| Frêsh Fish |
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Archive Mea Culpa. The above Archive Link & the Search This Blog Link do not work. This happened after Google, the king of search, bought Blogger?
Frêsh Fish - Much magic for a little fish.
Frêsh Fish is a combination of new and spirited with the added bonus being that everyone knows that fish is best fresh. The icing on the cake was that my mother’s mother, Lena, always told her and she me, that fish was brain food. So with Frêsh Fish we have spirited and new food for thought, ideas, that ain’t got no stink. I was suppose to eat fish today and did not. I hope I can be forgiven.
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Monday, March 31, 2003
In search of she who will still my heart to beating faster. And thus with wing to soar above the welter.  © 2003 big box industries  Into the dank dark of consciousness, Hail Holy Light. And from the twinkle tink of the reflecting shadows come the forms. A place where the rhombus and the trapezoid are not thought strange. And of the twelve doors it selected the second, so innocuous yet fatal. Optic Oculomotor Trochlear Trigeminal Abducens Facial Vestibulocochlear Glossopharyngeal Vagus Spinal Accessory Hypoglossal We all being but slaves to the light and the rhombus. © 2003 big box industries Sunday, March 30, 2003
 Smile. You have just been snapped out by Robert "d". Some people claim to never have been the same after undergoing this experience. © 2003 big box industries  Sat Yoy is a visual mantra, used by, inner order, 2nd circle, neophytes. It is a method of confusing the brain. Much like a computer, when the brain is presented with conflicting stimuli, it hangs, a stillness, and then a beyond. Sat Yoy employs the doctrine of opposites, an image for each eye, one the inverse of the other. A knowledge of color theory is imperative. Does it work? Yes, almost without effort. Sat Yoy is one of the most effective transcendental techniques available to the aspiring neophyte. And like most true magick, this obscure ritual is found to be based on scientific fundamentals. Although the effects of diligently employing Sat Yoy are impressive, Sat Yoy should not be confused with enlightenment. The Tao begins with confusion but ends with bliss. "and that just goes to show that things are not what they seem..." © 2003 big box industries Saturday, March 29, 2003
I hope I can be forgiven. I have been flopkaing. She came back for just a little while and then she left us forever. Something about getting a car. I am just a little sad about that, because at least I thought she was wonderful. Got some good stuff in the pipeline. Little che, snapped out, cars, and stuff. As always, coming soon. © big box industries Wednesday, March 26, 2003
I have a hawk fetish. Hawks are so proud. The way they ride the currents, so high and alive, majestic power, a kingdom - theirs. Flit and flicker and then to sail round and round until dizzy with the lust. I have never seen the kill, screeching down with talons erect. But I am ever faithful and someday too this will be mine. The best snaps are the ones that got away, no camera, no film, no something. Shadows on the pavement. Wings fully extended against the blue and the sun. Swirling round and then gone. But I am ever faithful and someday too this will be mine. Just fragments now, too much life. Still I was enchanted and pleased. I missed the best. She was above me with the blue and sun. She was very proud. Perhaps a tease. But I, Robert "D" Snaps, fucked up once again. No film in the camera. But god does love me. As I headed down a different path, a way not taken before, I caught the flicker of her wing. Perhaps she as I was a bit startled. Perhaps I more than she, because far she did not go. In a tree, oak, high, she held reign.  She knew I was there but didn't seem to care. Perhaps she knew I was kindred. She liked me. She liked me because she let me get close. But not too close.  For now, these are my best, these are my best snaps. But I often pray that with tomorrow this will not be so. © 2003 big box industries Sunday, March 23, 2003
And He shall be different. He will have The Mark upon Him. And He will be shunned and ridiculed. Well it is more like The Mark of Fowl. For the last couple of days, the allied forces have been taking target practice on my car. Out of seemingly nowhere it comes, cruise missiles and stealth bombers. With great accuracy, birds have been shitting on my car. "Oh wow there's Snaps' car. Let's do it." Splat!! Why did you do/dew/due in my eye/i/aye/aye-aye/ay? Gee I'm glad that cows don't fly. I asked my sister Pat, when she was about 6, why she was glad that cows don't fly? She sagaciously answered, "Because of the milk." © 2003 big box industries Saturday, March 22, 2003
