| Well,how did I get here? |
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| 05:35pm 28/03/2004 |
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mood:  nostalgic
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Wendel was amazed at the thought.
“There’s nothing of MY ancestors left.” He said, “Least of all their scat.”
“So if they were up North for so long, how’d you come this far south?”
“I myself, was born in the zoo here, but my grandmother told me the story of how the family got there.” Began Oliver,
“Once, there was a deep hole. A hole in the ice that was full of water,
and the water was full of fish. So Grandma was happily fishing there.
But this hole in the ice was right on the shore of Greenland.
It was full of fish because it went all the way down to the sea itself.
While she was fishing, the ice around the hole calved off the ice flow
and became a large iceberg. Which began to drift out to sea, all without Grandma even
noticing. Even when she surfaced, she couldn’t tell at first that the hole, the ice and everything she saw were slowly floating south. The melting ice made a pool of cold water around the berg, and the fish stayed with it. So there was plenty for Grandma to eat.
By the time the iceberg she was riding had melted away, She found herself all the way into the Bay of Fundy. The hole had become a lagoon She finally found herself swimming in the open ocean. So she headed for shore as best she could.
Fortunately we polar bears are strong swimmers, so she made it to shore in Maine, I think she said. A place called Lubec. Now that far South was even then a great deal more full of people than where folk like polar bears normally frequent. So her coming ashore caused quite a stir. Grandma was promptly captured, and wound up in the Central Park Zoo, which is where I was later born.”
“That story sounds much like the smell of fertilizer around here. Artificial with a hint of shit to it.”
‘It sounds quite unlikely, true,” Replied Oliver, a little miffed “but one doesn’t like to contradict their own grandmother’s word.”
Today's Crimefighters:He's a benighted moralistic cop haunted by memories of 'Nam. She's a psychotic motormouth nun living homeless in New York's sewers. They fight crime! |
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| Can you smell that smell? |
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| 11:50am 22/03/2004 |
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mood:  crappy
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“Well, I do see that it LOOKS pretty. But what’s that smell?”
“Fertilizer,” Said Oliver, “It makes the flowers bigger.”
“No, inside of that. It’s kinda like Bear, but not really…..”
Oh, That would be me, or at least, my scat. I’ve personally seen to feeding
these flowers. Many a Time!” exclaimed Oliver proudly.
“You mean you’ve been going here? NOT in the woods?”
“I’m a polar bear, I’ve never shit in the woods.
Mostly I do that at sea. Or on the ice. Why, if the current fad for ice coring
goes on, it’s inevitable that one of them will hit one of my ancestors frozen legacy.”
Today's Crimefighters:
He's a world-famous white trash jungle king possessed of the uncanny powers of an insect. She's a scantily clad African-American opera singer descended from a line of powerful witches. They fight crime! |
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| Tell her about it |
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| 11:35am 13/02/2004 |
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mood:  lazy
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Wendell was a little frightened at first sight. "Wow man. You’re a really BIG bear. And so white too, You OK man?”
“I’m quite well, thank you” Replied Oliver, “I never thought of myself as large.”
(Oliver was actually on the smallish side, for a polar bear.)
“You do look to me quite small. I had taken you for a sheep, or a gazelle, by the size.Are you certain you’re a bear?”
“What’s a gazelle man? Or a sheep?”
“Animals that live in cages near my home” “But you’re a bear?”
“It ain’t size that makes a bear man!” Said Wendell testily.
“Just what does make a bear then?” Oliver considered thoughtfully, sitting back among the flowers in the garden.
“I don’t know man, but it ain’t size. Fer sure. I know lots of bears of all sizes.”
“The only bears I know are all like me.” “Are there many bears like you hereabouts?”
“Don’t ask me man, I’m not from ‘round here.” And I bet you ain’t either!”
Wendell was rapidly losing his fear, because of Oliver’s gentle manners.
“True! I live at the zoo, downtown. And you?” Snapped Oliver, rising to Wendell’s challenging tone. And to his full height.
“I’m from up North of here, don’t know how far.” Said Wendell, a bit chastisedly,seeing he could not push Oliver around. “I sorta got down here by accident.’
“Not an unhappy accident, I trust” remarked Oliver, mollified, “Given the lovely garden here.”
