| 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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Saturday, May 31, 2003
I watched part of a TV program on genetics last night. The factoid that really took me for a whirl was that for the first six weeks of fetus development we are all female (XX). The fetus evolves as if the entity that will manifest will be female(XX). It is not until somewhere between the 7th and 9th week that those fetuses with an Y chromosome start to be flooded with the hormone testosterone and the differentiation between female (XX) and male (XY) commences.  Perhaps the story of Adam and Eve is slightly errant. Maybe it was Eve who pined in the garden for another. Perhaps God in a moment of pity, took one of Eve's ribs, one of her X chromosomes, and broke off a piece, fashioning an X chromosome into a Y? © 2003 big box industries I am hoping to do a little two legged thong hunting this summer, but it seems like the Japanese girls, with the latest in swimwear fashion, have upped the ante.  © 2003 big box industries Thursday, May 29, 2003
Everyone has mood swings. When they happen collectively in the stock market we get Bulls or Bears. Recently, the second derivative has been positive - increasing at an increasing rate. Markets have been hitting highs for the year.  I know a while back I read something about May being the top for 2003. But I am so memento. © 2003 big box industries Wednesday, May 28, 2003
I received a scathing rebuke via email from William F. Buckley Jr. with respect to my last blog on the $1 trillion Debt Acceleration Plan of 2003. I quote - "To associate George Bush, the current President, with serious thought in any form or fashion, present or future, is to indulge in a non sequitur of the most precarious kind. To imagine that an entity with a SAT score of 953, who graduated from Yale with an almost unheard of GPA of 2.1, could possess the acumen to contribute or actually even read a piece of legislation that will effect the lives of hundreds of millions of people is a one act play straight from The Theater of the Absurd." Bill reads Fish religiously and gets on my ass for every little thing. This stems from a article I previously wrote for The New Republic, "Won't You Come Home Bill Buckley, Won't You Come Home", in which I called Buckley the Uriah Heap of the neoconservative movement. For those of you who have never caught William live, he has a very annoying habit of rolling up one of his paste fat white lips and then affecting a pensive pose by placing his right, and you can be sure it is his right, hand on his chin, before responding to any intellectual challenge. Puckered like that, the first word that always comes to mind is toady. And rest assured that Bill Buckley before all else is very humble. Obiter dictum - The interesting thing in the above is that originally I could not remember the name William F. Buckley Jr. I could almost see him aping on his TV show Firing Line but his moniker alluded me. All sorts of names, that I instantly knew were wrong, kept popped into my mind. Why bring names into consciousness that one knows are incorrect? Finally I started to have a sense that the name contained a B in it. I hit on George Brady and then eureka the name William F. Buckely Jr. flooded my consciousness. Based on this observation it seems that in some fashion I have names arranged in my head in alphabetical order. I always find it entertaining to be privy to the machinations of the mind. © 2003 big box industries Saturday, May 24, 2003
The Bush Happens - Debt Acceleration Plan of 2003 - passed both the House and the Senate. Was it the best possible thing to do? Of course not. One of the great flaws of a political system based on compromise, Democracy, is that you never get the best. Actually once again, The Bush Cabal, did a masterful job of smoke and mirrors public relations. Bush's spin team is one of the best ever. Most have been led to believe by the press and such that Bush only got about half of what he wanted. Actually several tax cut provisions will happen sooner under The Debt Acceleration Plan of 2003 then the original bill. And if sunset laws imposed upon the legislation are not enacted, then the legislation passed will actually yield a much larger tax cut then Bush initially asked for. The real beauty here though is that when The Debt Acceleration Plan of 2003 starts to generate huge deficits that will dictate higher interest rates to accommodate the ever increasing national debt, Bush et. al. can say, "If my original Bush Happens Debt Acceleration Plan had been passed we would not have the problems we are having today." Wow!! All