Urbanafutures

I visited Urbana again this weekend to work out (a) working, (b) living. Th plan: I will work in audio, digitizing old reel-to-reels in th Herbert Brün collection (mostly original electronic compositions from decades past); I will live at La Casa Colectiva w/ wonderful humans, chickens, & currants; I will move from Chicago to Urbana in August gradually, one carload of my stupid junk at a time, working in Chicago during th week & taking trips downstate during (some of) th weekends. Things appear to make sense.

beetfutures

Hello then!

I've noticed some changin'. Things change. Change abounds. X changes into Other. Other changes x. Universe. Flowering. Hm.

I took a peek at my new year's resolutions from, well, six months ago:

1. every single day, further my development of self-awareness & self-discipline.
   
2. every single day, speak only th truth - speak not lies - learn to think in E Prime.
   
3. every single day, actively embrace with joy (& never with terror) th absurdity of th universe.

I have, I think, made some progress w/ these. Hm, but where do I start explaining that? I've done so little blogging, I don't know where to start w/ all this.

Taking a step back, I should probably talk about my "relationship," which has changed dramatically in th past month or so. My image of myself as future step-father & future husband I have abandoned. I think that image rested on lies I told myself anyway. When I leave Chicago, I will have left Tiffany's & Jordan's intimate circle. No longer do I want to pursue a relationship there. Something didn't work for us. I could pick it apart for years if I really wanted to, but I don't. It didn't work; I need to leave.

You might call my leaving selfish. Perhaps. But staying means stagnation. & if I stayed, I could only see things getting worse.

But I leave to somewhere, as I've said, to th School for Designing a Society, & to th town called Urbana that th School calls home. This excites me more than anything. Big changes have happened to point me this way; big changes will happen once I start my new life.

I've done quite a bit of reflecting offline lately (using pens & pages of paper, no less!) to help me see my thought process, call myself on my ego-bullshit, etc. It has helped me quite a bit. I have started letting go of some nasty demons (& I have others yet to engage w/).

I've started a project of breath meditation. As I walk my dogs, sit in chairs, spin th wheels of my bike, I observe my breathing. Often, I synchronize my breathing w/ my footsteps or pedaling. Deeper breaths, longer breaths, w/ longer pauses at th beginning & end of th inhale & exhale; this kind of breathing has helped me this week. I intend to continue this rewarding project.

I have started questioning my use of alcohol & caffeine in certain circumstances. They make things easy; relaxing in social situations, engaging in a universe that I perceive as uncomfortable, etc. But lately I've started forcing myself to find non-chemical solutions to engagement issues. If a chemical can do it, I can do it. Breathing helps, & sleeping & eating right, & simply remaining open.

I want to make sure I don't need th chemical - but if I decide that I want it, that I don't mind sacrificing a bit of self-control to make things go smoothly, I still allow it.

A big thing: I have started looking at my hate & anger & finding ways to transmogrify it into love. Altho I don't always succeed at this, I often do, & just having that intention helps me. I want love instead of hate because it feels better, because it makes th world seem much more beautiful, because, if I could choose th world I lived in, I'd choose of world devoid of hate entirely. Because hate means suffering, & if I can choose not to suffer right now, why would I choose to suffer? I say this because I don't believe in th rhetoric of "altruism" for its own sake. I consider it much more healthy to acknowledge how love & helping others helps me. I want it in my life.

(I'd like to say more about this. Maybe in a future post.)

I remain vegan. I love it. I couldn't see myself dating a non-vegan now.

I mention all these projects to demonstrate how I've changed. These changes may have a lot to do w/ my relationship changing. I have become someone incompatible w/ Tiffany & Jordan. It feels bittersweet. I'll miss them; but I feel really optimistic about my new direction!

Ok, there. I've blathered. I send my love to y'all.

Beetfutures, Andrew.


(p.s. I have lots to say about th E-Prime project, but I'll leave that alone for now.)

stories

I went last night to th Windy City Story Slam at Quennect4 to see my friend Chase perform (he did great, I gush w/ loving prejudice). Th main event consisted of six storytellers getting up & sharing a story, autobiographical or fictional, & later competing by audience vote for th best story. Then, after some music acts, some poetry, etc, it turned into an open mic for storytellers & went well into th night, story after story after story.

