Jan 31, 2005
Sally loved Fred, she really did.

And I guess one could say there was a lot to love. A lot of money, anyway.

"You really should not talk so much about diet and all," said Fred.

Sally laughed.

Fred told Sally that Tim's Digital Camera was a relic. "I've got one a hell of lot nicer than that."

Tim was an artist, a good one. He was finding his way right, yet. One picture, one picture in particular, one of a farm house, an old barn, it was burning down. The whole thing was going to ashes. Tim was the only person within miles of the house when he shot that photo.

But Fred had a nicer camera, a better one.

And Sally loved Fred; she really did.
... posted by kEith ...  @  1/31/2005 02:40:00 PM


Jan 11, 2005
Then Finnegan said . . . certainly by now you can see that this is all one big messed up version of the original version.

And can't you acknowledge that in the beginning it was all about being GOD. And well surely anybody can be God, for a few seconds anyway.

but wasn't that what the great SNAKE promised?

isn't that the whole problem?

and can't you see that unless one recognizes the problem, there ain't no way one can figure out the solution.

as if the solution could be figured out, anyway.
... posted by kEith ...  @  1/11/2005 02:55:00 AM


Jan 7, 2005
"there's more to it then stimulating your senses," said the observer to the jam-band fanatic.




... posted by kEith ...  @  1/07/2005 07:33:00 AM


The secret was to share this with everybody.
The secret was saying it. Just saying it.
Never mind . . .

The point is to say it.

or

methods to the great Truth.

Or Revival of the Pranksters without the lie.
the lie being the corruption.

The lie being this tainted but true nemesis of all.

without dichotomy . . the truth is known.

But how, how could Finnegan, speak such truth.

Wouldn't somebody just call it a religion?
... posted by kEith ...  @  1/07/2005 04:58:00 AM


Jan 4, 2005
Finnegan saw a book in the library. Yeah the libary is where he was . . . or maybe he wasn't; but it seemed like the library, the library where ideas, ludicrous ideas, notions (as if) always written by one person, in this central sort of way, meaning like all writers can only write themselves, in this kind of absorption,

but it was the library. And he saw a book, one of these self-help emphatic numbers-- DO IT, was the title. DO it, it declared, demanding him to GET off his butt--to live his dreams.

Trouble for Finnegan, he had already done it . . .
Now he didn't even know if he was in the library or in some picture movie with digital numbers flowing through the furniture.

... posted by kEith ...  @  1/04/2005 02:09:00 AM