Beyond The Stockade There Is Chaos And Nothingness
Thursday, June 12, 2003 Confidential to Ludic Kid:
Um, I appreciate the link from yer site and all but the description you have attached to it is, well, dopey. I'm not really complaining, except that I am. I wouldn't click on a link that was described like that.
Or maybe that's your intention, in which case go to hell.
posted by [AOK] | 4:50 PM
Thanks to ludic kid I am now also addicted to seeing what people search for to find this site. What on earth makes people click here when the summary text clearly shows that this is not what they are looking for? I mean, I'm glad they do to some extent, since nobody else pays any attention. Random hits are kinda titillating. And I guess it's flattering that the summary texts are interesting enough to warrant a click. I mean, the person who searched for '"Ed McCafferey" + picture' got a reference to corn smut in the summary, and he still clicked.
(Note: I don't have a picture of the Incredible Bendible Ed on this site. If you are still looking, I recommend checking with the Broncos. I'm sure they have one somewhere.)
Still chipping away at the Head. I really didn't think I would be at this blogging thing for that long, and I guess at only +43 days past anticipated stop date it really isn't that long. I'm still not really sure where I'm going with this, but the fact that I've managed a few short (and yes, I know, crappy) creative pieces is a tiny step forward, and this thing is serving its purpose.
And I don't care if nobody reads it.
sniff posted by [AOK] | 4:38 PM
Tuesday, June 10, 2003 Ooooh...I was hoping to have Part 2 of Jeremy Bentham's Head up today but it's not going to happen.
But my general motivation for accomplishing things seems to be back on an upswing, so yay. Today I have done some actual work (the stuff I get paid for), ran 2 miles and worked more on some writing. Also paid some bills.
Tomorrow my buddy Dave is in town. Hooray! Except that he's not really IN town, he's in Hinsdale. Boo! But we'll probably have some drinks or something anyway.
What else, what else. Nothing for the blog. Moving over to LJ now. posted by [AOK] | 3:52 PM
Monday, June 09, 2003 FROM THE POINT OF VIEW OF JEREMY BENTHAM'S HEAD UPON FINDING ITSELF ENCLOSED WITHIN A LUGGAGE LOCKER IN A RAILWAY STATION IN ABERDEEN
Part 1: Intensity
If only a brain could hop.
Curiosity was getting the better of the head of Jeremy Bentham. The light slanting down through the vent beamed relentlessly into his eyes, which were made of hand blown glass. The right one spit back a thousand fractions of kaleidoscopic light against the metal of the door. The left had nothing to do but watch. They were dazzling at first. After the monotony of it set in, however, he frequently cursed the French glass blower and the day they met in that tavern in Versailles, and thought unhappily about the rejected cedar prostheses lying at the bottom of Bedfont Lake.
Outside the locker voices fluttered by on shadows. ...seven ten. I told...no, not at all. I wouldn't say...those should be thirty five and a half without...oh, you're coming aren't you...liter of milk. I heard you the first time...
Often, the public address system announced the arrival or departure of a train.
At regular intervals, the railway station clock struck.
The vent was positioned twenty centimeters above his eyes. Even in the absence of the hateful prismatic projections there would still be nothing at all to see. Jeremy Bentham's head passed a lot of the time in the locker futilely reconsidering his decision to have his eyes set open.
He wished they had left him in the sack at least. The sack was beneath him but, alas, of no use. He had no guess as to why they removed it, except perhaps that they scanned the small articles in the Daily Mail hoping to read of the young mother or foreign traveler who had been shocked by a goulish discovery in Aberdeen Station. No doubt their excitement and glee was growing in intensity with each day that passed. It seemed unlikely that they would lose interest.
The anguish did not show in the face of the sulphured and petrified head of Jeremy Bentham, but he longed to be nestled again on the floor between his own feet. There was no joy at all for him in this predicament. posted by [AOK] | 4:36 PM