"Terrible gibberish. Splintered memories looming up out of the timefog. Just press PLAY".—H.S.T.

I have a shitty memory. Not for everything, obviously, but for some things. Okay, I have a shitty emotional memory.

Movie quotes? Shipboard or pioneering knots? Pet Shop Boy's lyrics? The recipe for the world's single-greatest bowl of chili (don't even bother, child)? Sure, THAT I got down. Trivia? I can recall trivia to a pathetic degree. I'm a wiz at (the sadly well-named) "Trivial Pursuit" and held my own during ‘Knowledge Bowl’, the HS equivalent of the old ‘College Bowl’ (GO TEAM EBULLANA!). The only blind spot I have mnemonically is for person's names. For some reason I can remember almost no one's name after about 6 months of non-interaction. Apart from that I see much, and remember most.

But remembering emotional states, not so much. Chalk it up to a childhood overshadowed by a singularly emotional brute (think Robert Carlyle in "28 Weeks Later" (don't wake daddy!)) and my genetic predisposition to stepping back and observing my situation & environment (always and continuously) and you end up with a fractured man who exhibits little emotion & remembers even less of them.

Which is why I keep everything that has ever had even a chance at some emotional resonance. Think Leon’s ‘precious photos’. This hoarding extends to answering-machine messages....

A friend complained recently that they could not leave a message on my machine ‘cuz it told them its memory was full (join the club, silicon). I hadn’t really noticed it filling up, but his annoyance piqued a moment of my attention.

What follows are most of the messages left languishing on my machine for the last 3 or 4 years. Some I don’t quite remember, some have a sort of annoying familiarity, some have a broken-glass sharpness still.

All names have been reduced to their chromosomalogical minimum, i.e., 'X's or 'Y's. And don't waste time trying to suss out who's talking, or whom they are talking about. If you know me well enough to be still reading this I suspect, on average, you'd get slightly less than half of your speculations correct. Keep in mind many of these were kept because they were unusual considering their source….

But that's not the point here. Just listen to what's being said, try to (as I have recently done) imagine why these specific messages were saved. They were either (on the day, at least) emotionally important, or were amusing enough to warrant keeping. These are authentic messages....
Nabby writes of a character who writes a book called "The Prismatic Bezel". To me these reflect the same sort of reflections. These are echoes, glints, facets of me, of refractions of me (that line sucks but I'm keeping it), and taken as a whole, add up to… okay, well nothing really important…. The shadowy facets of part of me? Yawn.

In the interest of personal growth, yadda yadda yadda; I erased all of these after transcribing them. I will one day find the transcriptions and reflect back on my reflecting back….

Sidebar: One aspect of these messages I find delightfully amusing is the curious fact that my answering-machine cheerfully provides you with the day-of-the-week & the time of the recording, but neglects to bother with the month, year, etc. Or any real context, actually. Which gives these little ‘dispatches’ a strangely Robbe-Grillet feel; detailed descriptions with an excess of frustratingly useless information.
Just press PLAY:


Monday 9:41 PM: “Hey motherfuckers, it’s X! Uhhh, I’m bored, I want you to come drink with me, but you’re probably fucking, ‘cuz it’s Valentine’s Day. As you should be. Alright, talk you later, guys.”

Friday 8:10 PM: “Paul! Paul! Paul! Paul! Paul! Paul! Paul! Paul! Paul! Paul! Paul!
Uh, Paul! Paul!
Paul? Paul? Paul?
Paul! Paul?
forget it.”

Saturday 12:15 PM: “What’s up, nigger!? What’s up, nigger!? Come on nigger, smoke some wiff your dogg, nigger…come on nigger. Nigger, come on nigger. Nigger come on, come on nigger. Shit nigger, come on nigger. Damn nigger! Nigger come on! COME ON NIGGER! Nigger!? Come on. NIGGER come on! Come on nigger! Nigger! Come on…. Nigger come on! Come on nigger! Nigger! Nigger? Nigger? nigger nigger nigger! Come on!”

[I am bludgeoned enough by my own PollyCorrect thoughts to feel the need to state the FUCKING OBVIOUS, which (if you know me even in the slightest) is that I am the least bigoted whiteboy you will ever meet. I couldn’t care less about somebody’s race, religion, sex, etc. I hate ALL humans equally. This message was clearly left by somebody who knows I GET THE FUCKING IRONY! So just relax, don’t flame, and step off, nigger. Ahem.
Also, if you know me at all, you know it's not a word I use casually. I only wip it out to be offensively 'edgy', yo!]

