Just clowing around...

Sent to me by my father...

Michael Jackson's Astral Body haunts the Ali-Forman fight

You can see the circa 2000 Michael Jackson briefly between 5:45 and 5:46 (this fight was in the early 1970s).

Report from London

(From a morning stroll I took into Regent's park across the street this morning.)

I think Obama's over there in the American Ambassador's house. Right now choppers hoover in the night sky, and the bushes in the park across the street are being searched by the gray light beams of police flashlights.

About half an hour ago I saw a police van come to a sudden halt and half a dozen policemen pour out and grab some guy off in the trees.

Half an hour before that, three military choppers landed and then took off again in quick precession over on the main lawn in the park.

The Outer Circle Road over there is blocked off, with very substantial barricades having been put up over the last few days.

Thank God they're protecting the leader of the free world from the countless millions that would like to voice their displeasure at the actions of the government he now represents.

Don't you dare...

...you know.

Here it is...

The latest DMZ. This is the future, if we're lucky. Of course, most people completely comfortable in the present largely suburban US would be horrified at the thought of living in a ruined, Chaotic Manhattan that sits between two warring Nations (The United States to the west of the Hudson, and the Free States to the east and North of the East and Harlem Rivers). But this a visualization of what the old, vibrant Manhattan of the 60s and 70s was really trying to be: A place where law was a mere negotiation between parties, and not valid elsewhere. It's crazy and dangerous but diverse and nurturing those who are comfortable making the most of a decaying infrastructure around them.

This and the first two volumes are the best, but there's no reason not to dive in with this one. They're not particularly sequential, and the art in this volume is consistently good all the way through.

Melting down to prevent a meltdown

Now that we're all hoping and praying that somehow God or Obama or the economic powers that bill will save our economy and, by extension, ourselves, maybe it's time to rethink this.

Outside the US, nobody debates global warming anymore. Like thousands of reputable scientists (including dozens of Nobel prize winners), most humans understand the cause: Humans. And we know that one thing that is absolutely, screamingly necessary is that we rapidly reduce our rate of carbon emissions, or face planetary peril.

Funny enough, this global economic meltdown may have done precisely that: Reduce our emissions by shrinking the world's economy.

Of course, the "plan" to save the world's economy involved returning to economic growth, but isn't that precisely what jeopardizes our environment?

And need I say that this "plan" assumes that, by growth, the richest people on the planet will be just so stuffed full of wealth that they will allow some of that to "trickle down" and, by accident, provide the bottom tiers of world society with just enough to live on? In other words, it's a "plan" that is sloppy and inefficient as hell, and is derived from all of the countless bullshit myths of Reagan/Thatcher-economics that is really just a giant pyramid scheme after all. Except the loser in this giant pyramid scheme, the one holding the bag, is the earth itself.

So maybe the obvious conclusion is that the sanest possible course is NOT to restart growing the economy. Maybe, what we need to do is learn how to better and more evenly distribute the wealth we currently have.

That may sound like socialism or some one world government nonsense, but that's not really the point. The point is that we need to embrace a UMOUR-centric approach to the world and allow the giant economic meltdown to occur, and then learn to live in the ashes and decaying remains, making do with what will be leftover, or face certain doom.

Let me reiterate that: Embrace UMOUR or face certain ruin!

Either that or learn to swim.

Angry Camels in a Car

Pure, unadulterated amusement.

Everything's coming up UMOUR

Seems the search for Hermes Trismagistus was a success after all. Here's one more UMOUR ritual that got results! (Apparently this was uncovered right in the area of the Pyramid at Giza, the top of it's head just 16 inches below ground. It's from 46 centuries ago.)

Atlantis

View Larger Map

Be sure to zoom out and see where this is.

Ziltoid the Omniscient

Ziltoid the Omniscient:
Brainchild of guitarist Devin Townsend of the band Strapping Young Lad, this concept album is based on the character named Ziltoid, from the planet Ziltoidia 9. Ziltoid travels to Earth in search for "the ultimate cup of coffee", in order for him to succeed in achieving time travel. Production is superb and the Ziltoid puppet used in the videos is comical.

Austrian Death Machine - Get To The Choppa

A friend at work turned me on to this. A fantastic concept, exquisitely executed. The link above will take you to this groups MySpace page.

