Golly gee, it has been a while since I posted. It's not my fault. I received a Japanese/Malaysian restaurant menu that was slipped under my door. Instead of "Mango Chicken or Beef or Shrimps" they shifted the F over and wrote "Mango Chicken or Bee for Shrimps". So I went online to look up some amusing Engrish sites, got a little too close to the Yahoo! forums and, to make a long story short, I've spent several weeks in an underground torture chamber, abducted and shackled to the hissing Far-Right machine. Turns out all I had to do to get out was lose all sense of dignity. Those forums are amazing. Yahoo! can post a news report on wax beans and you end up with forum posts such as: "This prove Muslims better than Jews", "the *ONLY* reason you are Christian", "of course Wiccan embrace this", "HELL IS REAL", "LET'S NUKE CANADA NOW!!!!!!", "More proof of intelligent design", and a forty-seven message thread about how gays are apparently destroying the country and making babies cry.

They are one of those places where totally insubstantial rubbish reaches such a self-agrandizing apex that one becomes completely disinterested in the very essence of human activity, and is forced to undergo an instinctual isolation from humanity. Not entirely unrelated are those moments where an absolutely disconnect with the exterior world happens within an instant, rather than gradually. The other day I was walking along the sidewalk near my home, and there was a blonde woman standing in the gutter wearing a skimpy bikini-like outfit, with one hand on her hip, gazing at the cars as if she was prepared to climb inside one if offered a nice wad of cash. I thought, "My, what trash." Not a moment later, a more conservatively dressed woman meandered over to the trashy one, reached out, and tore off her upper body at the hips. I gawked as Trash Woman's body was brutally severed in two, hair violently thrashing about. Of course it turned out to be just a mannequin, but my brain found itself entirely unwilling to process the information it was being fed for a few moments, and basically shut down. There was a forceful disconnect ushered in violently, but followed by a blissful calm that trailed off and soon sank into whimsical memories of watching a Twin Peaks cover band perform at a small bar in Durham, North Carolina.

What else have I been up to. Turns out that my name appears as a contributor in the book "Overheard in New York" (link to Amazon) published in January, because several of the pieces came from me. Neat!

I hung outside Coyote Ugly with Philip Seymour Hoffman. Saw the world's greatest ghatam player perform floating above the city. Watched a black father and his Latino wife send one of their two Indian children over to say goodbye to Uncle so-and-so (who happened to be a white punk), cleaned up my LJ info page, and took photos, many many photos.

There is something sad I have learned, however. New York City appears to be about to lose another special little place, tucked away where you'd never think to look, but special nonetheless. This place is called "The Alley". I am not at liberty to explain where it is, but here's a hint: in order for people like Amy Sedaris and Whoopi Goldberg to reach it, they have to pass scores of dead people. The Alley is unique because, if one is sufficiently perceptive, you might hear subtle whispers here and there about what happens when you walk from one end to the other. There are little legends of the destinies obtained by those that have safely done this. At the far end of The Alley is an obscure message scrawled across the gritty wall, which perhaps accounts for the voodoo mystique. I recently wandered by there, saying hello to The Alley as I usually do in order to stay in its favor, only to discover a fair bit of construction going up there. Could this be the end of The Alley. It may be so. One must even peek through holes in the lumber in order to see the Poem of the Alley. It's hard to read with the naked eye: it requires a telescope, reverse-microscope, camera, small, acrobatic body, or bouillon cube to ascertain its message. I have read it before, but could not recall the entire passage. With my camera I snapped a photo, given that this may be my last chance. Unfortunately bits are obscured by construction and in these places I have written [unreadable]. But it goes something like this:

Suttle glory then we may pass..... [symbol of trident on shield] young Prince rode on white Stallion horse. Came for the hand of his Retoric Princessss [illustration of shield with text "PRINCESS REST WARRIOR HEAD YOUR [unreadable]"].... House on stilts you in White Dress [unreadable] wind [unreadable]

Who knows how many people it has serviced, before it now prepares to retire and sink beneath a rising concrete jungle for a much deserved rest and slow disintegration.


Another source of secrets...