Today's Crimefighters:
He's a jaded guitar-strumming barbarian with nothing left to lose. She's a provocative tempestuous research scientist who dreams of becoming Elvis. They fight crime! |
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| Ridin that train |
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| 06:14pm 27/01/2004 |
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mood:  aggravated
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Sometimes, Oliver met with another bear, Wendell. Wendell was a black bear. He lived upstate, but he often came to visit the same lovely gardens surrounding the Cloisters that Oliver did. He’d found them, and all of NYC, quite by accident. One cold night, a sudden taste of winter during the autumn, Wendell fell asleep inside an empty boxcar. He slept quite deeply and didn’t waken even when the entire train the boxcar was part of started moving. He found himself on the west side of Manhattan come morning. Quite frightened, he followed the tracks northward, (bears always can tell where their home is) until he came near the great hill of Ft.Tryon park. Where the Cloisters sat atop. He smelled the sweet perfume of the flowers of the garden. He climbed to investigate and found the loveliest place he’d ever seen. He stayed all day, hiding from the few people there, till nightfall. He thought the garden even more beautiful by moonlight. And then Oliver came.
Today's Crimefighters:
He's a suicidal skateboarding dwarf who knows the secret of the alien invasion. She's a supernatural paranoid queen of the dead with her own daytime radio talk show. They fight crime! |
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| The sun through yellow curtains and a rainbow on the wall |
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| 06:20am 24/01/2004 |
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mood: content
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Come sit by the fire and snuggle warm, mien kinder. Daddy’s gonna tell a story.
One time , not long ago, there were three bears.
The first bear was Oliver. He was a happy young polar bear who lived in the Central Park Zoo. He was a particularly happy bear because he knew a way out of his enclosure.
So Oliver not only had the cage’s little pond to swim in, and the white steps to climb on, but the whole of Manhattan. He was a discrete bear, not wont to frighten people. So he only wandered about at night, quietly. He loved the rest of Central: Park first of all. He'd play and dive in the reservoir, then climb the old stone tower next to it. It was cool at night, just as Oliver liked it. The spiral stairs were fun to run down. Climbing a tree, he spotted the top of Cleopatra’s needle, and so found the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
From there he explored many buildings in the city. One day he found St. Patrick cathedral. St. John the Divine, and at the top of the island was the loveliest place of all, the Cloisters. Surrounded by gardens so beautiful even a bear adored them. A place of corridors and courtyards. All on top of a hill. Once he found it, he went there often.
If your wondering, and I’m sure you are, such smart children you are, just how Oliver got around to the entire island and still got back by morning, when the Zoo opened?
He did it just the same as you or I would. He took the subway.
At Columbus Circle, Right on the park, was an entrance, the attendant there was named Eric. Completely tolerant of bears he was. At least tolerant of Oliver. Whom he’d known
for years. As I said, Oliver was a discrete bear, and a well behaved one. Eric had no problem looking the other way when Oliver would get on the train, confident that he’d take care not to bother anyone. He reasoned that the NYC subway charges per person, and Oliver wasn’t one, so he didn’t need to pay.
Usually, he rode outside the train, jumping onto the back or between cars.
He even performed a bit of service to the subway. Occasionally snapping up a tunnel rat for a snack, when he was hungry. And the scent of him in the tunnels was enough to keep many more away.
So if your on the A train late at night, you might see a flash of white at the back of the train. Don’t be alarmed. It’s likely just Oliver, off to smell the flowers and climb the towers.
Today's Crimefighters:
He's a jaded guerilla rock star who dotes on his loving old ma. She's a supernatural streetsmart widow with an incredible destiny. They fight crime! |
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| Ties a rope to a tree and haqngs the universe |
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| 03:30am 20/01/2004 |
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mood:  scared
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But not all of the Young Gods are so benign. The hindu god of destruction, Siva, had a child by the Goddess of war, Kali.
Their child, Barca, is terrible to behold. He is the young deity of thermonuclear bombs. Feared by individuals, and rightly so, he is nonetheless devoted to by several governments. Who worship this dark lord for the power his mere presence bestows, and the fear that other nations have of him. They tell themselves that it is better to be his wielder than his victim. As if that were the only choices. And so they play host to his awesome visage.