Umour De-gentrification Ritual Successful

The De-gentrification Ritual performed by Ritual Specialists Kol and Loudmouth Bill in NYC in December (and documented on the main page of this site) seems to have already achieved some success. Behold the spectacular return of the Holland Bar. This is exactly why the current economic meltdown will, ultimately, be understood for the huge blessing that it surely is. All hail this life-affirming ill-wind which bringeth down those Philistines that have corrupted and desecrated our magical city. The following article is from todays N.Y. Times:

In Midtown, the Return of a Barfly’s Paradise

By JOSHUA BRUSTEIN
Published: January 26, 2009
Three men appeared when Gary Kelly lifted the steel gate one weekday afternoon on what used to be the Holland Bar. They used to drink there, and were eager to know when their exile would end.

“I feel like a homeless person without a cardboard box,” said one of the men, who gave his name only as Harry because he did not want his girlfriend or boss to learn more about his drinking habit than they already knew.

“Don’t worry,” said Mr. Kelly, who had only stopped by that day to talk to his electrician. “I’ll get you your cardboard box.”

For decades, the Holland Bar, on Ninth Avenue between 39th and 40th Streets in Hell’s Kitchen, made a name for itself serving cheap beer to loyal drinkers who did not mind squeezing into a tiny, crusty room barely wide enough to fit the bar and the stools in front of it.

The regulars came around noon for a pint to accompany their bag lunches, watched the horses, then left, only to return for another drink after quitting time. Slumming professionals and tourists who read about the place in guidebooks mixed in enthusiastically. Anthony Bourdain, the chef and host of the cable television program “No Reservations,” described it as one of the city’s best dives.

Then last summer the Holland became one of those typical New York institutions: the beloved local haunt forced to shut down. According to Mr. Kelly, who has owned the bar since 1998, the landlord refused to renew the lease in the hopes that he could make more money converting the building for residential use or selling it off. But such plans apparently did not work out, and the landlord offered Mr. Kelly his old space back starting Jan. 1, albeit at a 20 percent increase in the rent. Now the Holland is scheduled to reopen its taps as soon as Wednesday.

(The landlord, Ebeden Wong, did not return telephone messages.)

Although the location will be familiar to patrons, Mr. Kelly still had to start practically from scratch in recreating the place. Since the Holland closed its doors, the bar had been destroyed, the plumbing had been removed, the floor had been ripped out.

And much of the physical record of the bar’s history that had been pasted to its walls — the photographs of customers who had died years before, the posters for shows at the dear, departed CBGB — is gone, too. Mr. Kelly sent many framed pictures home with regulars as farewell gifts, other memorabilia went into storage. One of the relics of the Holland’s lore — an urn containing the ashes of Charlie O’Connor, a former bartender — had gone missing.

But Mr. Kelly refused to give away the 12-foot neon sign that spelled out the bar’s name, a reminder of its original location at the Holland Hotel a few blocks away. That never left its place on the wall behind the bar, even after the bar had been demolished.

“People wanted to take the sign, but I said no,” Mr. Kelly said. “I wanted to be optimistic. I always thought there was a shot.”

The sign is, indeed, still there, along with the words “Holland Bar, established 1927,” painted on the storefront window, although Mr. Kelly said he doubted it had actually been around that long.

For Mr. Kelly, 63, who is a salesman for Time Warner Security, the past six months were the first time in many years that he had not been behind a bar. He said he spent much of his free time nagging his once and future landlord for a new lease.

Holland’s other bartenders drifted to dives in the surrounding blocks. Bill Leary, known as Dr. Bill, took over the Monday and Tuesday shifts at the Bull Moose Saloon, on 44th Street between Eighth and Ninth Avenues, and Steve Bibko has been serving free hot dogs along with Jameson shots and Budweiser back at Rudy’s Bar and Grill, at 44th and Ninth.

Some of the former Holland regulars are patiently running tabs at Rudy’s. Hank, a former regular who declined to give his full name because he “didn’t want people calling me on the telephone,” chuckled at the idea of Mr. Kelly spending his days with architects and electricians instead of gamblers and drinkers, and said he missed the claustrophobia of Holland.

“There’s something about a small bar, people talk to one another,” he said. “After five o’clock this place is full of yuppies,” he said of Rudy’s. “I don’t know them from Adam.” He shook his head. “I’m waiting.”

