we await silent tristerous empire March 20 2002, Tuesday : 2.15 AM triste I am reclusive and impassive, staying away from people and feeling sick feeling like a child and someone called and asked when was the last time you cried please please please come up to my room and bring me chicken soup keep my company will you because im sad and tired i sleep in the tub and i dont feel anything i can't sleep at night im thinking oh damn its almost 5 its almost 5.30 its almost 5.50 let me sleep my body is tired my mind even more i hug my knees theyre all i have i smoke endlessly LUNGS OF SMOKE AND BREATHING HAS NEVER BEEN CLEARER IN CENTURIES and perhaps in this empty place where are my cigarettes when i need them leave it to me, everything will be all right 2002 - 03 - 20 Monday : 8 pm but it's all mixed up Fuchsia 2002 - 03 - 19 : 9.20 pm Obviously, he does not miss or feels there is no need to, mon ami tzara strange change, tzara, strange le idée rogue (magnifique!!!) 2002 - 03 - 18 : 4 am c'est vrai, the rumours, mes amies: je suis une duchesse rouge le wink I dig a Pygmy by Charles Hawtrey and the Deaf Aids (Phase one in which Doris gets her oats) Saturday, March 17 2002 : 10.40 pm Two of us sending postcards Writing letters On my wall You and me burning matches Lifting latches On our way back home We're on our way home You and I have memories Longer than the road that stretches ahead Two of us wearing raincoats Standing so low In the sun You and me chasing paper Getting nowhere On our way back home We're on our way home We're on our way home We're going home Irony Friday, March 15 2002 : 02:47 a.m. I hate watching your purple bruised lips form the words "Violence is peace" as you beat incessantly on the drum that makes too much noise that disrupts my train of thought. And I despise quiet afternoons by the lake with the sunlight playing with the sky to create optical illusions of neverending rainbows after the slight afternoon drizzle. Very very strong, you complain as the coffee burns your tongue. You blame me for the numbness it brings to sweet sour bitter upon contact wtih your tongue, and you can't taste the shiny golden marzipan, melted butter-and-sugar concoction, and it's all my fault. Tigers are never born man-eaters. They have to learn somewhere along the way that man is easy to kill, that the sharp pointy translucent attachments to their paws are meant to swipe at the human body with grace and accuracy. Once they learn their power, man shoots them from a polite and safe distance and hauls them into a cage in a zoo. You look into the crystal ball to catch a glimpse of the future. You only see your reflection, though, the same blank expression, only this time, distorted. The want to know exactly what to do. I'm a ball on the pool table making my way towards the hole in a uniformly accelerated speed. Who pushed? The Universe plays us like billiard balls. We go along with the physics of it. Bump, grind. Chaos theory predicts, ot depredicts. It's the imperceptible imperfections on the pool table that makes the course. Frankly, I can't bother myself. Einstein said "Does god play dice?" and I ask Einstein, "Does god?" My theory is that, if god plays, anything at all, dominoes, chess, pool, dice, he'll win. Does god play fair? Can he cheat? If he wins, is it really winning, or just a patronizing pat on the back. Descartes: if you believe in a higher power, does this higher power play fair, or should it play, at all, with us, with all of us, are we god, or am i just overanalyzing? The Bible and Science teaches us a lot about doubting the origin of things. The paradigm shift caused by the Evolution Theory, and the other one (lesser in impact as compared with the previous) by quantum mechanics, all boils down to this: We're here oh god we breathe in oxygen and we eat breakfast. Three billion years ago oxygen was a harmful substance released by plants which threatened the earth as a deadly poison. Oxygen is corrosive gas, just like flourine. The Earth had an atmosphere of pure poison. Three billion years ago. Roughly. Now, we drink it in. We need it in order to live. Think about it. http://belishabeacon.free.fr is now up, with major changes chugging with the peaceful sleepy rhythm of a train, or your lover's measured breathing in bed. Dear Mr. Edward Vedder Monday, March 11, 2002 : 06:23 p.m. Mr. Edward Vedder Land of the 90's Alternative Genre (so-called) Re: Song State of Love and Trust Dear Mr. Edward Vedder, Okay Mr. Vedder, I'm giving you a chance and I've gotta say that after listening to you for 1,847,845,079,253 times, your song State of Love and Trust is beginning to grow on me. I know that because I was humming it awhile ago while scrubbing my face in the bath. Sincerely Yours, Kala BARBA