I loved it; stayed until after 2, listened closely to every story, applauded, didn't miss a word. I didn't drink (I want to make sure I can still have fun w/o booze - I can) so I remember it pretty clearly.

It impressed me how many different people went up, how differently they told their stories. Th best storytellers kept us riveted in our seats for, I don't know, half an hour at a time maybe, as we imagined these events taking place, put ourselves there as flies on th wall as things unfolded. They took us to Mexico City, to Costa Rica, to th middle of nowhere in Texas, to th Fullerton Bus in Chicago, back in time to th 60's, th 80's, a month ago. Just sitting there at Q4, it felt like an adventure.

What an art form, th story! Who says that oral traditions don't exist anymore, that people don't have attention spans extending past th length of a TV commercial? These people performed some ancient magic on us. Fan-fucking-tastic.

I didn't get up there. I "had nothing prepared." I "didn't feel comfortable." I wanted to leave it to th masters. But why do I think I can't tell a story? I've performed in so many different ways, spoken publicly in so many different contexts, why couldn't I get up there & shoot from th hip, tell these people a thing or two about what I've seen in my short life? In retrospect, I could've spoken, & even if I rambled & didn't get things out just right, people would have shown me love & it probably would have felt great. But can I tell a good story?

All thru th day leading up to th story slam, I thought about my stories. On th bike-ride & drive home, in my bed last night, I thought about stories. I woke up having dreamt in stories. But my stories went in circles, doubling back on themselves. They expanded on weird, unimportant angles. They started as one story, became another story, then another, never quite finishing any single story. Each facet of a story contains its own background, its own baggage & bits & pieces; it reflects itself over & over like a fractal; how can a person turn this non-linear chaos into something resembling a functional plot? You could tell th story of a simple sneeze in a thousand different ways, spend hours expanding a second. (James Joyce has shown this in Ulysses, I think; Raymond Queneau in Exercises in Style.)

What an incredible art! I stand awed at th work done by a good storyteller! How in th world to they tame this beast called personal history?

Well, I don't know. But now that I've had some coffee & typed some words, I think I do it right sometimes. But I could do it a lot better; & I want to do it better! I tell myself, "Someday I'll write a great novel," or "Someday I'll start writing plays," & I've actually sat down to do this & come away frustrated. But a good story, a really put-together & inspiring story - I consider that worth pursuing. So I want to work on this, put some elbowgrease into this & figure some things out.

That said, I have yet to tell my own story on this blog! What th hell has happened in Andrew's life these past few months? I can tell you this: lots. & I owe this blog a good story.

Nim on youtube (who knew)?

My good friend Chase just directed me to this, a video of Nodal Nim performing Eight Thunderpain at th Cafe Mestizo open mic!



& here you can see Chase performing his spoken-word piece (W)HOLE:

WH on HR

"Facts do not create Truth. Facts create norms, but they do not create an Illumination."

~a stunning quote by Werner Herzog from this interview:

A Poem to Remember

[ @@@@ Ajmak :: Four Sinner ]

bish
dril
fish
gil
jwl
kleeth
led

one nod, one quick rumple

chapter ONE.

We engendered an experience of wedded bliss in the jungle of the hindbrain occurring at a blotchy man. Would cupped memories, like too-eggy pancakes, send me into a feedback loop that takes it troubled?

glass cats practice fast action
white mews place foot now
to an immediate kicking virgin wail
penik don't pink papered vase window

Also, only Jessica journaled at length to prove herself a woman. At last she fell asleep, with a note attached to a pair of socks at fact.

you have enormous ways of giving it embers
you take enormous fruits of giving it embers
you blame enormous fruits of cupping me glumly
you blame French fruits for cupping me glumly

never entrust French fruits for cupping me glumly
never entrust French parrots for swapping me glumly

I entrust dirty parrots for swapping religions glumly

Indeed, it tells nicely of the trials of persecution that would serve as a permanent reminder of the past time-line in which a woman in her mid-to-late-forties could ever do long-division.

chapter TWO.

bite sized pins plaque
the whites pointing three eyes ax
a bustle shoots los hombres down
men clutch their revolving belts
turn grape my chaste brown

I invoke dirty people for swapping religions glumly
I invoke mangy people for true religions glumly

For in a blotchy male, a wand isn't really as important as the size of the conch.

chapter THREE.