A few blocks away at the Bull Moose Saloon, Dr. Bill, whose title was bestowed upon him by barflies rather than an accredited medical school, said some of the Holland regulars had found him through word of mouth and a few phone calls. Others run into him and always ask when the Holland will be back. But many of those from the old lunch crowd have not made the trek five blocks north, so he goes to work not knowing whether he will see any of the old faces.

But Mr. Leary worked at Holland for almost 20 years, and remembered other seismic shifts in its history: the move, when the bar relocated from the hotel that gave it its name in 1987, and the upheaval that came when Mr. Kelly took over the bar and installed televisions, drawing criticism that he is still smarting from today. (For his part, Mr. Leary said he did not mind televisions as long as they were muted so he could hear the jukebox.)

“It was a unique place, especially at the beginning,” he said. “Then as the years went by, everybody sort of died off. The old regulars were replaced by new regulars.”

Mr. Kelly said he was confident that many of the old regulars would reappear, just like they had been doing whenever he lifted the steel gates to work on rebuilding the place. He said that the bar’s philosophy, that people would rather pay $4 for a beer here than $8 for the same drink at the bistro across the street, would remain the same. But he also said that he knew the new Holland Bar would be different from the place he feared he had closed for good last year.

Asked what exactly would change, he did not hesitate.

“Nothing, I hope,” he said.

Arab Girls Gone Wild!

An Act Of Ubique Umouriation

From yesterday's N.Y. Times; dripping with juicy Umouriation:

January 15, 2009
Art Hoax Unites Europe in Displeasure

By SARAH LYALL
LONDON — Why didn’t anyone realize right away that there was something seriously weird about the new piece of art in Brussels?

The piece, an enormous mosaic installed in the European Council building over the weekend, was meant to symbolize the glory of a unified Europe by reflecting something special about each country in the European Union.

But wait. Here is Bulgaria, represented as a series of crude, hole-in-the-floor toilets. Here is the Netherlands, subsumed by floods, with only a few minarets peeping out from the water. Luxembourg is depicted as a tiny lump of gold marked by a “for sale” sign, while five Lithuanian soldiers are apparently urinating on Russia.

France? On strike.

The 172-square-foot, eight-ton installation, titled “Entropa,” consists of a sort of puzzle formed by the geographical shapes of European countries. It was proudly commissioned by the Czech Republic to mark the start of its six-month presidency of the European Union. But the Czechs made the mistake of hiring the artist David Cerny to put together the project.

Mr. Cerny is notorious for thumbing his nose at the establishment. He was arrested in 1991 for painting a tank, a Soviet war memorial in a Prague square, bright pink.

In the case of “Entropa,” Mr. Cerny presented the piece as the work of 27 artists, one from each country. But it was all a huge hoax.

After being challenged by reporters this week, Mr. Cerny admitted that he and two of his friends constructed the whole thing themselves, making up the names of artists, giving some of them Web sites and writing pretentious, absurd statements to go with their supposed contributions.

For example, next to the piece for Italy — depicted as a huge soccer field with little soccer players on it — it says, “It appears to be an autoerotic system of sensational spectacle with no climax in sight.”

The fake British entry, a kit of Europe in which the piece representing Britain has been taken out, says, “This improvement of exactness means that its individual selective sieve can cover the so-called objective sieve.”

Before the hoax was discovered, the Czech deputy prime minister, Alexandr Vondra, said “Entropa” — whose name alone should perhaps have been a sign that all was not as it seemed — epitomized the motto for the Czech presidency in Europe, “A Europe Without Borders.”

“Sculpture, and art more generally, can speak where words fail,” he said in a statement on Monday. “I am confident in Europe’s open mind and capacity to appreciate such a project.”

But he does not feel that way now.

“An agreement of the office of the government with the artist clearly stated that this would be the common work of artists from 27 E.U. states,” he said. “The full responsibility for violating this assignment and this promise lays with David Cerny.”

On its Web site, the Czech government said that it was “unpleasantly surprised” to learn the truth behind the mosaic.

The work has undoubtedly upset other people, too. The Germans are probably not too thrilled that their country is represented as a series of highways that, looked at a certain way, possibly bring to mind a swastika. Spain has to settle with being a huge construction site, while Romania is shown as a Dracula-themed amusement park.

