(whistle:) ooo-ee-ooo-ee-ooo
           wah-wah-wah
           ooo-ee-ooo-ee-ooo
           wah-wah-wah-wah

yo, asking of non-horde ugly americans in la, chris, would this be a simon
bob fronted version? without eubanks or hooley, i can't imagine why to even
use the name. weird.

i'm the whiniest little coder in the history of the list, to which i no longer
contribute, as it's of no use to my imaginary career and polluted every day by
more and more other people, mean and stupid as i ever was, who don't worship my
shit, a personal affront. i distinguish my technology (erotica) from your
technology (porn), interested in seeing that the archives stay lost, so that my
prospective contractual breeding and banking companion remains ignant of my
tendencies. wow is she hot and, i'm so dutiful, i don't plan on getting
divorced.

now that's funny.

though there are some teachers who would disagree with one, not all would.
idunno this is such a great thing, as it enlarges the boundaries of that
which already constrains us, but graphic style is taught as a tool of
specific use by many. not all are graduates the institute of hegemonic
english technology. by golly, some don't even wear their glasses so tight.
anyway, we see this continually, keepers of facts sooner or later slip on
their own banana boat. some just wanna normalized gender, irrespective of
fuzzy discontinuums. everything is broken. who knows, that might be our saving
grace. humans never were animality -proper-, just machines on the blink.
glitches help us should they ever become efficient.

whatever the odds were supposed to be, i'd not seen anything about the cds
ageism in film show. so, thank you, and thank you again. the dance card gets
ever fuller.

so, who is it that laughs at wesley willis? alt.tent all the way to the bank,
maybe, or not. all this says is dont buy his records but go see his shows.
me, i sing along. the man testifies and his testimony is as valid as any,
overcoming whatever handicap at which one attempts to keep him if his oeuvre
doesn't confirm one's own ideology of talent. that peeps would suggest laughter
or rejection as the reactions of note obscures messages about art and
technology of which willis seems all too aware in his delivery, whatever
unfavored flavors might have produced his vision.

mssrs hart, nick, et mqr-d, thank you, thank you, and thank you. pending the
boss's acquiescence, i hope to be dancing with a butch lesbian right soon now.
they make the best friends, you know.

just an observation, note, mail2news seems even more frigged than usual.
peeps at acpub and ncsu have professed total blindness to anything but
international spams and posts from mindspring. there seems to be very
little crossing over. it's weird that traffic is so high of late yet not
many can access it.

somebody's daddy might say, it'll be good for you, builds character. and
there's already a cheat sheet published in the nyt, a template one might
employ as an outline for trashing the film. sometimes it's, um, shit,
where's my thesarus, o well, -illuminating- to just go and view the art
object, then get good and mad at what it seems to say. the reactions
provoked are the next art object. life is a class exercise, left to the
reader, to choose among attempts to see everything one cannot see or
claims to have seen enough which are never.

i, on the other hand, dunno nothing. literally, and that's my problem.
i just hear rumors that someone said six, clocks, news, was claimed to
have world premiered at the hawaii international film festival. which
is a long way from harvard, i hear. never having been there, hawaii,
that is, that i know of, i wouldn't know. but then my personal cultivation
documents a strong suspicion that everything is wrong. feel freedom to get
technical, even, of course, by the way, on the -up-side. me, i agree with
what you said about some things, not that such, or any other require
justification.

the way you trivialize rape is so completely astounding to me. 2 or more people
are fucking whenever there's a rape involving fucking. that you dont sympathize
with distinctions of what you would and wouldn't recognize as rape is pretty
easy to tell from your posts. in other news, the pro-genderism women of tbtn
didn't even recognize male degradation until just last year. not everyone is
happy that they did, as they see such as in -competition- with their
-interests-. anyway, a couple of foolhardy souls were paraded forth to give
their testimonies, seen as degradingly unmanly by the throngs who begrudgingly
invited them, providing still more flat earth for the advancement of capital.

and just what is it in the context that one thinks provides one with the
consent of the imagined?

consent is a myth. no one is ever but misinformed, drawing straw conclusions
from muddy data. one cannot see everything to 'know' the context is folded on
itself. peeps have sex on faith culled from the imagined reasons of their
apparently wished-for necessity. i have no doubt peeps are interested in sex.

don't even think of claiming not to have presented a claim as an answer.
just coz there are no answers never helped anyone to keep from -acting as if-
they were in their possession. it's a condition of breathing.

and of course dwokin uses porn to make money. messages are only delivered
by one who privileges access, we'd all heard to that. there are any number
of web sites on which she could publish the texts of her books if dissemination
were her appeal. but no, she has interest in the exchange value of her words,
like anyone else. she's as bound up in capital as any other feminist, hence
her belief that only every man, and not every person, is a rapist.

anyway, there is nothing inconsistent in the aclu's practice of using porn
to raise money if it is their belief that porn is ok. if one believes there
is any real rationality of thought, the inconsistencies of money, images, and
expression might provide more cogent texts. objectifying objectification
just gets one in deeper or not. it's like trying to make real from faux.

we could research the factors of this all day, there are no answers, just
angst transference via a simulated coherency.

several shrill whistles blown on the enemy within and i would wish a will
for something, idunno what.

well, if one is going to insist it is a foregone conclusion for another to
comment on anything, then one may as well. may as well. more wishful thinking.
anyway, more than three men met last night for simulated bonding ritual. any
more than three is necessarily simulated. one plays games one would otherwise
not play, smokes things one would otherwise not smoke, eats things of fabled
origin, and, of course, drink things until one's eyeballs turn red and one's
words make even less sense than before, assuming one can enunciate one's words
at such a point to even be unnerstood, that is. all in whatever, nobody agrees
to everything and this is consternation to some, expected of others. many
misadventures are advanced. yes, i know i'm lucky, even if i lose my own hand.
but an evening moves along via playful observance of some base rules. several
things get said, expressions of points, views cast from ideas. no one seems out
and out aggressively untowards in their attitudes regarding women. sheesh,
talk is more of books and food than anything else. but no one seems all that
sterling, either. some disfavor to thine own self being faux. some, to the
other. none acts all that pure in either respect.

so it is here, on this middle ground, a whatever on the supposed continuum,
the territory of disjoint codes, where the injuries of capital are perpetuated.

and speaking of valentine's, there was that female dj on knc announcing how
well her plot last year to rake in the maximum amount of valentine booty
had so well succeeded, the plan would be upgraded this year. and the two
women at the movie theater who were laughing on their way back to their
seats about how well they'd conned the popcorn boy in believing they were
interested in him.

and we'll just pretend we didn't hear that muffin stuff. i prefer my
contradictions where i can see them, so i can at least have an idea of
what mistake i'm about to make next.

3.2.3