I invoke mangy laws for true religions glumly

erogenous sunflower on my basket napkin
(take it in) or be fluidly on your chair crotch
cherish your liquid intake valve
worship my everlasting sacks now!

I invoke mangy laws for true criminals glumly

my forever feet as Gods to you
blanket entity at the sun's wake
dying button people dressed as ghost parodies
the blouse became fastened during a scare-a-thon

I adore blasphemous laws for true criminals laughing

chapter FOUR.

So, I focused to evacuate my every dream in the illusion of the self during surgical standing painful parties. While the guru was taming a wild tiger, he noticed that by retouching himself a wormhole could open up into several deciabysses. I wondered timely in a non-directional reflection of hubris, what vibration spoke first.

pooing iron teeth & wine tops
basic need steel nail engine -> give it the throttle
inclined fundament: inject your best
do the fun -> shake it baby, wipe it clean
milkcircles & we must have a good young time
when the pearly shoots I go duck & cover!

Motivationally speaking, pepper & salt were used to combine a clever sketch of people's feet. I wanted to show them in a wonderland journey.

dollarsign buttonbeater, the terrible now
fortune hammershroom, a task maker
producing must-do mushrooms & wheels
fucking right now! on clouds & mandalas

We adore blasphemous laws & true criminals laughing

chapter FIVE.

entrenched & under fire, I in turn quack
deep in WWI I set myself alight to nestle beak
flaming one-eyed, fallen into a petri dish
cyclops boinked, on a hydrogen pit
great penetration by elemental pedal
go go go granny get the metal, cAke inserts

your smoky transformed back, instantly obscene
don't blow rings around blatant panels
onions negate the obvious floor tiles

delicious ape chips, this lady ships tippy top priority
swell garden elfs, this bitch wants more, damn!

lined locks away painful vessel squares
traindoor exit my tangled veiny sores
(oh my!) my backdoor still works just fine

unquenchable patriarch, growing Napoleonic
small man, unable to perform, gallant inner treasure
soulthing impotent
nude beach / convent
take your sandies to a given nunnery

approving with fervor the rump
one nod, one quick rumple

chapter SIX.

We stared at the apex on the cardinal circuit.

men adore childish poems & true evils laughing
men adore fake metaphysics & true evils laughing
men enjoy fake metaphysics & cultivate evils laughing

It fishes itself straightaway to only this, the very this, this thing the most well-known & feared of all things, the very top.




~a spiced something by Scott Marshall & Nim.

Dave & Casey Hooray!

In just an hour & a half, my good friends Dave & Casey (plan to) get hitched. Wow!

In honor of their wedding (& for my own entertainment), I wrote them an Oulipian wedding poem incorporating only th letters in their names. Th first stanza uses only th letters in "David Camille Shaver"; th second uses only th letters in "Casey Jean Chapman"; th third & final stanza combines th letters in both names. I hid th wedding poem in th card accompanying their gift for them to find & enjoy.

I doubt very much they will peek at my blog between now & th wedding, so I will go ahead & copy th poem over right here to share w/ all th rest of you:

He delivers several limes; she smiles, he smiles. A miracle cradles a dreamhead. Hi! - a decade slides, shimmers. Revive!

She maps a happy name. Space! A snappy jam, a May ham! She chases a span. Hey - campy, cheesy psyche - YES!

Holy Moley! She marries him (and vice versa). Named as a diad, dearly spliced, he and she parade. Prepared? Yes. I see a shine: dreamers: sacred, alive. In riches, in pennies, in decades ahead, may my pals happily dance. Mr. Chapman. Mrs. Shaver. Live in a jade heaven.