According to the Czech News Agency, the Bulgarian government — the one whose country is shown as a bunch of toilets — summoned the Czech ambassador in Sofia to lodge an official protest. Meanwhile, the Bulgarian permanent representative to the European Union was quoted as saying: “It is preposterous, a disgrace. It is a humiliation for the Bulgarian nation and an offense to our national dignity.”

The Czechs have said that they are not sure what steps they will take before the official unveiling, scheduled for Thursday.

As for Mr. Cerny, on his Web site he said, “We knew the truth would come out.”

He added, “But before that we wanted to find out if Europe is able to laugh at itself.”

UMOUR boys @ The High Line

A short time ago, Mr URS and Loudmouth bill attempted to access the Highline, a very odd blindspot/landmark in New York City. For various reasons, I was unable to attend but instead ended up at The Stone down on Avenue C.

Back back in the 1970s and, I swear, in the early 1980s, I remember seeing the trains of the high line. Unlike Chicago's subway system, these were true-blue freight trains, and I remember thinking "Well that's an odd site seeing a train ooze between buildings like that."

To this day I have wondered what it must have been like to work on that line: Imagine driving such a train into Manhattan and then, as raw hides of beef are being (un)loaded, or new clothes from the Tribecca factories loaded and sent into the hinterland, what must have it been like to be an engineer from, say, Kansas, getting out down on Hudson and walking into a building up at the second or third floor and then walking downstairs to have a pastrami-on-rye or maybe a hot dog? What was it like to walk around in a pre-post-industrial New York and working class downtown Manhattan? To have bumped into a shabbily dressed Pollack or Kerouac or Monk or Parker? (Of course, as a train driver you would likely never have guessed who these men were, but there would have been something solid and memorable about these brief encounters.)

As the high line closed to trains, and perhaps even before, like the Gowanus Canal, the High Line entered our blindspot: You didn't really see it or think about it anymore. It became something that, although incredibly strange in hindsight, you coluld nonetheless block it out and completely forget about it, as it did not fit into the collective image of a richer city that was emerging, or at least was being thrust upon us through the medium of increased rents.

Oh how I hope and pray to return with a complete set of UMOURiators to the scene of their crime with an axe one day and hack open that chain and lock and ascend to the High line and perhaps build a shanty or other perpetual tribute to impermanance.

The 2,000 year old Antikythera computer from Greece

Goo'bye

Conversation tonight over dinner

Me: Hey, when we get back to New York me, Kane, Kol and Bill are going to build a shanty down town somewhere...

Wife: Why?

Me: Art.

Fun.

Number stations of the South Pacific

Cities On Flame

This is the far left portion of a large mural I painted in the hallway outside Mrs Keller's art classroom at Dobbs Ferry High School in 1979. Amazingly it, and many other murals, are still there today. It gives me chills to think about how many kids grew up seeing these (sadly prophetic) images.

Proof...

As you can see, no Hermes Trismagistus and no Oroboroi, neither living or dead.

(Greetings from Cairo.)

In search of Hermes Trismegistus

E/UMOR-iator Em, on assignment in Egypt.
My plan is to find Hermes Trismegistus to beat a living Oroborous out of him or, short of that, to demand explanation as to why one is not forthcoming. He may or may not reside somewhere in this part of Egypt, the Sinai Peninsula.
If needs be I'll proceed to Cairo and search the streets and bazaars for some kind of leads. I'll start, perhaps, with Alembic vendors and then see if the homonculous-generating equipment sellers have seen site of him.

Banksy's Villiage Petstore and Grill

NOTCOT: Banksy's Village Petstore & Charcoal Grill from Jean Aw on Vimeo.

Our Children Are In Peril

This Is A Public Service Announcement
Brought To You By

© Fear Now For The Future
the makers of Sphinct-o-Print
The Only REAL ID

Umour Grows in Cortlandt Manor

Umour Grows...


Cortlandt Manor, NY

Umour grows in Brooklyn

Umour grows...


Brooklyn Heights, NY

Umour grows at Limelight

Umour grows...


Limelight, NYC

Umour grows in Cold Spring

Umour grows...