this and a Big Prick too. Know this for sure. It was the rare Congressman or Senator, if any, who read the whole bill. There were enough if, ands, and buts, in this bill to confuse the best of minds. And you can talk about numbers all you want but trying to determine the dollar value of changes that transpire over a ten year period is like pissing in the wind, i.e. excessively feckless. Confusion is another inherent feature of the democratic process. And this brings us to Big Pricks. I had a birthday last week, and no, one of my presents was not a Big Prick. But in truth I am getting old. All of today's music seems so skank to me. I try to hook and keep it fresh but there just ain't no life nowhere. Occasionally I watch MTV or listen to the radio but it is all pubescent squish. I keep coming back again and again to The Old Ones for some satisfaction. Right now my house CD is The Howard Stern of Shock Rock, Lou Reed - Live - Take No Prisoners. Actually Howard, The Lou Reed of Shock Radio, picked up all his tricks from Lou. There is something about that irreverent, Jewish, New York, nonchalance, that is very Fuck You appealing. It does take a little while to hit but Live does get to you. At first I was a little disappointed in Take No Prisoners. I was use to Lou's polished gems that had been done over and over again in the studio. Live is very raw, Lou just straps up and shoots. You are never going to hear Prisoners on the radio, even late at night. No Prisoners is unadulterated, in your face, my mamma was a Gibson and my daddy was a Fender, I broke my e string and don't give a shit, late 70's New York club scene, rock. Live is rough and very, God Bless you Lou, real. I know you are still waiting for A Big Prick Too and it is coming. Actually A Big Prick Too is multifaceted. Big Prick is an insider joke for those familiar with Reed's I Wanna Be Black and … For years I have heard people complain about the huge amount of unsolicited email they received. For some reason, until recently, I never had unsolicited email problems, but then I made a big mistake. A few months ago I bought some items from very reputable companies that entitled me to a rebate. In filling out the forms I was asked to provide an email address so that I could be kept informed on the progress of my rebate requests. Yeah right. In a moment of weakness and stupidity I filled in the forms with my active email address. I never did get any rebate progress information but almost everyday now I get at least one and sometimes several solicitations for those interested in A Big Prick Too. Hey, like I said, I just had a birthday last week, and if the truth be known, I can handle a Massive Accelerating National Debt, but at this stage in my life, I think I am a little too old for A Big Prick Too. © 2003 big box industries Wednesday, May 21, 2003
A million things happened to me yesterday, amazingly almost every one was good. But unfortunately, one by one, like sands in an hour glass, I am forgetting. Like radioactive decay, after awhile there is not as much there as there used to, tick, tock, be.  Flowers, ballons, wine, strawberries, cheese, olives, cake, candles, vodka, Lou Reed Raw, dirt, Norah Jones, phun in the car with Exile on Mainstreet blasting, valet parking, olive oil, good bread, mussels, people at my beck and call, garlic, shrimp, angel hair pasta, coffee, big doggie bags, tips, the robe people, blinking red and blinking green, presents, lots of presents in a pretty bag.  Yesterday was my birthday and I was and am very thankful. © 2003 big box industries Tuesday, May 20, 2003
I am up early this morning, well it is early for me. My head is a little heavy though, I still have the good sleepy fuzzies. I am smoking a cigarette and thinking of coffee and except for an oscillating fan, everything is rather quiet. The morning hush is still upon the day. I actually find this tranquillity a little unsettling. My mind drifts to Darwin, and large numbers, and struggling, and how fraught with peril life is, and the survival of the fittest. My heart is a little sad. Still my soul takes all this calmly. Another voice in my head is asking over and over again, "Where's Bruce? Where's Bruce?"  