Britishcomputervoicetellsyou

[ =@@ Kame :: Seven Death ]

the vociferous rationalizations strove the hereditary offering
the architectural cargoes retook the unpaid round
the departmental magician sang the ventricular memorandum
the genuine genes begat the tectonic emotion
the factual programmers ate the migratory livestock
the vertical statues drank the merciless warhead
the irritable compost became the precautionary 50-yard-stick
the unpretentious milliseconds sprung the lucid Titan
the bouncy alderman grew the impolite suburbia
melodious cereals mistook the interactive easel

composing my future

[ =@ Kan :: Six Snake ]

Bigthing. My universe will soon change in kaleidoscopic shake-a-doo. Yes - in fact, YES!

I will soon move th heck out of Chicago & downstate to a place called Urbana, IL. I will take my dog & my Cumbus, my pockets & my dice, & I will leave Chicago behind - at least - for a time.

Why oh why? I will tell you. They have this school there called School for Designing a Society. Artists come together here to question this place-time we live in & begin imagining a better society - then making it manifest. It seems to me that all my raving about Art in th Everyday, Agnosticism, Mythwandering et cetera have led me to a very lonely place. Down in Urbana, at this unique school, people think about these things, play w/ them, inspire each other, & make them real.

Anyway, by September I will have relocated - temporarily or not, I don't know yet. But I can't stay here. It just won't do.

I will of course share my happenings w/ you, as they happen. I know only a few things now, but good things.

There you have it then.
Much love,

AndR

Buffalo James John Had Had Buffalo Buffalo, etc.

Wow:

little song upside

I like this poem greatly a bunch:



See this stuff here.

we stood in Darks

[ @@@ Toj :: Three Thunderpain ]

Report to you I will th fact that I had fun in Darks! I (& friend Vinnie) appeared at a party hosted by Gothic Funk in Hyde Park in Chicago! Th concept: party in th Dark! Sun down, lights out, windows covered. Th exception: wearable light permitted! Bits of hovering humanlight went to & fro. I donned round punchlight as medallion, w/ initials NN to identify appropriated Self during performancetime. Which happened.

As Nim, I played a funtimes set in th dark, unplugged, mandogasmically fancylike! People did claps, taps, beats, & grand singalongery; I enjoyed an audience thus engaged in Jamtype betweens! Indeed, my people had heard of Eris (All Hail Discordia, mhftee!) & song-poems (I played 'Pink Roses Palace' & 'Jimmy Carter Says Yes' for an appreciative bunch of Happies)!

I did a bit of wanders in dark to meet people whose faces I could only guess at th identifying details of. People seemed kind & interesting, fans of stuffed sharks, statistics, quantum physics, half nakedness, etc.

Sol Truck

I should mention also th very excellent band that played second: Sol Truck, a marvelously strange & lovely set of Eastern Europeans! They did songs w/ accordion, slide whistle, guitar, [tiny] keyboard, Jews' harps & lots of fun vocalizations (grunts, shouts, sings, giggles). I loved them & wish I'd had a chance to chat chat chat w/ them after their set. Another time! Hooray for Sol Truck.

Now I have shared my times w/ you.

Much love & Coconothingness,
AndR Q Nim

Orphanage magick

[ @@ Tz'ikin :: Two Birdsilver ]]

Hi!

Played a show, I did, at th Orphanage last night. Met some fun humans, bopped to some wackynice music, generally had a blast!

I'd love to keep in touch w/ th folks I met! Feel free to click on 'fnords' under this entry to leave me a comment (fnord) about th show or about anything in th (un)known universe that you fancy.

Other acts that rocked my (& everyone's) socks:

AcTuaLLy: Beautiful songs, magnetic, fun for all! She really kicked things off nicely.
Let's Get Out of This Terrible Sandwich Shop: Delightfully silly band slash, yes, sandwich shop. Kudos: These guys pulled off a charmingly spot-on Rod Keith song-poem cover, to everyone's delight.
PUNK'N: Rock & blues song-poem superstars Gary & Josh Forney. Loved th tunes, loved their 'psychedelic art film,' Punk'n.
Electric Medicine: Groovy & funky; I especially enjoyed 'Fuckin A, C.I.A.' & 'White James Brown'. Memorably fun & dancable.