7,000 targets. Please give me a break. What in the fuck are we taking out? Command and communication centers? There is nothing to command and communicate to. We should have been able to completely succumb the enemy by now. But notice how slowly we are going. One wonders if there is a reason for this? Bush et. al. is military industrial complex and companies that have an established presence in the Middle East. Blow it up, and then let the highest bidder, with your tax dollars, rebuild it. We certainly are not pursuing a low cost method of abdication. The truth and nothing but the truth. The Iraqi Conflict is an inventory dump. Use up a lot of cruise missile at a million dollars a pop. Use up this, that, and whatever. A $1,000,000 here, and a $1,000,000 there, and pretty soon we are talking real $$$$$$$$$$$$$$. The truth. I didn't think the evidence revealed, justified the action taken. But Bush, diplomatically, fucked it up so bad, that our only course of action was to engage. I bless all the US troops. It was not their decision. The US troops are following orders. I am glad that, given we are engaging Iraqi, that things have gone as well as they have. Still to me it is all a farce. I am making this up but as a rough estimate I suspect that the Iraqi conflict will cost each tax payer about $1,000. So watch CNN a lot and get your money's worth. Watch a lot and be proud. Watch a lot because they are spending your money. And after they are finished blowing it up, they are going to ask you for the $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ to rebuild it. They are counting on you being d&s, and perhaps they are right. This isn't rock and roll. This is genocide. © 2003 big box industries I am working on becoming a gonzo digital photographer. The first step in this process is to play let's pretend. "Featuring the work of gonzo digital photographer - Robert "d" Snaps. The "d" could stand for dangerous but it actually stands for digital." In truth I have never been a gonzo anything, and it is even a stretch to claim that I am a photographer. Mea culpa. Still I think I am entitled to a few points for trying. I have read several books on digital photography, and read scads on the web, and taken about 1,000 snaps. And I have yet to surrender. I have mentioned this many times. And I am hoping with exposure to establish this as a truism - "The magick is in the doing." The more you do the better you get. Banish the distractions and do. Wondo. Do now. There are some clues to digital photography. Things one only really discerns, like a brand on the brain, by doing. The first is rather intuitive but will be an experience that all that point and shot will encounter. Clue #1 - You must have your camera to be cool. It happened. You didn't. No camera. This has happened to me many times. The last time this happened was at sunset this evening. I worked today and I was outside at sunset being bad. I was outside copping a smoke. And from the corner of my eye i caught a brown furry. From the corner of my eye I caught something different. To appreciate my little thrill you have to know that I live and work in the city. I live and work far from the magick of nature. And yet there it was. I have been outside in front of my 21 floor office building several thousand times and never seen this. Over near where I have sat a hundred times before was a little rabbit. It held my in awe. Via Chinese astrology my sign is The Rabbit. We are suppose to be very lucky. It was there. And I would like to think my brown furry was there just for me. It did this and that with the sun slowly setting. And then before anyone else could share, my city rabbit scurried into its hole in the hedge. But boo! I was there. My eyes saw. I had no camera. There have been a thousand snaps taken of rabbits, but this was my rabbit. My little brown furry was there just for me, and I committed the only sin. I had no camera. © 2003 big box industries Friday, March 21, 2003
 Today was a perfect day. I went to the river with Plum and we had a good time. Mother Nature really put out for us. We saw several hawks and a crane and the most brillant bright red cardinal. We even found just two waiting ducks that seemed to be there just for us to feed them. All this and heaven too! I love it. © 2003 big box industries Thursday, March 20, 2003
Just got finished watching part of Elmer Gantry and I am still in awe. Burt Lancaster at his best. I am not sure who the chick was but she was, she stole my heart. Elmer Gantry makes Chicago look like the Weekly Reader. Again, Burt Lancaster is at his best. I think Gant would make a great date flix. I wasn't going to tell but I find that I am. The last time I saw Elmer Gantry was about 20 years ago. For reasons still not understood, the last time I saw EG it really effected me. After watching the movie, I took my journals and things strange and such, and burned them all. There was a big barrel. I put everything, things of shame, in the big barrel, squirted some lighter fluid on everything and let it glow. It took about 5 hours for everything to - ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Whatever. Do Elmer Gantry. © 2003 big box industries Wednesday, March 19, 2003
Posted
10:06 PM
by robert d
Tuesday, March 18, 2003
She could whistle. She could jump high. And she was adept at going round and round in circles. First she would go - tick, tock - clockwise - and then - tock, tick - windershin. She always executed the - tick, tock - clockwise maneuver flawlessly, but on occasion her windershins were cause for concern. © 2003 big box industries Monday, March 17, 2003
