strange radiation: the pool of radiance archive
Adventures with an unreliable narrator.
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Jan 27 03: ten days
Right, where were we? Major data points of the past ten days: film (Adaptation, structurally brilliant and narratively satisfying, even the bits that were unsatisfying on purpose; Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, structurally less mind-blowing but a better movie). viruses (“GI Joe,” a 36-hour site-specific work by N. Fluenza). swimming (the One Hour Swim, in which given item two on this list I did not expect to participate, but ultimately I achieved 4,335 yards in 60 minutes, just under two-and-a-half miles, which may even be a personal record). work (some freelance stuff to various sources, and further developments towards work for the AMNH, stay tuned). farscape (yes, I’m a geek. but it’s one of the best things going at the moment and I curse the suits at Vivendi, if they’re reading this).
all I ever wanted
Paul and I are planning possible getaways after the Britten War Requiem performance in early April. Thinking about the UK, because we can do it more cheaply than we could do, say, the Greek Islands. And that remains a plus.Perhaps a tour of these? Hmmm.
deeper and deeper levels
I’ve been meaning to post a link to this page for ages. Yes, okay, Michael Jackson’s face or lack thereof is old news, again, but this page is frankly hilarious.The weirder stuff featured by the same site took me longer to find. Once you leave the MJ pages (don’t miss the hate mail), you discover the rest of it, and then everything starts to feel all sadly. I mean, the bit about the Mysterious Sky Jellyfish is good. But. Once you find the extensive sections on the mysterious secret agendas of Denver Airport, on ‘chemtrails,’ on the many many secret underground bases maintained on American soil by the military / the other military / the alien-military-industrial complex, et al…well.
There’s a part of me that loves to wander these particular alleys of the internet. (Remember, I knew the Raelians back when.) I would love it if the world were revealed to be bigger and scarier and weirder and more beautiful than it officially is. I mean, we all kind of know that it is. On some level. It’s why we maintain websites about the known gateways to hell in the UK. The gateways themselves may not exist, but the act of cataloguing them acknowledges some sort of otherworld, whatever its form may ultimately take.
In light of that, I find it tragic that now all our fantasies about the secret strangenesses of the world are permeated with consipiracy; with the knowledge that none of us will be safe from the knives that are being sharpened even now for our throats; with the conviction that all the secret powers not only wish us harm but can do us harm, have done us harm, and that ultimately they will win. If Lovecraft were alive today, he would love this stuff. But he’s not alive, not really; his body has been sold to the alien conspiracy and his brain screams in its jar nine levels below Dulce, New Mexico. And soon it won’t matter, because they’ll come for the rest of us.
Who knows. Maybe there is the occasional nugget of truly true truth in amongst all that stuff. But I think mostly it shows the broken-hearted quality of this age. Someday our stories will be about better things.