Another band & an electronic meistro also played nice sets, but I didn't catch either of their names. If you know, do inform me, & I'll give them a link in my blog as well.

Hooray for good times!

Loving Shovels,
AndR Q Nim

P.S. It so happens that I debuted a new Cumbus song: Six Death. Also, last night I mixed Cumbus & mandolin in a set for th first time. I'd call it a successful experiment, which I look forward to repeating. Zap!

Tea Essence open mic guest host Nim & poetries.

I guest-hosted open mic at Tea Essence tonight & had a fun time of it. Only two others performers came, but we did doings & fid fooings. I enjoyed unearthing old mando tunes for new ears & got to practice some song-poem covers in preparation for my gig this Sunday (Chicagoland-types, do come for fun kinds of fun!).

My friend Russell Jaffe started a blog dedicated to "preserving fun in poetry" as he puts it. He asked for submissions, so I wound up as his first "Featured Poet" w/ some silly old stuff that I unearthed (lots of unearthing going on, it seems) just for th occasion. See O Sweet Flowery Roses.

Oh, & speaking of poetries, you may enjoy th little bits & pieces going on here: Constraintingbits. My friend Jacob Barton & I have started trading poetic constraints & writing poems that fit them. Th page contains two by him & one by me at this time, but we expect it to grow. Th letter codes (AJ, JJ, JA) tell who set th constraint (th first letter) & who answered th constraint w/ a poem (th second letter). In th case of JJ, Jacob set a constraint for himself & then answered it promptly thereafter.

If any Constraintophiles out there would like in on this, send me a message & we can work something out. I do enjoy a good collaboration.

berrying eggs: AndR

Day Poem walkthru: @@@@ K'at

[ =@ Kame :: Six Death ]

I'd like to walk you thru another of my Day Poems. You may not care, but so it goes. I will share w/ you Four Net (2008-4-10) & tell you from where I got my words.

First, you should read it on its own. Interpret it (or don't) however you like. Yr response has no less validity than my ideas about it. Probably more.

jumblrain & fingrglyphing timps
gray carbeptat grinnish
pitterwind & I made Unders
Soppingtown they go to brass circles
building up a Macronose
they centering celebeans (!)
Symphony Callstreet, puddles
my egg. . . . .
nine minus seven of Them, plus th 2nd!
First of all try to reiterate a word he left.
landscape even w/o deeper meaning
made to bustle, to cry
she didn't, but I did (topping metal)
Value.

There. Now I will elucidate line-by-line.

jumblrain & fingrglyphing timps

I feel jumbled going into a rainy day of dogwalking. At th first house I go to, th dog's owner asks about th funny symbols on th notes I've left. He points w/ his fingers. I tell him that I draw hieroglyphs of th Mayan calendar days to practice them. In th car, I play Webern orchestral music on th CD player, & I notice th timpani.

gray carbeptat grinnish

Th sky looms gray as I go. I have some extra time, so I sit in my car & take a moment to write in my Book of Days. Thinking about th word "car," I remember "carbeptat," a word I once coined for th sole purpose of annoying my friend Dan. Remembering him & our odd relationship makes me grin.

pitterwind & I made Unders

I sit in my car; rain makes a pittering against th windows as th wind blows outside. I read a bit of Being & Nothingness & underline bits that I like.

Soppingtown they go to brass circles

I walk more dogs thru their neighborhoods (towns) in circles; they become sopping wet. I notice th brass section recorded on my CD. (I may have switched from Webern to Shostakovitch by now; I can't remember.)

building up a Macronose

Later, I do an evening walk for a dog & particularly like named Maggie. She lives w/ a cat who has extra toes. Th first time I walked them, I referred to them in my Book of Days as "Wisdomutt & Manytoes". I liked that line & wound up singing it later in a song. In subsequent visits, I've made it a habit of creating a new line that sounds like th original: "wish them luck & pantyhose" for example, which I also sing. This time, I write "building up a Macronose".

they centering celebeans (!)

I visit Chase & Sara(h) at Coffee Studio. They serve me coffee (beans) & we center on good conversation. I enjoy th conversation quite a bit & later think of th visit as a celebration. My excitement about it comes as a surprise (& an afterthought), which may help explain my punctuation here.