Shawn, and Kevin, and Eileen, and Kathie too. They have all broken my heart. So proud. So Irish. Happy St. Patrick's Day!! Only The Chosen know the bliss of being Irish. © 2003 big box industries  Some people like to go out dancing. Other people, like us, just like to blog. Wait a minute, that's not right. I like to dance and blog. For content, Girls Are Pretty is still the best blog out there bar none. This guy shoots from the hip 365, never a down day. There is just no competition. This guy is in a world of his own. Wondo. © 2003 big box industries Sunday, March 16, 2003
Did anyone ever figure out the meaning of the above? My guess was it had something to do with a junkie and his needle. But I never really spent a lot of time trying to, go Jethro go, decipher the secret messages in Les Beats' songs. Sure I listened now and then, and even bought a few of those big black round things, but John and Paul could only take me so far. You have to be suspicious of a band that wasn't at their best when they were live. I hate it, but I am going to have to bring a gun to work today - self defense. I just got this feeling that it is going down today, probably at lunch. All day yesterday people would stop and stare and then quickly look away. I heard their voices when my head was turned. They want it. They want it bad. And they know that the only way that they are going to even get close to the good stuff is to steal mine. Fuck you. I hate it, but I am going to have to bring a gun to work today because I think some of the people at work are going to try and steal my lunch. I really don't blame them because lunch is going to kick. I actually hope someone gives it a go, cause I'm ready and I need a little happy. So what is for lunch? A box of raisins. 3 wedges of sliced grapefruit. .A bough of white Peruvian grapes, that were suppose to be on sale for 99 cents a lb, but I got the grapes for free and $3 back because they fucked up when they rang me out. An - I Did This All By Myself Salad - cucumber, lettuce, purple onion, green pepper, olive, grape, tomato, garlic salt, fresh ground pepper, shaken and stirred with some Newman's Own - Family Recipe Italian. And to be heated up, some broccoli, corn, onion, and tomato, with a dusting of garlic salt, fresh ground pepper, and a splash of chicken stock. "Man that lunch sure does look good." "Yeah, and you are ugly and smell and I have a gun." © 2003 big box industries Friday, March 14, 2003
And like yesterday, we find tomorrow, with the sweet stink of the popcorn white pear tree blossoms , and the perfect showy yellows of the forsythias, and the caws of the hawks as they soar and mate. With a harangue of verdant greens and Mandlebrot's galore, and then of course - to the ice cream - to the screaming colors. Nothing forgotten, all the highs and lows, across the spectrum she does shine. And with just a touch only her colors will dew. All the others but a monkey's cut and paste. Soon she shall be with us and her kingdom awakens. And no matter how you say your prayers, she has never cared. For she knows that as her kingdom makes ready, you too in your heart will make a place for her. Together you will make colors and feel alive. Aroint and anon. All hail!! Spring has sprung!!! © 2003 big box industries "If there's love in your life, everything else will take care of itself. You and your sweetheart are a team, delighting each other and paving the way for a smooth ride. From this point onward, you'll be happy wherever you end up." This was my love life horoscope. It was almost like - An angel out of slumber I did wake. To catch just a twink of heaven waiting. Holy were the harps with Ghost and Spirit. So where is some of this coming from? Ghost and spirit - My dad on Wednesday, told me it wasn't - In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost - nevermore. He told me the word Ghost had been replaced with - In the name of the Father, and the Son, and The Holy Spirit. Harps for the verdant wearing. The drum rolls and such I just made up. And I think we all know who the angel is?..."d" © 2003 big box industries It has been a go since yesterday. The word is out. There is no way you can do something on the magnitude of an all out phyrotechnics display on Iraq and not have lots of people know about it. When lots of people know about it, usually, more than one, the word sooner or later gets out. In this case it was sooner. The smart money made its bets on Thursday. The price of crude fell about $1.50 a barrel, gold dropped $10 an oz., and the stock markets had a nice little rally. Looked like smart money on the move, all the usual characters in sync, doing just what theory would predict they would do if somehow, some people, already know when the US attack on Iraq is going to take place? In a little known text, held in perpetuation, by an obscure sext, the first words of the text, as translated by The Chosen, is, "Sunday shall always be a day of atonement, Sunday shall always be a day of War. Get holy with God and believe." The translation either means that or that you need, a trinity, a trinity, three days to get your shit together. Either way, the sacred text will always be holy. You heard it first on Fish. It's Fresh. The offensive on Iraq will finally start getting it on this Sunday - 3/16/03. © 2003 big box industries You are hearing it first on Fresh Fish. The offensive on Iraq will finally start getting it on this Sunday - 3/16/03. I gleaned this intelligence from an errant encrypted e-mail I received this morning. Still not sure how it ended up in my box? From : Uncle Donald To: Frank Footer Kill them all and let God decide. ETA - 3/16. Don't fuck it up. Quack, quack. Wondo, Don © 2003 big box industries Tuesday, March 11, 2003