Cold Spring, NY

Umour grows in Upstate New York

WELCOME TO THE MOSS GARDENS OF UMOUR


umour grows...

Cowboy Johnny Give Me A Gun!

"Cowboy Ronnie (or Georgie or Johnny) Give Me A Gun
Cause I Just Wanna Have Some Fun!

Draft Me - I'm Ready To Kill
Draft Me - I Know That You Will
Draft Me - I'm Angrier Still
Draft Me - Or Someone Else Will

I Wanna Go Somewhere For Cowboy Ronny
Just To Kill!"


"...Merry Christmas Goldilocks
here's your son wrapped up in a box...
hope he's not late for Christmas!"


excerpts from two major radio hit songs
©1983 Doppler Effect

Kill A Commie For Mommy

KILL A COMMIE FOR MOMMY

Help Protect Your Mother
By Killing Someone Else's First

Wrap Your Fist In A Flag
And Punch Out Her Lights

It's Us Against Them Isn't It?

Then we'll have more time to attend
to all those other people we don't like

Watch out, that could be you next!


(the preceding statements do not necessarily
express the views or concerns of the author)

The Black Legion

for more information on The Black Legion
click HERE.

Proof that Illuminati bloodlines run America!

McCain's Real Message

Isn't it obvious? Consider: 1)He's old and has been "serving his country" for a long long time. 2) Did I mention he's old? He's 72 and he can do the math. 3) He hired one S. Palin who is very obviously not someone to put in the Whitehouse. 4) He officially stopped campaigning during the fiscal crisis. 5) He's apparently backed out of Michigan and may end up backing out of PA. The underlying message is pretty clear, no? He stepped up to the plate one last time just so the Republicans wouldn't be a no-show in November, but as the Hillbilly masses continued to recognize someone who could scoop the dole out to them, he's has to make his real message clearer and clearer. Watch for him to fake a heart attack or something.

Nero 2001

just 7 minutes of meditation a day
can help to clear the mind


uuuummmmmm...

Oktoberfest in Cortlandt Manor 2008

Atomic Bomb Games

Give One To All The Children In Your Life


















cause everyone knows

genocide should be fun, right?

Kill Peeks (New Edit)

Richard Nixon Countdown Calendar

why is there no George W. Bush Impeachment Countdown Calendar?


August 9th, 1974

We The People

WE WILL NEVER FORGET

7up Lithiated Lemon Soda

7up Lithiated Lemon Soda

Bottle Cap c. 1950's


Imagine a "7 and 7" with Lithium.





JUST SAY NO TO DRUGS!?!?

Who Knew?

Who Remembers?


7up ADDS Sparkle TO YOUR PARTY


















for the 7 HANG*OVERS



YOUR GROCER WILL DELIVER
A CASE OF 7up












7up Sweetens The Stomach



AT NIGHT YOUR DRUGGIST WILL PROVIDE 7up












7up Prevents Hangovers



well it had Lithium in it

what would you expect?

Despotism

an 11 minute film from 1946

courtesy of the Internet Archive

My Plastic Hut

My Plastic Hut is Educational

My Plastic Hut is a Funny Toy
















I can Build My Own Plastic Hut


















Thank You Plastic Hut

I Love You

Umour grows in Garrison

Umour is everywhere. Cheryl spotted this fine Umourian site as we drove north on Rt 9 through Garrison on the way home from Oktoberfest. She turned the car around and made me snap some pictures. That day she also took the See/Hear/Speak No Evil picture posted here earlier. She's quite the budding Ritual Specialist!

Chornobyl Butterfly

is this an upcoming album by umour?

or a compilation of SPLURGE?

huh?






AMBIENT 5
CHERNOBYL BUTTERFLY


what is it really?

Umour at Oktoberfest

Umour sees no evil at Oktoberfest.
Umour speaks no evil at Oktoberfest.
Umour hears no evil at Oktoberfest.
Umour drinks Spaten at Oktoberfest.

WARNING: Peanuts May Contain Peanuts

This Is A Public Service Announcement
Brought To You By umour.org


Marlow Honey Roasted Peanuts
Ingredients: Peanuts, Sugar, Honey, Butter and Salt.
MAY CONTAIN TRACES OF PEANUTS/NUTS




Shut up!

it's got what plants crave

Militia Of One: No Conspiracies

© Fear Now For The Future
the makers of Sphinct-o-Print
The Only REAL ID

E/UMOR Mini-Expedition: South of the Thames

A E/U-MOR expedition to the South Bank of the Thames River during low tide, including a visit to the Graffitti grotto.

