DateJune 10, 2004

Genius is dead.

A trombonist in a brass-punk band called the Golden Showers

“One day I won’t put up with you. It’ll just be over. Where will you sleep?”

“You’ll always have to put up with me. I’ll be throwing things at you in the old folk’s home, knocking big wads of oily tinfoil right off your head. If you haven’t merged with the network by then in dork ecstasy.”

In my increasingly desperate search for materiél to scan between bouts of whanging my head against cryptic SQL procedures, I have finally committed myself to reading that old sawhorse of Sumana’s: Ftrain, residence of Paul Ford’s multiple personas and weird-category-structure Mecca. I mean, I’ve read it before, but as of today I’m reading larger chunks and really trying to grok its navigation. And it’s good. “Scott Rahin’s” columns are a quick favorite; they remind me of the amiable hate-fest that is a fact of life between certain members of the Nightlight Press Community and myself.

Been using that ol’ blockquote a lot here lately.

Now the stupid thing will be in my head all day

For the longest time, I was convinced that that Stevie Nicks song was about a “one-winged dove,” which always seemed perversely funny to me.

“Funnier than a one-legged rabbit, Val,” said Peter.

“Of which there are no doubt several in these woods.”

“Hopping in neat little circles.”

Will White (now a temporary Sunday Night Baller!) remains a genius.

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