Symphony Callstreet, puddles

Heading down th street to Logan Square to see my friend George, I make some calls: to Tiffany & to my bosses. I listen to a Shostakovitch symphony & drive in puddles.

my egg. . . . .

I notice that I feel a little anxious & jumpy (from th caffeine, I assume), & th realization makes me notice my head (egg). I don't know what to say about it, but I notice it.

nine minus seven of Them, plus th 2nd!

After finding parking, I sit in th car to allow Shostakovitch's 2nd symphony to finish. Nine minutes have passed & seven minutes remain. A short symphony. I also, just for fun, create an equation (9-7+2) which equals 4, th number of th day on th Mayan calendar.

First of all try to reiterate a word he left.

This line appears in a very awkward translation in th liner notes of th CD I listen to.

landscape even w/o deeper meaning

Watching Werner Herzog's Fata Morgana w/ George, this line appears in th narration. I like it, & it might apply to my Day Poems, so I write it down.

made to bustle, to cry

Fata Morgana sort of bustles w/ meaning & energy & goings-on. It makes me feel lots of complicated things. Th next movie we watch, Lessons of Darkness, makes me feel like crying.

she didn't, but I did (topping metal)

When I come back, I discover that Tiffany didn't do th dishes. We had assigned th night as "my dish night," so she didn't have to, but I suggested that she might do them as a trade for a day that I did hers. Anyway, I note that she didn't do them but I did. Then I think, "So what, Andrew, do you want a medal?" I put a metal bowl on top of th rest of th dishes on th drying rack.

Value.

I read a bit of Being & Nothingness before bed. Sartre discusses value. I don't understand him very well right now, but th word seems to me one complete thought to end th day w/.

thoughts of a manytype dérive

[ ==@@@ Junajpu :: Thirteen Marksman ]

In weather of Beautytype, I did leave my apartment for a wandering. I walked & looked & contemplated what I saw. I experienced th flow of feet. I saw people, dogs, buildings, bodies, vehicles, hairstyles, advertisements, relationships. I saw a plastic cup of an ambiguous yellow liquid w/ several flies squirming about at th surface, sitting on a grate next to a tree. I heard conversations, alarms, buses. I attempted different meditations: to think "in th here & now," trying not to conceive of th past or th future; to focus on everything; to focus on nothing; to think of humans as things; to think of humans as individuals endowed w/ their own consciousness & to try to think their thoughts; to allow landmarks of interest to pull me in like a magnet or repel me in contrary directions. I generally tried to experiment w/ th possibilities inherent in "taking a walk."

I wouldn't automatically call my walk a dérive, but I'd certainly say that th concept of th dérive inspired it. Th wanderthink nature of th walk ended when I found my good friend George just getting off work & we proceeded to togethrenjoy Spring w/ conversation, Lake Michigan, ferns, beers, & tacos.

So I got to thinking about a more "organized" multi-human dérive of soorts. Th goal: to actively recreate th world & immediate environment in a mythistorcal manner; to reject th Objective & th Subjective in favor of th Divinely Absurd; to live an original story.

By 'mythistorical,' I refer to an approach of creating history & mythology together, as one indivisible way of seeing & reporting. Th events 'happen' & they do not 'happen'. They have one foot in Earthly doings & one foot in Chaos. After all, our own History belongs to us, so let us shift it toward th Divinely Absurd - into Mythistory, into Epic Poetry, into th songs of Bards & Druids.

Given that, what could we Do & how could we Do it? I thought of ways of organizing time & activities & came up w/ these basic roles:

Th mediator strives to remain "in th present moment," engaging w/ th world & environment unencumbered by items or particular tasks. This person has th freedom to start conversations w/ strangers, bring th party in new directions, sing songs, recite Shakespeare, or basically do anything that seems best in bringing forth a direct mythistorical catharsis. Of course, just quietly walking & observing fall w/i th sphere of th mediator as well. Th mediator does "nothing in particular."

