I haven't written here for about 2 months. Every since I met, in real life, Lunesse and had a talk with her about internet journals, mine and hers. I dint' really conciously stop writing. I've actually been writing, but not here, not this publicly. In my brand new big black hardcover paper journal. Something about it's heft and physicality, combined with thoughts about her electronic writings compared to mine, and then just the way life has been going....

The internet diary/webcam/voyeur exhibitionism thing is a issue that will never cease to fasinate me (by the way, Caleb is thinking about resurrecting GeekCereal. Lunesse has a webcam too. So there was a lot to talk about. The contrasts, the wide variety of how people deal with these things is amazing to me. For instance, her writings are all air and light, happy recountings of the good life, sailing or raving or eating or luxuriating in whatever pleasure of the day has come up. Mine, on the other hand, is pretentious and bitter musings on the nature of reality and its current ebb in quality or integrity or whatever.

Well, so there you have it. And there I have it. My, our, reasons for not doing this much. I'm only doing this for myself, you know. I don't really care about you, probably. Unless you're someone I know. If you read this and you know me, I want you to read on, because I'm probably not spending enough time communicating with you, whoever you are. We're losing touch. I do these things so you know who I am now, still. But if you're nobody, if i don't know you, hell with it. You probably found this page accidentally while searching for Pamela Anderson nude tits.

I'm Inching Toward Truth. Have I mentioned that before?

Coil's Nasa Arab is coming on the speakers and I'm reaching that moment of stereophonic chemical-induced lucidity matched only by the lucidity reached upon completing the viewing of a film on a big screen that doesnt suck. Films like Starship Troopers, bullshit, that doesn't inspire lucidity. But tonight I saw this weird flick called Gummo. It was all these little scenes from white-trash middle america. It was like Slacker crossed with Twin Peaks or something. Like if Ween made a movie. Like if David Lynch and Steve Albini got together to make a movie based on the Big Black song Jordan, Minnesota. No, actually, it wasn't that horrible. It was a little lighter than that. But hey there was lots of animal killing, death metal, incest, child abuse, ignorance and inbreeding. It was fucked up. It got me thinking about "most people". I don't know if there is such a thing. Thinking about the disicussions i've been having with Axil and Chris Wood about the cooption of alternative culture and whatnot. The people depicted in Gummo seemed to be completely media free, other than the odd porno magazine. No one was watching TV the entire time. Was it cuz they were too poor to have TVs? No. That's impossible... the Combine has made sure that no one can't afford to watch TV.

Now granted, it's not a documentary. But i can see a lot of stuff being pretty realistic. Pretty plausible. Ilooked around at the rest of the audience and wondered what people thought of the film if they had never really experience middle america, if "white trash" and "cracker" are just terms to descibe mythical beings. What if someone was born and always lived here in the San Francisco Bay Area? I mean, there's rednecks in Northern California but not within about 100 miles of here.

IF you look at it a certain way, our mediasphere here has eliminated redneckdom. People are so familiar with the assumptions of "cosmopolitan life" that we enjoy here. On the other hand, I think it's more accurate to say that the cost of living around here has more to do with the lack of rednecks. It's all about money. All about who has and who hasn't, and what the hasn't do to get by in their world of scarcity, to keep themselves entertainined and alive. And what we do in this oh-so-stupendous world of the much. the "a lot". A lot of fun, a lot of limousines and dock martins and lattes and used bookstores and cocktail bars and art film theaters. Computers and offices and banks and contracts and invoices. There's no one killing cats here with bb guns because cats can't survive here anyway. This place is toxic to both pure innocence and pure malevolence. To all things pure and extreme... a place of extremes, filled with the grey? the medium?

And on yet a third hand, there's rednecks afterall, you just can't see them here. Rednecks with plastic surgery and sports utility vehicles. They have made it, they have transformed. on the outside.

Oh this is going on way too long and gettting way to pretentious. what the hell am I talking about? What's an interesting written-word version of a lock groove? Ever heard the end of Sonic Youth's "Evol"? Or the end of Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music?

he's reaching toward truth. help me pull myself along a few more feet?

These never turn out like I expect them, you know that?