His devotions are hideously expensive, piles of money sacrificed to win his favor. All to have him near, but never to unleash him. Or so they wish to think. Barca, himself, bides his time, aloof.
Today's Crimefighters:
He's a bookish Amish gentleman spy with a winning smile and a way with the ladies. She's a sarcastic paranoid traffic cop who inherited a spooky stately manor from her late maiden aunt. They fight crime! |
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| It was late in the evening |
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| 10:20pm 14/01/2004 |
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mood:  cynical
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There are other recent additions to the pantheons.
The story is told of Hephaestus, god of fire and smithcraft, one tried to learn from his wife, Aphrodite. He emulated her roving, wanton ways and consorted with Arachne, goddess of spiders.
The produced a son, Byte, young god of the internet. He has proved a popular god. Worshiped all around the world.
Rituals praising him involve libations of various caffeinated beverages and feasts of microwaved foods. His devotees converse in a strange parody of pseudo-english that few understand.
Winning his favor results in faster downloads and numerous offers for really good shareware.
Some claim to have actually conversed with the god Byte in various chat rooms, late at night, but one can never be sure.
It could in truth have been the one 16 year old, sexually curious nymphete out there. The one everybody claims to be but nobody ever is. Not even her. Because she is claiming to be a god.
Today's Crimefighters:
He's a scarfaced bohemian boxer with nothing left to lose. She's a mistrustful wisecracking mercenary with a birthmark shaped like Liberty's torch. They fight crime! |
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| How do I work this? |
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| 05:35pm 12/01/2004 |
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mood:  accomplished
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So, I’ve been considering just what was the proper way to worship Anime.
The first thing that came to mind is ribbon bows. I think ribbons in general sound like a good idea. Not only are they useful to decorate gifts with, but also as cat toys. The more brightly colored and glittery the better. One may festoon most all of their alter tools.Athames, or for that matter wands used to invoke her are best when ribbons fall from their tips, so that they resemble scourges. Alters should be bordered in bunting to curry her favor.
And just what does her favor bring? Unexpected presents, both material and spiritual.Pretty ephemera, like a snatch of song you never identify or hear again. A glint of rainbow here, an elusive waft of flower scent on the wind there.
Devotees to Anime fill their lives with such. Always aware of the pleasant surprises of living, and experts at random acts of beauty and kindness. Happy people plotting to make strangers smile, and then be gone.
Today's Crimefighters:
He's a lonely umbrella-wielding househusband on a mission from God. She's a cosmopolitan Bolivian bounty hunter with only herself to blame. They fight crime! |
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| Got to have a J O B, if you wanna be with me |
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| 07:55am 10/01/2004 |
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mood:  jubilant
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Being a spanking new god. Anime began to search for a purpose, something to associate herself with. One just had to be the goddess of something, after all. It wouldn’t do to be so lazy as exist for only one’s own self.
All the really good stuff was already taken though. There was already a goddess of love, of the moon, of the sea and sky. Not much left. So what’s a young deity to do? Use her imagination, of course!
For a while she thought of becoming the goddess of falling leaves, or maybe of snow devils. Nice, pretty, fleeting things well suited to her nature. But not quite it. She searched, and thought, searched and thought, but nothing seemed right, somehow. Then she happened to spend some time watching an old fool of her mother’s wrapping presents.
Late for Yule, he was still determined to get things in the mail. Such joy he had while he did it. Missing the holiday mere trivia compared to the fun of sending off presents. Giving things away was a sacred act in his mind. The anticipation of friends receiving things unexpectedly made him smile as he cut, then folded patterned paper and taped into place.
That gave her the idea she wanted. Goddess of gift-wrap! Happy, gaily colored, festive ephemera. A moment of beauty, only to be torn apart amid the fun of gift giving. A fragile, temporary vehicle of love and pleasure. Perfect!
Today's Crimefighters:
He's a world-famous coffee-fuelled waffle chef with a passion for fast cars. She's a bloodthirsty red-headed bodyguard married to the Mob. They fight crime! |
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| Havin my baby |
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| 11:10am 08/01/2004 |
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mood:  artistic
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Poseidon and Bast had a bit of a Tryst one week. Being from different pantheons, sex was a bit problematical. They had to find a plane of existence that both could manifest in. A reality tunnel they could share. But they were adaptable, easygoing deities, when they wanted to be, so they managed. Soon, there was born a daughter. She was as playful as a kitten and as easy to hold as water. As changeable as the sea itself. She was a VERY adaptable young goddess. She could look like anything she wanted. Any form she desired, she could take. Like her half-brother, Proteus. Her name was Anime.