Recently I mentioned the hole in the wall outside my apartment, and the black bird I thought was a starling, and the squawking, and how, early to bed and early to rise, proud I was of my boys. What I didn't tell you about was how the many became one, survival of the fittest. In the end only Bruce was there constantly popping his head out through the hole, looking at the strangeness of the world and waiting for Suzie, his mom, to bring him squish to eat. There is no Bruce this morning. My buddy is gone. I was always apprehensive that once he squirmed and wiggled himself out of the hole, that it would be a bitch for him to wing it back home again. My concern for Bruce actually ran deeper than that. We have a calico cat that lurks and trolls the area. When I saw her yesterday afternoon she had that cheshire bitch, I've been bad, look all over her face. I am saying a little prayer for Bruce that he is safe and happy and doing well, but… If we look over the great expanse of life, there are several fundamental principles being applied over and over again. These patterns or rituals are continuously being applied. One of these fundamentals, one of these metas, is be fruitful and multiply. Mother Nature is excessive in her fecundity. With the line between life and death being so tenuous, there must be the potential for a plethora for just a few to survive. Based on the evidence observed, be fruitful and multiply, a conclusion can be reached. If, a prior, there is A Plan at work, unfolding, this Plan was designed in such a way as to work even after its creator no longer intervenes. A Plan to provide for replacements even when I'm gone. © 2003 big box industries Saturday, May 17, 2003
 I didn't want it to happen but it is. I seem to be strung out on it. I can't get enough. I think about it all the time. And when I think about it, all the colors are good. What can i say? I just flat out need it. Why live if I am not there? Why pretend? I am a soup junkie. Well anyway that's what it seems like. I had soup a couple of days ago and now I find I am making soup again. I think it is of some importance to focus on the action, making. Here is where I find the real peace and joy, humming songs they have all felt, while wishing on a caldron. First clockwise and then windershin. © 2003 big box industries Friday, May 16, 2003
"I see a red door and I want to paint it..."  It is kind of like painting my nails. Well not exactly because I don't seem to enjoy changing the strings on my guitar anywhere near the way girls do when they puck and pretty and paint their nails. I am changing the strings on one of my guitars and I always find it a bit of a bitch. But then again, once I am done I am always, like a bitch with pretty nails, happy.  This stringing is a bit juxs, unusual. I am doing the gig on my old acostic. My acostic guitar is probably one of my oldest possesions. I bought baby in Hong Kong in 1969. I don't play her much, it's a neck thing. After doing your strut on an electric it's hard to come on down. © 2003 big box industries Thursday, May 15, 2003
It is interesting to observe that there are seven passageways into the body, seven holes. If you hit on the link above, after doing 777, scrool up and do Were Bitch. The Bitch is one of my favorites. In its infancy, my blog was titled Worm Whole Sigma. My thought was to create a new type of blog - a wormhole. With a wormhole being a path of internal links, referencing a body of work, a corpus, a self referencing blog. Laconically, we are all a repertoire of mind sets and phrases that reoccur in a myriad of permutations. Using crosslinks to prior blogs, I wanted to try and capture and play with this unity. To be interesting though, this methodology requires a critical mass, a sufficient number of entries. Since I was just starting to blog I dropped the idea and went on to other things. Fresh Fish has now though achieved cm. Fresh Fish is actually self sustaining. I could actually just go back in the archives everyday and cut and paste some prior blog. Few would know because we are all so memento. © 2003 big box industries Wednesday, May 14, 2003
There came into my possession a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore. Actually it appeared to be a journal. It was a 91/2 x 6, blue, single subject notebook. On the first page in pencil, several different topics were introduced. Towards the top left was a triplet – knot, not, naught. I had encountered trips before. A trip is a group of words that is spelt three different ways. There aren’t that many in the English language and this was my first exposure to this triplet. More towards the middle and about two thirds of the way up was the moniker of a group – 7 Sisters. I was only familiar with the name numcupatively. In the late 70’s there was a confederacy of occult scholars that plied their craft in and about Athens, Georgia. When they gathered collectively it was called a working of The Seven Sisters. It was speculated that the name had some astrological significance. Underneath this and a bit off center and to the left was the word – Rapture. The only association made