The London Eye...


..and slightly to the right...


...the other direction:


The Graffitti Grotto:

Umour hard at work

Here we see the ritual specialists utilizing a patented UMOUR(TM) technique to extract and bottle the particularly potent dream fluid that is emitted during REM sleep.

Between Kane, Kol, and Loudmouth Bill drilling away, this E/UMOUR-ite was unable to continue sleeping due to the earsplitting racket and so moved into the studio in the deep hours of the night. (At first I mistook Loudmouth Bill's snoring for an alligator gargling industrial waste.)

Much more, I am sure, will emerge over coming days and weeks from the Ritual on the main UMOUR site, so keep posted.

Time For Some Campaignin'

Send a JibJab Sendables® eCard Today!

Rooting out terrorists before they strike!

WASHINGTON - The Justice Department is considering letting the FBI investigate Americans without any evidence of wrongdoing, relying instead on a terrorist profile that could single out Muslims, Arabs or other racial and ethnic groups.

Law enforcement officials say the proposed policy would help them do exactly what Congress demanded after the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks: Root out terrorists before they strike.

Although President Bush has disavowed targeting suspects based on their race or ethnicity, the new rules would allow the FBI to consider those factors among a number of traits that could trigger a national security investigation.

As an upstanding citizen of UMOUR I whole heartedly agree with this approach. To date, law enforcement has itself been handcuffed by waiting for terrorists to act and actually perform an act of terror. This new set of laws will give US law enforcement the ability to move before something actually happens.

In fact, the only way to truly combat terror is to focus on what ultimately causes a person to become a terrorist in the first place: Radical Islamic sites, bomb making manuals, subversive literature, and even those cultural elements that would predispose someone to terrorism. Anyone accessing such materials needs to be treated as a terrorist before they can do any damage to you or me or our children (will somebody think of the children?).

In fact, let's just realize that anyone accessing the wrong kinds of information or is exposed to the wrong things will inevitably choose to perform terrorist acts, because why would they be accessing those materials anyway?

We can take it further, too. We know that in certain cultures, suicide bombing is acceptable. Thus, anyone from those cultures should be treated as a terrorist because they will have a high enough predisposition to performing a terrorist act that it is not useful splitting hairs about when and where they will commit it.

Is this racist? Absolutely not. Remember, we are not targeting races, but cultures. If those cultures tend to fall along racial lines, that's their problem. Let's round 'em up and stick 'em in a whole Gulag of Guantanamos which we should build posthaste on every isolated Island we control.

One more from You Tube

Truly a work of genius.

Another little jewel

Don't you just love Youtube?

The bicycle ride

Olga's House Of Shame

Meet Olga, a woman who "possessed a mind so warped she made sadism a full-time business!" In the first of the series, Olga uses pot parties and comic-book violence to turn Gigi Darlene and other female captives into her White Slaves of Chinatown. But Olga has her tender side too and, in the mood for romance, selects an occasional slave for a little loving: "The disease called Olga cannot be fought!"

Umour World Headquarters

First proposed site for the Umour World Headquarters, the former site of the European Health Spa on Central Avenue in Yonkers.

Extra TERROR alert

Clicking the title above will take you to a special NBC report concerning the latest TERROR threats.
New tapes from Al Qaeda indicate the distinct possibility of new, extremely frightening attacks of TERROR. This hightened sense of TERROR should be distinguished from previous levels of TERROR which were not on this magnitude. If you were ever previously vigilant, watchful, feeling anxious or a sense of TERROR, you should regard those feelings as preliminary and now proceed to even hightened levels of alert.
In other words, this is different, and different from the previous times where messages from Al Qaeda were described as different. Whatever you thought was frightening before, the truth is that NOW we have REAL TERROR, and you should adjust your emotions accordingly.
Remember that if you let your guard down for one minute, Al Qaeda could strike your own home town, your supermarket, your 7-11, even in your very home or bedroom.

Dead on my feet...

...a EU/MOR Easter greeting from the Vatican.

