devolution: embellish it when strength avails, learn to love it.

There is beauty in weathered and unpainted wood, in orchards overgrown, even in abandoned cars being incorporated into the earth. Let us learn, like the Forest Service sometimes does, to put unwise or unneeded roads “to bed,” help a little in the healing of the natural contours, the re-vegetation by native plants. Let us embrace decay, for it is the source of all new life and growth.

Ernest Callenbach, author of the classic environmental novel Ecotopia among other works, founded and edited the internationally known journal Film Quarterly.  He died at 83 on April 16th, leaving behind this document on his computer.

Copyright Ernest Callenbach 2012"

http://www.tomdispatch.com/blog/175538/tomgram%3A_ernest_callenbach%2C_last_words_to_an_america_in_decline

Thursday, June 11, 2015


Not goring well, things are. Time to take stock? Nah, that was some thing that needed doing lorng before now. Too late. Burn it all and see what comes. Take away every thing around you and what lerft? Lerft, indeed. People with tattoos are self-important nothings. But there are more of them than there are of you, so keep it shurt and turn that grimace into a wide and compliant coal chute. Fret. Fret not. The rain is nice. The rain will stop. Nay storp to conquer. Brief were the lives of them what sought to accomplish with the sword what you could now bring about with a single word, brow arched, breath easy.


Saturday, January 12, 2013

song for ducks


you are my buddy
you were my friend
water, tell me future truths
and air, mistook for breath

give me insults
for my troubles
and a six-pack
for my time
and I'll flub a solo
once or twice, for you

try too hard
to impress me
and then blame,
it on, the drugs
and I won't be sad
when our time's finally through

this is a song
for the ducks
that get chased out of the park
by asshole Canadian geese
can we try to have one
without the other just this once
and dirt, scratch me back
into the world, for, good