It had rained hard for a couple of days. Even got a light show now and then with the bolts of Thor and the roar of the rockets. But then after thirty days and thirty nights, the Sun declared its sovereignty over the heavens and the sky was its most beautiful blue, with puffs and billows all a (There is a word I am looking for here that I can't remember or find. It actually doesn't make sense in the context of the sentence. This MIA means with hand on hip and elbow extended outwards. I thought the word was gimbo or kimbo, but neither came up in my dictionary. And I knew the word was there because about 30 years ago I had a bitch over at my apartment and she used the word. I claimed there was no such. She demanded the dictionary. I was wrong and she was right. She marked the word in my dictionary with a pencil. Every now and then when I come across this memento I always smile. If anyone knows the word I am implying I certainly would appreciate a clue? p.s. - The word I was looking for just popped into my head as I was riding in my car on the way to work.) with puffs and billows all akimbo. I decided to go to the park down by the river where I shot my baby, to write and feed my honk, honk, like a bicycle horn, ducks. It was very serene and calming. Birds chirping here and there, the occasional jet scurrying across the sky overhead, and the murmurs and coos and lappings of the river as it ran muddy and flush. Come to me girl now you know, I love you so, oh, oh. Come sit beside me right here, Watch the river flow, oh, oh. Oh watch it flows as it goes, To the mother sea, e, e. And so to know, oh, oh, That you are free, e, e. The River Flows - Kam Manship © 1971 (In the early '70's, Kam Manship was my best friend. We were The Glimmer Twins, Kam wrote the lyrics and I provided the guitar. In all we probably wrote about 20 songs. The above is part of the song, The River Flows. Flow was one of two songs that we put together on a perfect day, down by the river, at The Hole In The Dam in Athens, Georgia. It is the only song I have written down and remember. In 1972, Kam Manship died of complications after having open heart surgery for the third time.) It had been about a day since the rain had stopped. From the dampness of the shore line I could see that the river had run, like a tide coming in, about 5 feet up the side of the shore. It must have been about 2-3 feet higher at its crest. Up 2 over 5. I went down to were a picnic table had be placed on a wooden platform that was right on the river's edge. Here there was more evidence that recently the river had been very phat. The wooden platform was covered in an inch or two of fresh silt, remnants of the big party. It took me about 2 nanoseconds to decide that I needed it. I needed it bad. I took my sandals off, and with a yellow legal pad, pen, and a loaf of bread that I had brought for the ducks in hand, made my way very carefully down to the picnic table. I placed pad, pen, and loaf on the top of the picnic table and then one by one I let my worms wiggle in the mud. It was very therapeutic. "And we will let all the Evil ooze out into the mud." I was complete. I had made the eternal connection. I with bread, wrote, as the river sang to the sun and the day and me.  It is a little sad but true that a man can handle only so much bliss. So after scribbling a bit on my yellow legal pad, and poking a hole in the plastic bread sack and having a dough ball or two, and carefully making my way over to the left near the river's edge and taking a glorious pee, I decided it was time to go in search of the honk, honk, like a bicycle horn, rhymes with flux, the ducks. I cautiously made my way up the embankment, not wanting to slip in the slim, picked up my sandals, and ventured down the path to the right in search of friend or fowl. I came to one of the usual places, a huge rock jutting out into the running river, but no ducks were spotted on the horizon. Still the word clean instantly came to mind. I put all my stuff down and again with attention to detail, made my way out to the end of the rock. I assumed the standard yoga cleansing position and one by one stuck my nasty feet into the rushing muddy water.  © 2003 big box industries Monday, March 10, 2003