Today's Crimefighters:
He's a shy Amish hairdresser who dotes on his loving old ma. She's a ditzy red-headed socialite with a song in her heart and a spring in her step. They fight crime! |
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| A winter's day |
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| 04:00am 06/01/2004 |
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mood: distressed
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Bitter winter wind blows. Swirling the snow already on the ground into white spirals of glittering crystal. Across the empty ground only they are moving. The only sound is the pulsing whistle of the wind. Fading and creshendoing, now high pitched, now deeper toned. The snow makes visible the dance of the wind. Cones of snow like waltzers sweep back and forth across the field. Careening into each other, kissing and bouncing apart. Far above the wind gathers the clouds. They convene, merge and darken. Foreshadowing with their strengthening shadows the storm brewing within them. At some unheard signal, the snow begins to fall all across the field. White flakes that smother the swirling of the dancers. It’s job done, the wind subsides. All is silent as the fluff falls gently. Adding a new layer to the blanket already covering the ground. Learning the steps from the snow it covers. For when it’s their turn to dance at the winds return.
Today's Crimefighters:
He's a superhumanly strong drug-addicted vampire hunter with a mysterious suitcase handcuffed to his arm. She's a cynical extravagent snake charmer with someone else's memories. They fight crime! |
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| Autumn in Vermont |
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| 02:35am 05/01/2004 |
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mood: discontent
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Sorry, I've been away. I can't seem to write when
I'm out of town.
A falling leaf. As they all fell not so very long ago. As they have always done.
From a tree which stands like dignified aristocrat in a white beard and 17th century military dress. There in the meadow.Giving quiet, rural shade to the softly baa-hing, contentedly, unthinkingly grazing sheep, soon to be brought in for the winter. Part of the great circle of use, decay and reuse.
This leaf, not consulted, and therefore not willing to fall unprotected into oblivion struggles against his fate. His cartoon face with pudgy, flushed cheeks and a large nose, strains. He begins to fold at his central vein. Faster and faster, using him very, spiritual and physical self, as wings, until he takes flight. And rises.
He breaks into a smile across his stem, showing perfect, white teeth. He does a quick aerial pirouette and climbs into a sunbeam. The edges of his leafy wings start to glow faintly, Than more strongly, brighter. Within the twinkle of it, spreading across them, colors begin to swirl and coalesce, like gathering clouds, merging but not blending. Then a rainbow pulse through them as the harp music swells, and takes long run up the scale, sweetly but quickly. The colors brighten to white, momentarily flare to dazzle the screen, and the leaf is transformed into a butterfly.
Who dies and falls to ground anyway. But before his inevitable, and only arbitrarily meaningful death. There had been a moment of reality to his dreams. An engram programmed on the collective unconscious, an unnoticed, unwitnessed, but still real (funny word, that), indestructible instant, of flight.
And then another leaf falls
Today's Crimefighters:
He's an all-American pirate librarian on the edge. She's a supernatural cigar-chomping pearl diver with a birthmark shaped like Liberty's torch. They fight crime! |
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| Love is all you need |
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| 09:00pm 28/12/2003 |
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mood: nostalgic
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I thought giving up sex would simplify things.
Learning how to love without it was a hard thing.
But I'm finding it a rare lesson that other's don't seem to know
anything about. I keep feeling this wall closing off the people around me. I only ever could really get past it was when they were post orgasmic. I've been told that it's just Me. That I needed to learn to ACCEPT love that wasn't sexual. But I've decided that's just not it. The wall really is there. And it's not my wall. People just don't know how to open their hearts outside of bed.
The closest they come is during a good laugh.
That's why I'm a Fool.
So, anyone up for a little 68?
Today's Crimefighters:
He's a gun-slinging drug-addicted senator whom everyone believes is mad. She's a strong-willed winged museum curator who believes she is the reincarnation of an ancient Egyptian queen.
They fight crime! |
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| I believe in Yestersday |
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| 12:00pm 27/12/2003 |
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mood: frustrated
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I've been frustrated with the stubbornness of Time.