Th mythistorian takes notes on all that goes, filling pages in a given notebook w/ a chaotic & quirky narrative. Ey attempts to apply mythological, poetic, subjective, symbolic, personal significance to th events of th day by whatever methods seem best. Anything that makes an appearance in th consciousness of th mythistorian may have a place in th pages of th mythistorian's notebook.

Th cartographer we can think of as an extension of th mythistorian. This person creates idiosyncratic maps of th routes taken, including th "significant" landmarks encountered, relating them on paper in a personal way for th unfolding of th story. Th cartographer may identify "zones" of certain types & discover new ways of recreating ideas about space. They may make their maps beautiful, strange, & of course very personal. In Situationist jargon, th cartographer applies eir thinking to psychogeography.

Th timekeeper determines th lengths of blocks of time which divide th day. Each block goes between 15 & 45 minutes, th exact length either chosen at whim or using random methods. Th timekeeper sets some sort of timer (egg timer, stopwatch, cell phone, what have you). After each block, th timer will sound an alarm to indicate a transition point.

At th end of each block, dérivers change roles & specific ritualistic actions take place, eg. a song performed, a poem recited, a mark made on th sidewalk, a gift given to a stranger, etc. When one or more dérivers enter a building, th timekeeper must stop th clock. Th transitions must occur on th street.

This list implies a group of four people, but we could have fewer or more. Th mythistorian can merge w/ th cartographer. Th mediator can merge w/ th timekeeper. We can easily have more than one mediator (they could interact & create experimental dialog). More than one mythistorian would provide us w/ alternative mythistories to compare. & of course, we can create different roles (perhaps a gift-giver, who collects items along th way to paste together to create artifacts to share w/ passersby).

Th notebooks of th mythistorian & th cartographer would become available for th group's perusal later (or anyone's, for that matter) on th internet. These documents would serve as th only surviving information about th dérive after its completion (outside of th memories of th participants & perhaps their reflective writings, if they choose to reflect). Thus, participants could relive th dérive only in a mythistorical manner & those involved could create th dérive in their imagination only in a mythistorical manner. Indeed, in these later (re)creations of th dérive, a more purely mythistorical perspective we could achieve.

This idea may differ enough from th classic dérive that we ought to find another name for it. Mythwander?

I have a handful of people already in mind for this kind of Doing. I think we'd shoot for a Saturday or Sunday & attempt to go at least from mid-morning to dusk. It would probably work best w/ two to five people. If this thrills you, do send a message. We would most likely do this in Chicago, but we could conceivably make a trip to some other city in th general area. Maybe we'd hop up to Wisconsin or over to Indiana.

This kind of thing would probably work best if we do it more than once. Of course, each mythwander would produce a different adventure. We could arrange to do it monthly or biweekly, w/ a rotating cast of characters based on individual availability. If you'd like yr name in th hat for this, as I said, do send a message.

Alright, I've said enough about this for now. It only remains to actually Happen. Let us make it.

.Andrew

Burrito w/ Artichokes!

'Nuff said.

th Xtian Xemist

[ =@@@@ Ajmak :: Nine Sinner ]

I met tonight a Christian Chemist, & we had great conversation sharing our similarly different realities w/ one another!

I played at Tea Essence open mic my '5 songs of fish.' After, she approached me & asked what my song "is about." I told her, "fish." She explained how she tried to make sense of it: "First it seemed like a metaphor comparing people to fish, but then it got political, & I didn't get th part about th scales," etc. I told her it didn't mean much past th words themselves, altho I did explain that th "Ho Chi Minh" in th song refers to a goldfish I used to live w/, & not any historical human. She seemed a little troubled by th idea that a song could not mean anything.

She noticed that I had assembled little "comic book" things (a new project of mine that I worked on at Tea Essence tonight) & inquired about them. I showed her. More nonsense: each panel comes from a pool of tiny meaningless drawings I had come up w/ & glued onto pieces of cardboard. Some panels contain ambiguous objects, others characters doing ambiguous things, & some have speech bubbles containing whatever happened to come into my head at th time (or perhaps some words borrowed from books that I opened up randomly). This really seemed to confuse her, but she seemed fascinated. Why intentionally create nonsense?

