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- 18September 2002
- No. 6,554 (cartoon)
- Im afraid that this may be the last chance.
Why do you keep repeating that? - 19 September 2002
- Let Jag
- 3:37 Woke up, cant go back to sleep.
4:11 Still awake. 4:53 Still awake. 5:26 Got up, made coffee. 6:11 Cant write. 6:49 Still cant write. 7:41 Never could write. 8:00 Game over. Concede day to jet lag. 8:01 Command and conquer! - 20 September 2002
- Inflatable Beer
- Edward tells me I simply must try inflatable beer, a popular new English concoction. Im not so sure; real beer has served me very well for three decades.
After a rudimentary investigation, I discovered that inflatable beer is merely a mildly hallucinogenic gas of little interest. - 21 September 2002
- Not Enough Silence
- When a famous artist dies, a horde of lawyers and accountants usually have a feeding frenzy off the remains. Such a congregation of parasites and vultures are usually referred to by a polite, antiseptic name such as trust or estate.
Im glad that the commercial fat of my aesthetic carcass wont provide so much as a snack for these mercenary vermin, for the greedy opportunists almost always insult the legacy they claim to preserve. Take John Cage and Mike Batt, for example. John Cage was a wonderful artist. I declined his invitation to go morel hunting when I was in high school; thats one of the few regrets I have from a wonderful life. I remembered Cage when I made 433 in the Life of a Camel Cigarette, an obvious reference to his piece comprised of two hundred and seventy-three seconds of silence, 433. Cage died a decade ago, but Mike Batt is still very much alive. Recently, Batt received a letter from Cages music publishers. They say they are claiming copyright on a piece of mine called One Minutes Silence on the Planets [Batts ensemble] album, Batt said, which I credit Batt/Cage just for a laugh. But my silence is original silence, not a quotation from his silence. The people purporting to protect the composers legacy would have done better by employing one of Cages approaches: I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry. Batt, by virtue of being alive, has the last word. Mine is a much better silent piece. Im able to say in one minute what took Cage four minutes and thirty-three seconds.
- 22 September 2002
- Welcome to Scotland!
- After returning to Scotland, I suddenly remembered everything I enjoy about this country.
- Islay whisky.
- Scottish accents.
- The Dickensian smell of coal smoke on a dark grey afternoon.
- Its not England.
This fine country merits a number of additional accolades; perhaps Ill find them in a few dozen drams.
- 23 September 2002
- The Problem With Nudity
- The problem with nudity is simply this: nudity leaves nothing to the imagination.
The Highland hills near Loch Cluanie reminded me of this unfortunate phenomenon. I hiked to the top of An Socach and had a clear, panoramic view of the surrounding hills. I could see everything except trees, for there were no trees. (Well, I may have seen one or two, but not many more.) As a result of the hills nudity, I knew I wouldnt find any hidden lakes, intimate canyons, secluded streams, et cetera. Theres nothing to imagine, not even the rutting deer I hear in the distance. I can see them on the barren hillside, a couple of kilometers away. Nudity denies any possibility that whats in front of our eyes may be exactly what we want to see. Nudity is hopeless.
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