Thursday 6:50 AM: “Good morning, I’m sure you’re still sleeping after your 12 hours of Hell yesterday. Um, let me know what your schedule is coming up, I want to go shopping. So let me know what the deal is.
And I’m kinda sick, and I blame you for that. You made me cum too many times; broke down my resistance, now I’m sick you son of a bitch!”

Saturday 5:56 PM: “Hey Paul, it’s me. Um, Y is giving me a smoke break before he takes off. I’m like, totally making myself sick again. I don’t know what is wrong with me, what is wrong with Y. I don’t understand how everything was great yesterday and now today he won’t even call me back. I called him & he won’t pick up his phone. You know, I don’t know how to interpret everything he said, and you know, text-messaging is evasive. I guess you’re not home yet, but if you get home in the next 10 minutes I’m probably gonna still be smoking, so…yeah, call me back. Bye bye.”

Sunday 12:51 PM: “Hey sweetie it’s X. Um, it’s like almost 1pm. [You’re] probably getting some rest before work. Um, just wanted to check in with you, and make sure you’re doing okay, and um, thanks for the ride, and thanks for the good times, and, um, yeah, all that stuff. And let’s not tell anybody that I did all those drugs. Okay, I love you, bye.”

Monday 9:51 AM: “Hi Paul, it’s X. I was actually just calling you to find out if, well I wanted to talk to you about the ‘X’ situation. You know, I was just talking to, um, X and Y the other day, and, um, I think it was X that told me that X had said something about, um, you know, her reasoning for leaving […..], ‘cuz she’s told me, I don’t know, four stories now, or something weird. I don’t know, she’s been really weird lately, and so, um, I was wondering if you could just give me a call back. You’re probably off today, and sleeping, hopefully. So, I’m at work, so just, um, I’ll try & talk to you later. Okay bye.”

Wednesday 12:09 AM: “I can’t believe that you actually left me here, and took a cab home. Because now everybody thinks I’m crazy and, uh, you’re in a cab.”

Sunday 3:04 AM: “Paul, it’s X, are you awake!? I know its 3 o’clock in the morning, but I need some help! I’m gonna start walking to your place, if you don’t answer…Paul are you awake!? Okay I’ll be there in a little bit okay!? I’m gonna start walking over there okay!?
It’s like 3:06 in the morning, I know he’s awake.”

Wednesday 9:30 AM: “Um hey Paul it’s X. Um, I’m actually just calling to see if you’re doing okay. Um, I got a really messed up call from X the other day? Um, so I don’t know exactly what happened, but she thought that I would be like, I don’t know… .Something happened with you guys at the bar last night, I know that much, and um, then […..] let’s see, hold on a second. I need to get somewhere where I have just a little more privacy.
Anyway, um, and then, she said something about, you know, how they got you on the ground, like, outside the ‘Bank of America’, and how you were okay, but you know, you were getting yours.
And she thought I would be happy, or something ‘cuz of all the shit that you put me through’. Now these are her words; I was just like, "What are you talking about?! Any of the stuff/crap that went on between Paul & I was years ago, and, you know, we’re past it now." You know, I’m like, “Why are you calling me & telling me this, you know?” Anyway and then, I hung…basically I was like ‘whatever’…
Then she called me back again & I just, like, laid into her, like “Y’s the one who should be in jail!” and she’s like, “Well, Paul pulled a knife on us”.
I’m sure that there’s more to the story than what she was saying, and I was just so pissed off, so anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were okay, ‘cuz um I don’t know where you were or what was going on, but she acted like you’d be okay, but she was doing something to, I don’t know, to humiliate you, I don’t, I DON’T KNOW!
So, give me a call, if you can, and uh, just let me know you’re all right. Okay, bye.

Saturday 2:12 AM: Paul, where the fuck are you, man!?! Y is about ready to call the cops and…I don’t know where the FUCK you went….
FUCK, PAUL! Call me!
fuck...

”End of Messages….”


Once again; many of these I don’t recall why I saved. Some are familiar, explicable. Some have a nostalgic resonance. Some I swear I’ve never heard ‘afore. They’re all gone, now. Except for here….

I {heart} doing drugs.

MMMMmmmmmm, drugs.......

Though honestly I don't really 'do them' on a regular basis anymore. Apart from gin (poor man's Prozac) I really live pretty straight now. But in the interest of 'full disclosure' I offer the following recollections.

And if you're wondering why/how I kept such notes; I got into drugs so late in life I was able to document the journey. And what a strange, wonderful journey it's been.

Let's back up for a minute, though. I came of age in the '8os, with national DARE programs just starting in schools, with Nancy Reagan's famous 'Just Say No' campaign, with 'Miami Vice' showing us how well-dressed the bad guys were before Don Johnson & P.M. Thomas blew them away. I was fully indoctrinated into society's complete 'this is your brain in a frying pan' simplification of drugs.