Click me

Clicking the title above will transmit a code in through your eyeballs, inducing a small psychic state wherein can be experienced the lastest sensory bounty from UMOUR.

Le Monde Renverse

The Bifurcating Man

Damn. This morning I found a letter next to my bed that’s without a doubt written in my own handwriting. The problem is, I have zero memory of having written it. So I either wrote it in my sleep or else I wrote it during a brief period of wakefulness which i now no longer remember. and while this might be a byproduct of the medication I’ve been taking, nothing I’ve heard ever indicated something like this could happen. taken at face value, it’s fairly disturbing, but right now i think it’s probably some clever story i made up in the middle of the night. And whether it’s just something creative i dreamt up is one thing, but the fact that I feel like i got no sleep at all is another. it certainly feels like I’ve been busy at night.

Anyway, here’s what I found:

Something’s gone wrong with the medication, of that there can be no doubt. But I’m not quite sure what to do about it. Actually, I’m not even sure if I want to do anything about it. of course, Felisplit was designed precisely for working folks who wanted a little extra time during the sleeping hours, allowing the part of you that needs the sleep to get the necessary REM sleep but another part of you to remain awake and free to do some low-level activities like reading or watching a movie, or perhaps some emailing or blogging. And as far as I could tell it was working fine for a while: I’d wake up having emailed friends and family, done some bills and caught up on some reading. I think I actually watched a DVD or two. On the other hand, I feel drained and tired, like I haven’t slept much. come to think of it, even with the Felisplit, the activities are supposed to be pretty low-level, and you do need to get some rest and small amounts of sleep even while taking it. More importantly, however, yesterday I found a letter to myself, clearly written in my own hand. Although I can’t be sure, it would seem that my Felislpit self may have started taking Felisplit so that i may be double-dosing, or possibly worse. Here’s what the letter said:

Well, i do like this Felisplit stuff. Technically, I guess, I’d normally be asleep right now, and you could almost say I am asleep because i won’t have a direct memory of having done any of this when I wake up.

and you know what? I kind of like that idea…I feel like I’m free to be someone I’m not normally. as I write this i’m imagining myself sleeping in that bed: my eyes are closed and I’m tucked under the covers. What do I think of you, my waking self? You’re alright, I guess. Well, maybe a little cowardly, a little pre-occupied with yourself.

come to think of it, you are one stupid little cowardly fuck, doing all the stuff you’re supposed to do, being a good little boy and obeying all the rules. Well, most of them anyhow. but those rules are designed to keep you down, keep you in, keep you asleep. WAKE UP YOU STUPID FAGGOT! WAKE UP YOUR LIFE IS BLEEDING OUT OF YOU!

Shit, I’m feeling tired. Looks like the Felisplit is running out of steam. but I’m not ready to be you yet. In fact, I won’t if I can possibly help it. Where’s that goddam prescription…

Inside every man is the uber-man. He’s trapped and suffocating and all you have to do is let him out. But to let him out you will have to be ruthless and let nothing stand in your way. That fucking asshole at work who keeps getting in your way? When no one’s looking just punch him in the fucking face and completely deny it, or maybe kill him if you get him alone. And that stupid cowardly little choir boy sleeping there on the bed like some fucking cat or sloth? He’s got to go. You’ve got find some way to get him out of the picture. You’ve hidden away your rage but that rage was what got us out of the fucking caves and into the viking boats and created the steam engine and the gatling gun and electricity and the atomic bomb. We keep trying to cover over all of that with goddam society but it’s just skin growing over a deep wound that hasn’t healed: you gotta peal away that skin and let the wound open and bleed.

this Felisplit stuff has been the thing to finally free me to my full potential and I swear I’m going to do all I can to stay in charge, because im the only one in here who seems to really know the score, or is at least willing to admit it. in fact, I’m going to go down to the roughest-looking bar in the toughest section of town and find someone to beat the shit out of that little pussy parasitic host and then while he’s recuperating in the hospital I’m going to take a handful of Felisplit and it won’t be him who walks outta there, let me tell you in fact I’m

it rambles on like that for a while. Should i be worried, or is it just some clever little fiction i cooked up? Looking at me I’m fine, so apparently he (I) never did go out and get myself beat up, so maybe i shouldn’t take it so seriously. And I do get a lot more done on the Felisplit.

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