How much do you think it costs to maintain a standing army of 250,000? Pick a number, any number. I am far from being an expert but let's just say a $1,000 per soldier - 250,000 x $1,000 = $250,000,000 per day. Then add in the extra cost of rising oil prices, stock market declines, adverse effects on the economy becaused of delayed decision making, and the opportunity cost of using these funds in this fashion instead of something more constructive, and again it is pick a number, any number, but an additional $100,000,000 a day doesn't seem unrealistic. So at present a very rough estimate is that The Iraqi conflict is costing us about $350,000,000 a day. Well it isn't as bad as I thought. The cost of the Iraqi conflict is only about $10,000,000,000 a month. I guess it is worth it to have something for everyone to do and keep everyone entertained. © 2003 big box industries Sunday, March 09, 2003
,but perhaps they lie, that you can tell a person by their books?  And I have culled my garden many times. And those that are still with me I call my familiars. And then he had pizza and coffee and he was content, content for awhile, but he would stir again. To stir, and claw and paw in The Garden again, and seek for what was his. © 2003 big box industries And when Adam returned from his daily travails in the garden, he was shocked to see both Lilith and Eve, together, waiting for him. All of his cunning stunts and wit for not, they had found each other. He was instantly at the ready, for another Bitches' Day in Paradise. © 2003 big box industries The goings and coming of the moment. How strange the transformation of one thing into another. Every changing, every swirl, and yet still atom moon the same. We all know I am very memento. In many ways yesterday is already a mystery to me. This comes with age and more than my fair share of abuse. This is one of the reasons I blog. This is one of the reasons I am into digital photography. Noitidnoc siht evah i. Sometimes from within or sometimes from without, some form of stimulus will set me off and away I will go. This time it was an email from my, I was putting Portuguese but that's not right, Victoria is from Brazil. Vickie is the Mack Momma of Email. Sometimes I feel like I am under attack. Victoria will send out a barrage of 10-15 emails at a time. They are split about 50-50 between, If You Believe in God Send This to a Friend, and jokes and sundries. This time what got my mind all a whirl was an email entitled, 6 Reasons Not To Let Men Babysit. The email was a wonderful collection of 6 snaps showing young tykes at there best. Having just written on the impedicus, this little guy just stole my heart and started my mind to swirl.  To me, the snap of this little guy showing his love, was a glyph of the human spirit. One, two, and I was gone, with a thousand thoughts clamoring for recognition. "Me, me, do me." Caught up in this homage to the human spirit, I immediately felt the need to consult another. I immediately felt the need for my, leather bound, cover - blue with gold print, illustrations by Gustave Dore, copy of John Milton's, Paradise Lost. Yes, yes, I know. The One Ton Johnny is a drag. It really isn't a page turner. No one ever just sat down and read it cover to cover in just one sitting. Paradise Lost is The High Mass intended for a very few, The Chosen. Still if I could only select one offering to illustrate what is best about these creatures that walk erect, the crown of creation, something in which I would have no shame or doubt, Paradise Lost would be my gift. Back to the planet Bob. One of the places that Milton really shines is the way he captures the hope and resolve of the spirit, be it human or otherwise. Having gone the distance, as far as you can go, down, with just a little time to forget, back again, with hope eternal, His Fallen plot their rise. If you have ever lost something dear, but then with the passage of a little time, continued to hope and dream again, you have been there too. So off to all the usual places looking for My Johnny. Usually he hangs out on the first shelf of my first book case? Nope. More shelves and more bookcases? Nope. How about in the laundry room? Right. Well at least I didn't check in the frig. Maybe the maid stole it? But why in the fuck would the maid, of all my things, want to purloin My Johnny? Wait, wait, that can't be right because I don't have a maid. Well maybe it was the maintenance man? Does Johnny speak Spanish? No. Not any planet. Back to planet Earth. I was going to make this longer. Tempis fugit. I still wanted to get in more Women of the Night and My Nasty Feet. But the Earth beckons. Think I will have to pass on more Women of the Night. Hey they weren't really snaps of hookers. I am practising on taking snaps in poor lighting conditions in clubs and I got a few that came out ok that I was going to share. But the chicks are always there and that will just have to wait. But My Nasty Feet only happen about once a year, so if I can get it up and out that's what's coming next. © 2003 big box industries Saturday, March 08, 2003
 The women of the night. They are everywhere. Got a few more nasty girls. And then we will have my nasty, then clean feet. All this and heaven too. I love it. © 2003 big box industries Friday, March 07, 2003
A zillion things are and have been happening, but I find I can only blog a few. And even these are pressing. But I swear on whatever is holy that I will soon blog on, you have to love them, the women of the night, and my nasty, dirty, only for you, then clean, feet. Women and nasty. Should be good. © 2003 big box industries  © 2003 big box industries Thursday, March 06, 2003