here was of biblical significance. Beneath and to the right were several crescent moon and five point star diagrams. With the bottom center one joining points of the moon and star with a continuous line. The points were haphazardly numbered from 1 to 7. It was innocent enough but still a sensitive soul would be wary. The small journal, bound in blue leather with gold trim, went on and on in this fashion. There was obviously a guiding principle here, indicative of a cohesion, but things were missing. Perhaps there was more than one journal. Perhaps there were several journals, that when put together made more sense of the ciphers now revealed. Still there seemed to be enough data to discern that some work or project had been undertaken and that results had been recorded. © 2003 big box industries Sunday, May 11, 2003
My Mom is a Saint. I can not remember even one instant when she put herself before her family. Not in word, deed, or thought were we ever betrayed. All of her considerable energy has always been devoted to what was best for us. She was, is , and will always be an amazing woman. I have, and do, and will always love my Mother. Happy Mother's Day Mom. With big hugs and a peck on the cheek. © 2003 big box industries I know it is actually Mother's Day today, but about a week or so ago, I became a father for the first time and thought I might take some liberties with the holiday. I haven't seen my offerings yet but for the last week or so I have heard their squawkings and they are squawking now. There is a small hole in the wooden wall outside my apartment. Birds found this hole irresistible. First it was a woodpecker and then after that a black bird that I think is a starling, starting popping in an out. About a week or so ago, I started to hear the chirping of tinny tinies. At first I was put off by the dint but I have grown to look forward to the squawking. Life is so incessant. I call the brood my boys. They are very good boys. They are always up before I am in the morning, but when I come home late at night they are all fast asleep, dreaming of I know not what. I actually haven't seen the boys yet. Apparently they are still too small to stick their heads out of the hole. But when they do I will try and get a few snaps. © 2003 big box industries Friday, May 09, 2003
B was having difficulties with his Tao Chi. Well perhaps difficulties is a bit harsh, but Brandon certainly had concerns. B was having concerns that perhaps he was executing the ritual in some unconceived fashion. Brandon was concerned that perhaps he was doing the Tao Chi incorrectly. Brandon was concerned that perhaps his prayers would not be answered. The Tao Chi is a 2nd circle, inner order, metal exercise of The Kindred. The Tao Chi is sometimes called The Emperor and His Crown. The Tao Chi is a ritual that perpetuates historical continuity and doctrinal consistence. The Tao Chi is Phat. Phat being a path or a way of, the magick is in the, doing that engenders illumination. Illumination being that which is "more" than before. B was concerned. Brandon was concerned and actually a bit frustrated that he had come so far only to comprehend that the term "more" was not quantitatively defined. All this was going on in B's head, while in the kitchen on the right front burner, a white two quart pot, without the lid on, was simmering away. Steam, like misty off a morning river, was rising from the top, hot, and little bubbles formed around some of the herb leaves that had been thrown into the concoction. B was making soup, chicken stock, cut carrots, basil, oregano, sage, and thyme, with cuts of a potato that had already been baked. B grinned and chortled because it occurred to him that the soup would be Phat too. All of this was going on in B's quirky little brain, when "while I pondered nearly napping, suddenly there came a", someone was knocking on his chamber door. "I'm coming. I'm coming." B emerged from the kitchen where he had been stirring the concoction in the white and blue 2 quart pot that was on the right front burner,hot, with a wooden spoon. He undid the two inside locks and opened the door. (An aside to the reader. I have the ending. In fact I started with the ending. It's a little trick I picked up from Poe. But it doesn't look like I will have the thyme to get to the ending in a more wandering fashion. You will have to do the best you can. This is a example of gorilla writing. This is an example of gonzo. Gonzo is when the observer, the reader, takes an active part in the process.) B was shocked, surprised, and happy. B was many things all at once. B was a bit astounded. On the other end of the open door was a very calm and tranquil Master Phat. To B, or not to be, the presence of Master Phat was 3rd circle. 3rd circle being where there are Gods that do intercede. (There was much more, but now I must be elsewhere. When was the last thyme that you were, or had to be, elsewhere?) © 2003 big box industries Thursday, May 08, 2003
