At both liquid, where I currently work, and CTNY, where I used to, I haven't had a proper desk. I have, instead, a door. Yep. An unfinished wooden door. At CTNY it was held up by two filing cabinets, and here the door is on sawhorses. It must be a NYC internet company thing. I kinda like it. I think I'm going to replace my proper desk back at home in Williamsburg with a door soon. Nice and minimalist I think.

Erm so yes. I got blueprints today. I'm making a sculpture and I needed some blueprints for it and believe you me, tracking down blueprints is no easy task, even in a city like this. I had to call roughly 30,000 people before I found out where to look even. But today my labors paid off, and in abundance: the blueprints I managed to aquire weigh about 12 tons. I have no idea why architects everywhere aren't walking around in back braces; just getting myself from uptown to liquid with that shit nearly destroyed what makes for my spines' curvature.

So anyway yeah, I needed blueprints for a sculpture. In asking people if they knew where I could get some blueprints they would almost unilaterally ask me why I wanted them, and I would then have to tell them that it was for a sculpture, which I hated doing because I can't stand people who shoot off their mouths about their artwork or whatever and never actually produce anything, and so I am loath to talk about that shit (except here of course, cuz no one whatsoever reads this). Yeah. Anyway so I'd tell 'em, it's for a sculpture, and the truly annoying part about all of these discussions was that the person I'd be talking to would ALWAYS, as in completely without exception, ask me if it was for a school project. Even though a good many of these people were aware of the fact that I am out of school. As if doing art just cuz you wanna was somehow against the natural order of things.

Well you know what I say to that? BLAGH. that's what I say. Yeah.

On a related note, my old online journal was titled 'rants', the reason being I would very frequently get relentless on some meager point, as per the above few paragraphs. I am far more happy with this title, 'eat shit' as that's exactly what I can tell myself to do when I go on these irate little textual spazzes.

Geez. Even though no one reads this it's so fun to pretend that there is a reader, out there, bent over their glowing screen in the dark, perusing the page. Walter Ong wrote an essay about how just as a writer fictionalizes their reader in their mind, they also create a fictionalized writer to write to the fictionalized reader. I haven't actually read this essay so I can't really explain that shit but it does sound terribly fascinating. Erm yeah. At least to me. Maybe not to you. Whatever. Just fuck off.

No no no... just EAT SHIT. Yeah. There we go. Rock.

-fish

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08/30/2000 00:27:20 EST •  tags: eatshit.diaryland.com

So anyway, as Batman, I had to protect my freinds from a slew of evils, most of which I can't recall. The part I do remember was when my friends and I were in this huge field, at the edge of which a large, probably 8-story cubic brick building loomed. All of a sudden a truly gargantuan fire truck, about 3 stories high in its own right, burst through the facade of the building and barreled towards us. My friends, as one might expect, freaked their respective shits, and began to run away. I however remained calm, and coolly showed them how to avoid the fire truck's marauding onslaught.

It then became apparent to me, Batman, that God had in fact sent the fire truck to kill me. I ran after God into the hole in the building and through a great many labyrinthine passeges. I finally found Him at the center of the mazelike building, and with calm, vernacular-studded speech he proceeded to tell me about how he was trying to kill me because me being Batman was a total act of hubris, and that he couldn't simply zotch me with a lightining bolt because for Him, God, it was very easy for him to create things but very difficult for him to destroy them. He compared this to human beings, who can easily destroy things but have a much harder time creating them.

There was a huge segment to that one that I forget that involved my friends and I being stuck on the Long Island Rail Road, and we were lost, and I kept being like "C'mon, why can't I just fly?" and no one would let me fly cuz that wouldn't be fair and so I had to sit on the train and be all pissed off.

The other dream of note I had was after I went home last Thursday night, and I got to sleep in my old bed in Newton with no irritating Brooklyn sounds right outside my window. In this dream, many strange things happened, but the most memorable part was where I was walking down a cobblestone street on a gray day, and a nun was walking beside me, talking wistfully about the epiphany she had had many years ago that had made her decide to be a nun. After she had finished regaling me with this I explained to her how the two of us were merely characters in a David Foster Wallace story, and how I had had the occasion to meet Mr. Wallace not too long ago, and how he had told me that he had deleted the part of the story that contained her epihpany and all that, and that therefore the reason she'd become a nun (and by extension her whole reason for being at this point) was completely null and void.

I can't recall the look on her face but I'd imagine it wasn't all that serene.

Yeah so there you go. On an unrelated note I'd just like to point out to you that my new job rules. Not only do they have free soda, as they did at my previous place of employment, but they also have free Snapple, and free cheese, and a bizzare high-tech coffee machine that squirts putrid yet strangely enticing fake cappucino into cups on demand. Plus they have so many new G4's you can't swing a dead cat without hitting one. Not that I would do that. Swing a dead cat, I mean. I mean, I just started there. Maybe when I've been working a while. Yeah.

So yeah there you go in a fat nutshell, yo.

-fish

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08/29/2000 05:10:24 EST •  tags: eatshit.diaryland.com

I'm fucking pissed. this is problematic because you, the reader, probably know nothing about me and (this is assuming you care enough to take in more than a slightly topical view of this page here) therefore would require all sorts of back story, at least in this instance, for me to explain to you exactly why I am pissed and what factors brought me to this mental place. which, frankly, I am too fucking tired to consider doing right now so you get nothing like that, other than the simple declaration that I am in fact pissed, and that the reason I am unable to explain my pissiness is, in and of its own right, fucking pissy.

anyway I need a fucking website. a personal goddamn website. I just quit my job at CTNY where I made websites like ostomyvillage.com (which I have not directly linked so as to spare your gastric contents) and now it's just about time that I got back to the old bullshit I was pulling before. we shall see. this diaryland thing will certainly make a nice transitional, but only if the powers that be can get the backend scripts to quit escaping curly-brackets symbols and thus keep my javascript from breaking.

like I said, we shall see.

I missed this, the nighttime blathering on. for sure. I get a kick out of the fact that no one in the world besides myself knows of this pages' existence. awwww yeah.

plus I can't wait till this weekend. I'm going to provincetown, where there is a beach. I could use some quality beach right now. good god. blagh.

anyway I'll get back to this shit later. you watch, motherfucker. I mean it this time for real.

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08/24/2000 18:57:35 EST •  tags: eatshit.diaryland.com

-fish

eatshit@diaryland.com

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08/14/2000 18:23:34 EST •  tags: eatshit.diaryland.com