Clue - My Johnny refers to a friend, a familiar. My Johnny has been with me for many, and many, a year a go, in this kingdom, down by the sea. This my Johnny knows and more. When I am with Johnny I am different. When I am with Johnny I am proud. When I am with Johnny I no longer hear the voices in my head. When I am with Johnny I am...  Johnny refers to John Milton's immortal work, Paradise Lost. I have been there before and again. It was not when I was young and a fool, but in the again, when with years and grit, that I got down on my knees and prayed, prayed for the bliss. I know few things. Once thought true now false. But this I do know. John Lost is the best. P.S. - I found my copy, leather bound, cover - blue with gold print, illustrations by Gustave Dore, on the third shelve of my first bookcase. God loves me a lot. © 2003 big box industries My mind has been blown. I've lost my Johnny. I've looked in all the usual places and Johnny is just not to be found. He has never done this before. When I needed some comfort and surcease, Johnny has always been there to tease and amuse and raise my spirit higher. When I was all alone and needed just a little shelter from the storm, it was my Johnny who was there for me, hail holy light. Together we shone and shinned, glimmer twins, eclipses all the others with our radiance. Johnny always made me proud. I go back again, and again, to the usually places. No Johnny. I have been abandoned and forsaken. I would ask others but they really would not know. He was my Johnny, not their Johnny. Of all the things I have, it is strange to think that someone, anyone, would want my Johnny above all else. In their hands he would just not be the same. I will, forever and always, believe that our relationship was special. None to take away. None to tarnish and shame. None to make this communion less than holy. Perhaps being so memento, I have sinned. Perhaps in some way repressed, I was too much. Perhaps in some way, I was not longer worthy. Until now, now lost, until now I never knew how much I needed my Johnny. Until now it was always something of a lark. But my heart is heavy now and … The phone just rang and I have a damsel in distress. (hopefully, to be continued) © 2003 big box industries While I am not a Cassandra, in reviewing some prior posts, I came to the conclusion that I made some pretty good predictions. Check out this one on the Iraqi conflict, and my stock market forecast is even more impressive. © 2003 big box industries Wednesday, March 05, 2003
It is embarrassing to be an American. We have over 200,000 troops waiting, at the cost of billions of dollars a day, to do something. We are all dressed up and have no where to go. Bush happens. Rule number one of being cool is that you never do anything unless you already know the outcome. If the US didn't know in advance that France and Russia would sign on, please don't take the high ground and say you need a UN mandate. And then if your big time battle plans need an insignificant piece of shit like Turkey to agree, have it in your pocket. The US now looks like a Fool. Things are so bad that North Korea is harassing our spy planes. I would have done things a lot different. From day one, about six months ago, before the price of oil went through the roof and the economy started to again spiral down, I would have flown sorties over Iraq everyday. A communication center here, a tank company there. Everyday Iraq delayed I would have pounded twice as hard. But no. Enter George Bush. Saddam is playing Bush Happens like a fiddle and it is very embarrassing to be an American. In six months, Bush Happens, has done more to rally the rest of the world against the United States than all prior presidents. And most Americans really, really, don't care about Saddam and Iraq and the Axis of Evil and weapons of mass destruction. It's the economy stupid. Perhaps it is best that Bush Happens has his head stuck in the sands of Iraq. I'm sure it would be very depressing to see what he would do to the economy if he really tried. Well it was actually prophesied years ago. "Man who does not like broccoli will have son who is as dumb as dirt." Thus spoke Zarathustra. Support your President or whatever. The skinny here is that Bush is a limp dick head that can't even pee straight. I am embarrassed to be an American. Those weak white boys are blowing it again. © 2003 big box industries Tuesday, March 04, 2003
Actually Izzy and D hit town last Thursday, 2/27/03. They just kind of popped up. Since they hang out in different containers, I am a bit amazed that they both broke ground at the same time. They are a little bit early this year. Via the archives, last year they started to do there thing on 3/17/03. But even last year they did it in sync. It is like they can communicate with each other. "Wondo?" "No let's wait a bit."  Isadora and Duncan are my two bleeding hearts. They have been with me for 5 years. Each year they pop up. Stretch. And then put on the most fantastic show of little pink/red hearts. You have got to love them. And then about early summer they split. Sprung is springing and I am a little excited. Tis true. I am a very excitable boy. That's why they they once called me Rocket Boy. © 2003 big box industries Monday, March 03, 2003