Always in one direction, always at the same rate.
It just won't bend despite all efforts.
So all my past mistakes are indelible. Unerasable.
Memory makes them relivable. A little imagination and they are even mutable. Sometimes. But the tape as it was originally recorded always intrudes. Despite art, the past remains unedited in any permanent way. For me at least.
You will accept the version of my past you are given, whatever changes made are all the same to you. I'm free to edit things and make a more interesting story of it. But I know where the rewrites are. Leaving me to keep trying to bend time itself to suit.
Because yesterday is still there, somewhere. It wasn't destroyed, just left behind. If I could somehow just find the path back. I can feel it's there, But can't walk it. Yet.
Today's Crimefighters:
He's an old-fashioned bohemian senator from a doomed world. She's a disco-crazy gold-digging single mother from Mars. They fight crime! |
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| I'm on the outside |
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| 04:00am 26/12/2003 |
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mood:  groggy
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My body seems to be disconnecting with the world around it.
It started with my sleep cycle. Up till 8am, sleeping till 2pm, or sometimes to bed at 10pm. Then the temperture control. Which I had blamed on a cold. Then hunger. It's getting to be a conscious effort to keep breathing in and out. It's like my body has suddenly become a white boy with no sense of rhythm. Living more and more independent of the environment.
And I the same time, I confess to a deepening involvement with reality. The world is on a sharper focus. My former detachment, especially emotionally, is fading. I find myself caring about things that didn't used to matter. Like status, and money.
Feels like I've been doing cocaine again.
Today's Crimefighters:
He's a scrappy one-eyed grifter looking for a cure to the poison coursing through his veins. She's an orphaned punk Valkyrie who inherited a spooky stately manor from her late maiden aunt.
They fight crime! |
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| Just sittin here |
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| 01:20am 24/12/2003 |
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mood: bitchy
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I keep hearing that 'Making No decision is making a decision.'
'To do nothing to prevent evil is to do evil' I for one am fed up with this bullshit.
Yes, not taking action is making a decision. It's deciding NOT to act. A decision that is often the right one to make. And you may be right about doing nothing to prevent evil. But I don't really have the time or energy to knock you down right now. Because it always seems that it is those who call loudest for my help that deserve it least. And because I can see enough of both sides of most things not to want to oppose either of them, that isn't to say I'm indifferent. Though mostly I am.
Like the button says "Withdrawing in Disgust is not Apathy'
It's not good enough for some to play the game oh so seriously. They want ME to play too. And get upset if I don't. Nope, sorry, there isn't anything wrong with me because I don't want to. I think your need for me to agree with you shows there is something wrong with you.
Thanks for listening to the tirade.
We now return to our previously scheduled program.
Today's Crimefighters:
He's an underprivileged shark-wrestling waffle chef on the edge. She's a virginal tempestuous hooker with her own daytime radio talk show. They fight crime! |
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| Here Comes The Sun |
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| 11:20am 22/12/2003 |
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mood:  bouncy
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The long night has past. The dawn breaks over the snow, dazzling my tired eyes. I cheer the new beginning.
'Ah Ra! Nebu Eck! Nebu Anhk!'
(Hail Ra! Lord of light! Lord of Life!)
Then I go back to bed.
Cool Yule and Happy New Year to Y'all!
Today's Crimefighters:
He's a leather-clad white trash dog-catcher from the Mississippi delta. She's a sarcastic cigar-chomping advertising executive with an MBA from Harvard. They fight crime! |
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| Dream a little dream with me |
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| 11:40am 20/12/2003 |
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mood: mellow
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Some folk call it mere dreaming, but for me, it’s sometimes feels more like travel to an alternate universe. I, not always, but often enough, am THERE in another place, as another self, living a different life. An ongoing one that can develop over time.
Today, for instance, I was a jewel thief, or a spy; Hang out on a ledge escaping my well-dressed pursuers. I crab walked along the edge of a fine hotel, the shinnied down a drainpipe to a large kitchen window. I then climbed out of the sink and made my way out.
But not all of the destinations are so exciting. Some dimensions I find myself in are downright boring. Thursday, I found myself as a telemarketer. I vividly remember calling stranger after stranger, trying to sell them a savings on their long distance service.So uninteresting was this, I stayed asleep for hours, because the dream was too boring to gather the energy to wake from.