I told her I think people take themselves too seriously. We make meaning out of whatever gets thrown our way, we force things to fit together whether they want to or not, & we can stretch our minds a little bit & conceive of a very weird world. I intend to make lots of these little comics & eventually spend a day wandering Chicago & giving them out to strangers on th street. Sowing th seeds of Chaos. . . .

She asked what religion I follow, & I said none that has a name. I told her I think th world contains as many religions as people, because everyone creates their own. I like to look at many different traditions, poke around & find interesting things that seem illuminating. After all, humans have come up w/ thousands of religions. Th Christians have something to say, but so do th Buddhists, th Animists, th Hindus, th Ancient Egyptians, th pre-Colombian Mesoamericans, & so on & so forth. I find it hard to believe that one book out of so many has all th answers.

She told me about her relationship w/ God, that he guides her life to help her do right, to make good decisions. She had a wonderful way of expressing th philosophy of Jesus/love: We are all gifts, gifts to ourselves & gifts to each other. If Jesus said only that & stopped there, I'd like him quite a bit more! (& if so-called Christians w/ a different perspective than hers didn't so often take Jesus & twist him into something ugly & destructive.)

She also said that as a chemist (w/ a PhD no less!) who does very logical, rational, analytical work, she doesn't think she could allow Chaos of th sort that I do into her life. When her home gets cluttered, her work gets cluttered, her mind gets cluttered, & she can't do her job. She had a very clear concept of who she "is" & who she "isn't," what her essence "is". She said she can't be a square & a circle at th same time. Not having her job (or her life), I couldn't argue.

To me, figuring out how to function as th Square & th Circle at th very same time seems like a worthwhile endeavor. I've thought more & more recently about how to combine rational, analytical, honest skepticism w/ raw, chaotic, magickal Living. Th Art of Science, th Science of Art. 1 + 1 = 1. Left brain, right brain, in full communication. Answering Zen koans & laughing w/ abandon. Acknowledging th Full, Unadulterated Complexity & Divinity of Everything. "Getting it."

She doesn't think you can get into heaven if you haven't found Jesus. Jesus saves. She didn't try to convert me. She honestly wanted to hear my side of things. But ultimately, because th book says so, & because she "knows" deep down, she believes I (& billions of others) will go to hell. But God is love.

To me, that seems like such an absurd contradiction! Not just, th Love/Hell thing, but th Rational, Analyzing, Scientific work that she does paired w/ that kind of Blind Dogma. Why can't she apply th scientific method to her faith?

Obviously, I can easily talk. I don't see thru her eyes, nor she thru mine. I didn't convince her of my agnostic approach & she didn't convince me of her Christianity. Jesus remains to me one of many fascinating creatures in our world's mythistory. He had some great ideas & a few fishy ones, if you ask me. If she finds meaning in her faith in him, I wouldn't ever want to get in her way. But I don't much like getting condemned to hell, either.

I gave her one of my comics. She said she'll put it up in her cubicle at work.

weiznduz

[=@@@ Tz'ikin :: Eight Birdsilver ]

I keep you notdated of th ways & dos of me. Apologies.

(Do I self-obsess to th point of fault?)

I continue dogwalking, homegrinding, reading (nowadays: SI Anthology, Being & Nothingness, th Fire From Within, th Omnivore's Dilemma...). Also: carrotchomping, beanfrying, cumbusing. I remain at 7 cumbus songs. More to come in time. Thinking about information, synthesis. Getting little hellos from Chaos, like when I almost lost my wallet yesterday. (As I looked all over for it, I realized that Universe has given me a timely lesson in Nothingness.) We started doing "candle hour" in my apartment to conserve electricity. I got a new dog on my route named Chellie.

& such. Things hop along & don't. I haven't figured out whether, where or when I'd like to "go back to school." Or what for. I'd like to study: xenharmonics, anthropology, world religions, philosophy, literature (James Joyce in particular), poetry, radical this-&-that. Hypothetically. Maybe in several different universes at th same time (that would make them "multiverses," wouldn't it?).

I'd also like to find my pineal gland & have a good long conversation w/ her.

So go my ways & dos, I guess. More or less. Or something.

ions: &ru