My boys are so good. I am playing the Stones and they are sleeping through it all, strange dreams for the boys. Sparkle, shine, all the pretty colors, these are the ones we spread on the tips of our fingers to make a rainbow pretty tommorrow. And it came up from the west. It was different but the same. It was a man. It was a man looking. And he looked everywhere. Everywhere and still she was not there. He worried a shoe. And he prayed to his gods. Not one, but all. Where is this my little pookie? And with the wind the gods did answer. And the gods whispered on the winds. Your pookie is near. She beckons. She plays with the greens and yellows and reds, she plays with the blues for her man. Slow. So slow. So slow that he forgets. And when he remembers, all the saints rise and cheer. All the saints speak in tongues. All the holy, all the saints, talk about the chi and the wa. But never together. "Chiwa!"! Enough for the chosen. Enough for the kindred. Enough for mine. © 2003 big box industires Sunday, May 04, 2003
Posted
10:01 PM
by robert d
I stuck, not my impedicus, but my index finger, the one right next to the thumb, into her and she slowly yielded with deep warmth and comfort. After a tickle I very slowly treated and retreated. Then I pressed the tip of my, not my impedicus, but my index finger, to my right nostril and gently inhaled. The scent, the fragrance, the odor, the funk, there is no other like it. You know immediately where you are, somewhere good and fresh. No, no, not the scent of fresh fish but something else. It was a deep and dark yet with promises of light and joy. A heavy and slow but alive. I was playing in the dirt this morning and I love the smell of fresh earth. I am not very good at describing scents but the funk of The Mother always brings me comfort. A sense of peace comes over me and I feel like I am doing what I am suppose to be doing. Find a man with dirt under his nails and you have found a good man. I had a nice little surprise waiting for me this morning. My first peony is in bloom and I am a little proud. Last year I got 2 cuttings from a lady a work. They struggled last year and I wasn't sure that they would make it. But my kindred never disappoint.  © 2003 big box industries On Friday at the close of the market, I took all of my money out of my 401k. I am actually thinking about getting back in the market for about a week towards the end of the month, but after that it's out for me until the end of the year. The stock market has staged an impressive rally since March of this year but what goes up, like the whip, will come down. The month of May will mark the high for 2003. There is still a lot of Bear in them there woods. © 2003 big box industries Friday, May 02, 2003
He looked up at the bitch calendar neatly tacked to the wall near the shadeless lamp on his night stand - May 2003 - a bitch. It was Friday - the 2, 9, 16, 23, 30 - the 1st Friday - the second - May 2, 2002.  He looked to the right and squinted a bit to decipher the time on the white Sony dream machine on the dresser up against the wall opposite the bed - 11:32. night stand - bed, let's go with 11:32 pm. Brandon was doing it again. Brandon was writing about nothing and having a good time of it. Brandon was having such a good time writing about nothing because in the back of his quirky little brain lurked a secret. Sure he was writing about nothing but then things can change. Things can undergo a transformation, like the one-to-one correspondence mapping of fish into not fish. And Brandon knew that the one-to-one correspondence mapping of nothing into not nothing was everything. So on May 2, 2003, a bit before midnight, watched over by a bitch, Brandon wrote about everything. As he wrote though, he wondered that if he was really writing about everything how come he was leaving so much out? © 2003 big box industries Thursday, May 01, 2003
Tempis fugit, yes it does. With the skinny and the buzz and the fly. It is hard to believe but it is already The Month of Dew. No wait that's not right, it's The Month of Can. No wait equilibrium has still not been achieved. It is The Month of Hurray, it is The Month of May. Happy May, Can, and Do! And with due consideration it should occur to most that the magick is in the doing. © 2003 big box industries
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