However, I was raised in an environment where my inborn curiousity was supported, where I had a full library at my disposal, and I was encouraged to read as much as I wanted. (Two sets of encyclopaedias, many dictionaries, thesauri, animal encyclopaedias, world atlases, over 14 board-feet of 'National Geographic's going back to before I was born. And me mum's a nurse, so we had a decent medical flavor to the library as well.) Not only was I encouraged to always ask any questions I had, but I was instructed on how to find the answer myself. Very important part of who I am today, and one of the few things from my childhood I treasure.

At any rate, I was bright enough growing up to know there was much more to drugs than the media-flavored 'info' we'd been fed. Don't get me wrong, I have no delusions concerning the destructive nature of drugs in some people's lives (I've recently seen it perfectly fuckin' illustrated), but I knew there had to be more to the drug experience than 'Reefer Madness'.

My interest in the truth of the experience was fully ignited by a little film that came out in '98, "Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas" by my favorite director, Terry Gilliam. I'd read the novel years earlier, but the visual impact of the film, coupled with two of the most outstanding actors of our generation diving head first into the open-manhole of their characters led me to a renewed interest in experimentation. Here were two very smart characters using drugs in massive quantities, and presented in a way that was contrary to anything I'd seen before.

Add to that the emotional place I was in (28 years old, a few years after my divorce, independent & solely responsible for myself, my actions, and the consequences of such for the first time), and add in the circle of friends I had, and it all fell into place. I would research each drug, learn its history, its pharmacology & effects, its risks. And then I'd eat them.

I told my friend Mike of my intent to eat (or more accurately, I asked him for his help in procuring) any & all drugs he could find for me.

Apart from marijuana, which I'd first tried on June 25, '94 (my wedding day, actually, about 4 hours after the ceremony), these were all new to me, first enjoyed on the dates listed.


June 25, '94 —Pot.

Oct 31, '98 —Mushrooms. That's right, first time I ate mushies was on Halloween. Good call. I ended up hiding in the bushes from my 'handlers'. And breaking a shitload of Mike's (stolen) CDs.

Jan 7, '99 —Cocaine. Spendy, but damn is it worth it. Reportedly can bring dead junkies back to life. At least, the steady tattoo of razor on glass brings 'em all up off the couch.

Apr 30, '99 —LSD. A whole world I'd never dreamt unfolded for me. Everybody should have to try acid, on 2 separate occasions, before they turn 18. This society of ours would be a lot more chill, a lot more positive, and a lot more altruistic. Just sayin'.

May 9, '99 —Heroin. Overdose. Kids, word of advice; don't cook up with Holy Water. Seriously.

June 16, '99 —Ecstasy. Strangely, I loved techno for almost a decade before I tried XTC.

Aug 28, '99 —Crack. Waste of good coke.

July 14, '00 —Opium. Ah, now there's a drug I could enjoy daily. Your body turns into a small lizard sunning itself on a rock; your world becomes brighter; your mind wide awake, crystal clear, & trapped on the other side of the looking-glass. Julie & I once took a gram each before going into Disneyland. Happiest place on earth, indeed.

Aug 17, '00 —Absinthe. Tastes like licorice, gets you mad-drunk, and yeah, can make you batshit crazy. Rough hangovers, too.

July 13, '02 —Mescaline. Only got to try this one once, highly recommend it though.

July 5, '03 —Ether. Ah, devil ether. Makes your breath smell like lighter-fluid for days, probably melts large chunks of your brain into kibble & gravy, but damn, is it fun. (Wawawawawawawawawawawa!)

June 12, '06 —Meth. Hillbilly cocaine. Makes you feel like crap, but if you can't afford blow & need to be up for 3 days straight this is the way to go. Especially if you like sweating battery acid & everybody is already out to get you ....

Nov 21, '06 —Butyl Nitrate. "And now for the Doctor." Like doing Whippets, but it's medicinal.

Jan 30, '07 —Salvia divinorum. Fun, fun, fun. Sprinkle it on your weed. Make sure you're sitting down when you hit it, tho.

Nov 12, '07 —Ayahuasca. Aka, Yage. Traditional South American brew used by shamans for vision quests & astral projection & to speak with the dead. Rumored to allow groups of people to experience telekinesis. A MonoAmine Oxidase Inhibitor (think powerful antidepressant) with DMT, or Dimethyltryptamine (a powerful hallucinogen); you will throw up on this ride. Oh, but what a ride.


That's the list so far. Which doesn't include a whole galaxy of prescriptions drugs from over the years; muscle relaxers, pain-killers, somebody's month-worth of Paxel (to be blogged about later). Not that there're that many more to track down, I've hit the majors, and been able to get the minors I was interested in (salvia, ayahuaska).