 I find myself sitting on the floor, with a yellow legal pad staring(staring/starring) me in the face, and a slim, blue, 5 year anniversary service pen, from the company I work for, wedged between the thumb and index fingers of my right hand, wondering what I shall write about. Besides pen and pad, several other familiars are in attendance – cigarette in left hand – pack, lighter, and ash tray on the floor to my right. I am half dressed – socks, underwear, t – shirt, and robe, sitting cross legged on the floor waiting, waiting for an idea to take me away on a Nantucket Sleigh Ride. I have lit another cigarette and hold it between the index and σ fingers of my left hand. I am already having trouble. I am having trouble with the names of the digits on the hand. I know thumb, ring, and my favorite – pinkie. One of the remaining digits is the index finger. I would think the index finger is the one that you point with or the one that you follow a list with. That would make the index finger the one next to the thumb. I am really not sure about this though. The index finger could be the digit after the one near the thumb. Regardless (obiter dictum – I came across irregardless several times in Lecarre’s – The Tailor of Panama.(The book was much better than the movie.)) There is still one digit out – a digit for which I have no formal name for. If I am correct about the index finger being the one next to the thumb, then I could call the σ finger the bird finger. But I was hoping for a more technical name for the σ digit. Time to seek assistance. Time to do some research. Time to investigate. I have an occult book, I think it is called The Book of Zolar, that has a section on palmistry in it. Maybe it formally names the digits of the hand. The book – The Encyclopedia of Ancient and Forbidden Knowledge – Zolar – 1970, was on the 3rd shelf of my 1st bookcase. When I opened it to find out the copyright date, it gave off a musty old book odor. It was the odor of neglect. I had not had the need for forbidden knowledge in many months. Or at least I had not thought I could find such in a book Well who would have thunk it? I went to the index. Among the chapters on The Mystery of Sex, forgive me it is Mysteries, and Astrology for Beginners, and the Tarot, is The Other Psychic Sciences – starting on page 378. I thumbed around the 370’s, and on page 382 saw Palmistry. As I skimmed the next page, 383, I came across thumb, index, and then I came across the more technical name for the bird finger. According to Zolar’s Forbidden Knowledge, the finger between the index finger and the ring finger, the σ digit, is the middle finger. Now why didn’t I think of that? In truth, I am not sure how authoritative the encyclopedia is. It calls the pinkie the little finger. Boo!! And whenever I am in doubt, I just whip my impedicus out. © 2003 big box industries Sunday, March 02, 2003
Blogcritics.org has moved. I had to google to figure out where it was. There was no redirect from the old link. This site has something for everyone. Blogcritics is gtg (good to go), kicks, and is always fresh. Coming up next on Fish is The Story of The Impedicus. If you know what an impedicus is, you are just too fucking smart. © 2003 big box industries I have been snapping out for about a year. I wasn't really into photography before I went digital and it has been a slow go. Still I am making progress. The magick is in the ing. The magick is in the doing. I learned two things right away about going dijii, one is obvious and the other though related is more covert. I have a nice little pop up flash on my Olympus D 620-L, but it is a bit weak. A related trick of the trade, that only comes to the chosen in dreams during the darkness of the night, is that if you need to use flash to get your snap, do not use zoom. With zoom the scene seems to be in your face but it is actually miles away, weak digital flash is not going to carry. To partially remedy the above, I went out and ordered the bomb. Put this on your baby and all of a sudden you are uptown.  The Slave has four intensity settings, multiple tilt for bouncing off the walls, and several different filters. Unfortunately, it only comes with a little four page manual. Most of the shit is over my head. Hey, but they don't know that I don't know and I am never, ever, going to tell. The skinny is, if you don't have a Slave, it is kind of like walking around with a bag on your head. Word. © 2003 big box industries Saturday, March 01, 2003
I am the only guy I know who is older than his Dad. You go Mom! My Dad is actually a lot younger than me. How to resolve this dilemma? My Dad was born on 2/29/24.  He doesn't really have a birthday this year but he has been so good that we are celebrating it anyway. Happy Birthday to Gene - aka - Pot Head - aka - Geno - aka - Known Terrorist. Long may you run. © 2003 big box industries
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