Wonder where I'm going tonight.
Today's Crimefighters:
He's a superhumanly strong hunchbacked sorceror who must take medication to keep him sane. She's an artistic winged schoolgirl married to the Mob. They fight crime! |
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| I'm movin' on |
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| 04:20am 19/12/2003 |
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mood: artistic
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Please excuse the mess. I know things are a bit disordered just now.But I am in the middle of moving. No, not physically, that won’t be for months. I mean I’m in the midst of changing memory palaces. So all the furniture is strewn about, more or less in the order they will be loaded onto the truck. Here, my childhood rendered as a bath, and my romantic history in a Chinese apothecary’s case, a drawer for each lover. The chair I’m sitting on is a recollection of the Metropolitan museum. Stray memories already out of their proper places in the old pile, not yet set into the new space. I do this sort of thing every once in a while.
There are times when you just need more space than others. So the size of palace that suits changes. I started out with a cozy little cottage in the woods. Then I moved to a castle in Scotland. Full of drafty rooms. Once, the house built for my mental files was a bank, a teashop, a string factory. A farm, sewer, library, airport.
And every time my needs change I have to move. So all of goes. Onto the truck for the trip to new quarters. Well, almost all of it. One good thing about moving your mind about like this is getting to leave things behind. You have to strike the right balance of being a pack rat on the one hand, and Some stray tenants of Buddhism. How much you must keep and what to let go of. What to simply forget, fail to move, or some piece that you simply can’t part with. Course, living simply, without too many material attachments, even mental ones, does greatly lighten the load on the road.
And if I ever encounter a real need of any of these bundles of sticks, I know my way back. It will all be here. It’s not like some other renter will be along to occupy the palace after I go. Ahh! The secure feeling of home ownership!
So why not just leave it all here? But that would disperse my inner sense of home. Where you live is where your stuff is. And for one living the mental life, having that feeling has a lot to do with where you keep your thoughts.
Not that the order of objects in any memory palace of mine is what you would call ‘rigid’. A certain amount of chaos and clutter is to be expected in the mental domicile of any intelligence, as a result of intelligence. I use my furniture. I find it’ comfort and durability more important than it’s neatness. I do have a girl come in every so often to dust and mop. So it stays clean at the very least. Wherever I’m hanging my hat within. Or what’s within what I hang my hat on.
One piece of advice. Keep hiring different movers for each trip The ones I have now are hardworking little engramic apes. Each with a bright attitude and sunny disposition. Just as the need for a palace changes, so your need for a van and movers.
Besides, it’s fascinating to watch them work. Scurrying about hither and yon.Loading and hauling. Each with a unique method that always some how seems to work out. As far as I remember. Sometimes, to save time, the movers fly. I’ve been moved by chubby little cherubs and burly, cigar chomping teamsters. A troop of Griffins and a single giant squid. Last time, it was a crowd of Muppets. They all looked like Scooter from ‘The Muppet Show’.
I don't do this often. But every once and a while. Not more than several in even my long, long life. I does one good to literally shake out the cobwebs periodically. It really costs nothing but the trouble to take the time to do it in your head, or even on paper.
It's just rotten bad timing that you chose to drop in just as I'm in transit like this. Temporarily between mental staes, As I am now.
So I am truly sorry. This is not the best time for a visit. But do sit down and I see if I could rustle us up some tea and a pastry or two. So tell me, how have you been?.
Today's Crimefighters:
He's an unconventional playboy paranormal investigator from the 'hood. She's a provocative wisecracking barmaid from out of town. They fight crime! |
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| But baby it's cold outside |
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| 11:20pm 11/12/2003 |
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mood:  sick
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This cold is costing me my external temperature control.
I’m sweating, then freezing, then sweating while freezing. With no relation to the temperature outside of me. When such perceptions are 7/10 ths of what is real, what do you do when those perceptions go haywire? Disconnect from temperatures altogether? Stop caring about what the temperature is and cultivate a caloric stoicism? Yet more reason for detachment.
Today's Crimefighers:
He's a hate-fuelled amnesiac cop with a winning smile and a way with the ladies. She's a hard-bitten tomboy cab driver with only herself to blame. They fight crime! |
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