As for advocating drug use? I'm either the best person to ask or the the worst, depending on your POV.

I've had some rough experiences on drugs, but they certainly haven't destroyed my life. I've seen so much more damage to so many people's lives from alcohol than from any illicit drug use.

And I've had many, many, many, muh-henny, wonderful experiences on drugs, but not enough to destroy my life by becoming some 'be-all-end-all'. I can put down the pipe & turn off the vidgames any time I want....

If you're curious, I'd say go for it. But research, research, research. And don't believe everything your research tells you. And find somebody you can trust to 'babysit' you your first time. And don't tell anybody I told you to do drugs. But do them. A lot.

Ahahahaha hahaha hahaha ha haha ah aha ahahaha!!!!!!

Twenty-five Million Plus Souls Will go to Hell This Year!

'course, this hasn't been updated in, like, 5+ years....

Another great reason to not carry a cellphone:

From an MSNBC article:

"In what could be called the worst 'pocket call' ever, an Oregon man who's in Afghanistan fighting with the Army accidentally called his parents a few weeks ago during the heat of battle. The call, during an active firefight, is harrowing to hear (the soldier’s brother has posted the audio file on YouTube). The solider(sic), Stephen Phillips, had tried to call his parents earlier in the day, so all it took was a bump against the phone's redial button."

Cellphones are now ubiquitous enough to carry into combat? That seems as smart as a pocket full of loose change while on patrol.

In the future every word will be famous for fifteen minutes.

http://www.urbandictionary.com/author.php?author=ginsoak


I knew the basics of this, but it was more convenient to just copy this chunk from Wikipedia:

"There is a well-known but untrue story of the word "quiz", which says that in 1791 a Dublin theater owner named James Daly made a bet that he could introduce a word into the language within twenty-four hours. He then went out and hired a group of street urchins to write the word "quiz", which was a nonsense word, on walls around the city of Dublin. Within a day, the word was common currency and had acquired a meaning (since no one knew what it meant, everyone thought it was some sort of test) and Daly had some extra cash in his pocket. While entertaining, there is absolutely no evidence to support it and the term was already in use before the alleged bet in 1791."


The urban myth aspect of 'quiz's etymology asside, I plan on being a little more aggressive in the total number of 'new' words I add to UD. I'm gonna see if I can get one into general use....

Insomnia limericks

Limericks by their nature are annoying. Ones written as soporifics even more so. Ya get what ya pay for:


Insomnia is really a bitch;
As I scribble, I toss & I twitch.
An hour slips by,
yet I continue to lie
Still drunk & awake in this ditch.


Insomnia continues to irk,
like a zombie I shuffle & lurk
half asleep through most of the day.
At night my release kept at bay,
more awake than when I'm at work.


A 40 of Mickey's this time,
my wakefulness continues to shine.
Still up much later than 2,
I know now what to do:
Next time I'm getting the wine.

Digital Feuilletons

From the Encyc. Brit, 11th Ed.:

FEUILLETON (a diminutive of the Fr. feuillet, the leaf of a book), "originally a kind of supplement attached to the political portion of French newspapers, separated by a line, and printed in smaller type. It consists chiefly of non-political news and gossip, literature and art criticism, a chronicle of the fashions, and epigrams, charades and other literary trifles; and its general characteristics are lightness, grace and sparkle. " (Emphasis mine)

From the American Heritage Dictionary:

feuil·le·ton (foo'yeh-tôn') n.

The part of a European newspaper devoted to light fiction, reviews, and articles of general entertainment. (Emphasis mine)
Besides France, Russia in particular cultivated the feuilleton genre since the 19th century, and the word acquired the general meaning of 'satirical piece' in the Russian language.

I've been entranced by the idea of feuilletons since I first read of them in High School, but never thought of a way to introduce them/bring them back. Or a reason, really. I mean, they were used primarily to fill space on the typesetter's page. Crank-file rants, pointless poetry, quick satires, small engravings, word-puzzles; they were the beerfoam spilt on the coaster of daily news.

Occasionally I'd come across collections like 'The Vienna Coffeehouse Wits, 1890-1938' by Harold B. Segal (great bathroom reading, btw) and quietly enjoy a style of writing I'd never got to see on a daily basis.

Now, 20 odd years later, this 'world wide web' thingy has given us all the ability to personally post feuilletons, about all & any subjects, anytime we wish, with a potential readership undreamt of last century.

So, with nothing important to say I'm getting around to starting a project I daydreamed about over the last 2 decades. Ah well....

Stay tuned. Coming up next; more dead-air.