omg imaginary

scenes from the fire boss's imagination:

(1) friday afternoon, walking to the market: reactionary boys start fighting. the f.b. throws a sheet cake with vanilla icing on top of them and shouts, "ridiculous!" the f.b. laughs to herself on the sidewalk.
(2) saturday morning, asleep: chased by werewolf, who is actually louisa. werewolf/louisa bites fire boss on the hand. it hurts. later, rossma says, "i think you're right."
(3) saturday morning: indulging touch of hypochondria, youthful death from cancer. conducts post-mortem soliloquy. mourns self tearfully in the bathtub.
(4) sunday morning, asleep: as usual, nightmares are about being trapped in horror movies. this time it is some sort of scifi, alternate universe shit, simultaneously watching and being a member of the small band of heroes FIGHTING TO SURVIVE. return to dream reality only to fall prey to horror-conceit of IT'S NOT OVER YET.

the mind goes on entertaining itself with fictional emotion, which don't cost a thing, except of course that on monday morning, facing the prospect of getting down to business, one has no better tools for busting through the brick wall of reluctance than one did as a wee lass. in fact, fewer, because my older bro cannot come around with his imaginary machete and galvanize me into picking up all my My Little Ponies. if i could willfully put my heart into this crappy office chair i would, but the will and the heart stand with their pistols drawn in the eternal misty morning of my work ethic. in the meantime i shall paint a moustache on my self-pity. ridiculous!

arkeeolojee

that's seminole for digging up old stuff. no, not really. but did you know that in 1842 president john tyler spent 20 MILLION DOLLARS (what, do you figure, is the inflation on that?) to kill off/sign a peace treaty with the seminoles, and failed?

but what i meant to tell you is that, in honor of claire, who is, as she is every summer, half-naked and down in a pompeiian ditch, an israeli architect thinks she's found king david's palace. pretty cool, although it's a shame to add any fuel to the literalist flame. little bit of irony there in the final paragraph. bonus: pompeii grafitti.

nothing saves my mood like a random international, or, even better, science article in the Times. and let me tell you, sometimes all it takes to start a-wallowing is a photo in a show over at UArts of some skate kid being grabbed by his t-shirt. the most satisfying thing i did yesterday was this brainteaser, of the sort they taught me in gifted classes in elementary school. make a table.

Passion dollars, noble serpent

"The phrase I heard used several times was 'Passion dollars'; they want to try to get 'The Passion' dollars if they can," said Ms. Nicolosi, referring to her conversations about the film."

i don't think i'm even going to comment on that one.

have been reading some interesting stuff: "Camp Messianism," which is about contemporary poetry, linked over at sugarhigh. wanting to respond to various points and comments on negativity, and finding, of course, that there was no where to begin, i went looking for help, and there in my favorites was Nagarjuna. so i'm reading that long, clear, fruitful article on the "noble serpent." check it:

"Nagarjuna saw in the concept sunya, a concept which connoted in the early Pali Buddhist literature the lack of a stable, inherent existence in persons, but which since the third century BCE had also denoted the newly formulated number 'zero,' the interpretive key to the heart of Buddhist teaching, and the undoing of all the metaphysical schools of philosophy which were at the time flourishing around him."

newly formulated number zero!! skepsis never sounded so good, so accurate. let's all sit around and investigate causality.

also: listening to the Mixtape to End All Mixtapes, "Genrecalia" by ross, which i am just beginning to unpack along with my suitcases, and john adams' "On the Transmigration of Souls," which i mostly dig for its sudden, traumatic, symphonic siren climax. much too loud (pathology and striking anywhere the last trust). who has tickets to Doctor Atomic?

from the same coast, a nice compliment, and worth contemplating: "i just don't hear much -- well -- prose from you. poetry, yes (though i see little); expository papers or articles from you, yes. the occasional letter or email. but a whole _blog_ ! i'm just very astonished to see this window into some of your thoughts, on a level i've never seen you make public before, at least, with any regularity."

how many windows does it take? here's another.

since i've missed produce at reading terminal again, i'll continue. with an errand to run up at 22nd and fairmount today, i took a long lunch and walked northwest, made good on the rare opportunity to stop in at the cathedral of sts. peter & paul -- so cool and smelling like cleaning products -- and the free library, where there was a special display outside of the Literature room with dark/clover's The Matrix. who was it to whom i said, "just go with the flow," and responded, "there isn't one"? clearly, you're wrong.