"Sports, when played passionately and intelligently, are great a great thing

to watch and experience. Especially when performed by those who are the

best at what they do. We rise above the basic necessities of daily life

(food, shelter, protection from enemies, and the meaningless passing of

time) to a heightened state similar to that caused by great music or great

art. At their crudest, sports provide distraction and tribal identity (like

pop music). At their best, they provide transcendence. Sports, like art,

dance, or music are a uniquely human expression, initially meaningless in

product or outcome. The meaning (and value) of sports is a function of

careful study on the part of both the performer and observer and like art,

dance, or music, transforms from meaningless brush strokes, tones, or motion

into something greater.

The game you watched last night is the sum of all basketball games that came

before it. The pinnacle of human expression through basketball.

I'm sure the same can be said for NASCAR. I'm just not studied enough. And

I belong to the wrong tribe.

Time for lunch."

-Rich Walkling 11.21.03
"Dying is easier when unconscious."

- ty hardaway, November 14, 2003

- stolen from Jon Baty, November 14, 2003

Two consecutive pages of useful information

Confirming and disappointing consecutively

Of theories toward brain-machine interfaces

And smart relief from severe and chronic pains

Focus the minds on intelligent goals

With unimportant but highly imaginative colleagues

We can agree that the time has come

For cognitive coups and invisible acquisitions

A society parallel and unequal

Simple and vigorous can indeed exist

Without feature-creep or worrisome expenses

Of spirit, integrity, creativity or hair loss

Queen for a day or pawn for a lifetime

White full-length faux fur or rumpled worn oxford

Human reliability analyses with weak probabilities

Only conceptualize the obvious

Long and technical papers to recapitulate

Our instinctual demise as a species
Though sunsets are keenly

embedded in my chronology

I am growing more tolerant and appreciative

of the inspirational values of rising suns

in the easting part of our continent

Living life like death wishes

Fighting battles for origins unknown

Building legacies out of

"conflicting tastes"

Making a difference is hard when

I'm still making up my mind

Clouds shading clouds

and the times we had, baby

From up here

So much seems unimportant

Simplicity and satisfaction from within

Are ultimate rewards


Halloween at the Oakland International Airport


We've got to step outside ourselves

in order to be ourselves

Since we cannot rely on anyone

other than ourselves

to save ourselves


Libido burrito

Flat long and wide

Like the Oakland airport

Chrome accents and high heels

Extra large oddly proportioned breasts

We're all in costumes anyway everyday


Living in my own customized world

Insulated from real contact

with glasses, hats and socks

Personal electronics help the tweak


Ground zeros still exist

soundtracks of personal "Live Events"

of smokes, clones and flesh

Living on parallel planes

Automatically rotating human scenery


Scoring quite low on

the evaluative scale

from one to infinity

Memories of the day

taste of human skin --

The white girls

Definitely the white girls


I am convinced sometimes

That my life is nearing its end

Short, squat and useless

Bored and afraid of the freaks

who possess all the real power

And who force the wealthy meek

to react with little or no love


Costume or not

Angles are all right (toward perfect)

I think I love you

Because love is one standard deviation from lust

And since that's our only real duty

or is it my sanity that's in question?


Simple truths

and purity
Why is it that

The intelligent people of my cohurt

Are so unsatisfied with working

The flattering burden of the hunt for

"Quality of life"
Deconstruction of deconstruction

String theory applied to the psyche

Relative to nothingness indeed

Just what happened directly prior to the Big Bang?

Points smaller than points

The space that contains space

No aspirations for ambition anymore

Emphasis on legacy and end games

Leaky and stuttering creakily about

Back to Work

Back to work adventures

We learn slow
Rock and roll Marcus
Marcus is crazy
Tap-tap drumming
Leonard Hoffman taught me these chords
Jamie Perez taught me how to love
At the cat Box

Waiting to swim to the surface of all these wires
Rolled by the system
Intellectual challenges posed by the inquiry
This is a waste of our time
Do you understand where I'm coming from?

"Shit, motherfucking yeah, by the Sexy Motherfuckers."
Theoretical airflow and heat propagation
Intellectually arrogant
Get your baby
You don't know my name
Not trying hard
I don't wear

fashionable clothes

nor do I have

much of an image

to manage or protect

[stinky cheese girls of thematic decorating black pants and cheap black boots]

[goatees and laptops]
Porcelain dodgers

tics and all

blows noses on linen

is not big but knows how small

Artificial existentialism

of powerpoint schemes

made up and dressed up

representative of dreams

Four stars of luxury

finely woven cloths

cellular communications name badges

narrowly followed swathes

Groups and individuals

solo spinning souls

crashing like galaxies

into small suburban 'toon holes
Five rules for living:

1. Be born an artist

2. Anti-structure; coincidence, nonlinear time

3. The inciting incident

4. Everyone takes turns rescuing everyone else

5. Tidy the little pieces

"Life is saturated with dread because you know you're going to die."
I have this recurring dream about elevators usually in very tall buildings.

The frustrations always escalates as the buttons either mislead the passengers - misdirected us to the wrong floors - or the car is so rickety that one fears for life and sanity.

These dreams are generally so similar that it could be one life-long series (saga).

I don't recall even exiting the elevator cars, but always there is hope of a clever and safe exit.
Tiny bird hovering

without knowledge of horrors

innocent of crimes
Shiny brass buttons

dangle from cuts of blue wool

quick hop back in time

I am in a costume of self-hate