>Date: Wed, 4 Feb 1998 12:44:53 -0700 (MST)
>Mime-Version: 1.0

>Subject: the village idiot responds
>Attached is a "critifiction" that you're more than welcome to use as a
>response to the faux-emails.  It will require some openminded
>design-strategy as the open composition and loose punctuation-style are
>intentional as are all of the bolds & italics.
>BTW, I really liked your own response, FAST, CHEAP & OUT OF CONTROL.  It
>really nailed it on the head.

Village Idiot:  Identity In Motion

by Mark Amerika niceties niceties nice cities (don't exist) meanstreets meanstreaks means&ways plundering headfirst into the pavement our buoy of boys cracks his numskull and turns more nonsensical derivation inside/out & backwards (summer salt wintry peppering) Tuesday was okay Thursday he had a plan Friday he was out roaming the meancitystreets Saturday he slept late Sunday he wrote a little Monday he woke up feeling like blowing it all away Monday night's marginalia took him over soon he was Tuesday morning looking for a new gig the plan had decentered too bad for our buoy of boys his nuclear family holocaust was hollow and cost a bundle to repair the damage was irreparable or so it turned out so he began shooting stars with speed pretty soon he had a gig as bagman for a CBGB shitband everything was going supergroovy I thought I saw him dead on Astor Place but that was some space chick from Missouri Amber was her name she had been dumped near the great cube the rolling spinning turning statuesque personification of a geometric gentrified neighborly transmogrification her heart was stone her mind was stoned Lois E. Sider and her kid sis Apple Sider say that Amber used to whore around Saint Mark's Church it's really too much I'm gonna forget it Saint Marx was a bad man or so I hear them calling brain fried and scrambled maybe sunny side up sweet disposition honey can you take out the garbage so I go for a walk where to take this shit (I wonder) if only words could recycle Too late for a bold cure gotta face reality The Ecocycle Truck rides by I start chasing it Here take this I throw myself into the truck it turns me into blueprint now I'm feeling architectonic I go to a bar The Grass Roots drink a tonic grease my hair with yet still more tonic all I need now is a relatively mild form of detoxification I can hear them calling me by name Saint Marx they yell I'm not a Marx I yell back I'm an animal well Mark the truth comes out Saturday creeps into the bedroom like a nun in a bikini asking me where do I find Saint Charles Place I say New Orleans you can't miss it all the parades go down it on Mardi Gras the trolley rides up and down it you can't miss it but I do miss it and now it's late March one month too late never enough Sundays Friday was the beginning of the workweek I wrote a nuclear education piece called "Unclear" Saturday I took off for a little eco ramification principal player in the ensuing garbage scene was Me plus Apple Sider and oh yeah a cameo by our buoy of boys what's his name I forget doesn't matter fact is he slept late overslept yes so very much unlike him usually the kind to get up on time eat a good breakfast make it to the workspace start honking on the tele tele-ing everybody that he's alive and well and doing the dirty deed and dog eat dogging and do or dying and driving The Big One home jeez I can't wait for Wednesday


Alkaloid Boy meets The End Is Nearing and reevaluates his current 
position.  Flinging out long scroll he goes over the balance sheet 
mesmerized in its condition.  Movement ratio untouched unencumbered 
transient feedback loop outside the vicious circle no hawks to ward 
off no chastity belt to slow him down.  Meanwhile the growing Big 
Death hid away inside The Death Terminal's central location computer 
virus spreading facts sheet distorted "just when you thought you had 
your program under control you find out that it has a mind of its 
own."  Somewhere in the neutral column lay Blue Sky.  She's more 
than the indian selfadhesive facility that keeps your body broken in 
and mind mattered.  She's the loose canon free whistle love 
hassle-free blowjob nuke warm tomb mama womb mama.  It all spreads 
out everlasting hope peace love care.  You can see it in her face.  
The way she does her hair.

Ancient rock star from other planetary consciousness in a time still 
not known to Man.  Alkaloid Boy growing into the rough discursive 
passages of The Black Death and its Terminal Blues perception.  No 
gloom and doom here boys.  Just blatant disregard for mutual 
laughter easygoing pyrotechnics love's alabaster wings serenade 
symposium.  None of it.  The upper of the Upper feigning heroics 
getting rich.  The lower of the Upper poorly performing cheap 
imitations of their hierarchical master geniuses.  Then the vast 
middle of Everybody losing it slowly wondering how in the hell slave 
labor technology turned into the heavy burden.  Many clothes draping 
the monster new technology.  Many fashions dining the plates of the 
masters.  Many new plates of pictures shining on the dead reel of 
the Platonic masters.  The genius overload fortified to kill.  Blue 
Sky looking into the Big Sky seeing The Black Death hovering 
spiritually resounding throughout the heavens Her motor desiring The 
End Is Nearing while Alkaloid Boy tries to make a comeback.  Music 
videos show the old man balding.  His voice whispers soundtrack 
backlash:  "alkaloid boy / he's very nervous / alkaloid boy / you 
can see it in his delivery   . . ."

You're here for Youth. Youth is eternal until The Black Death does its final number. Until then it's Youth. Either that or die a slow death of usury. Use. Use and re:use. Re;use and re/fuse. Isometric exercises compounded by daily withdrawal into isotopic future's realignment clause. Why? Because because because because. Because The Death Terminal's central bank location has videotape information leading to the facts. Never mind the computer virus slow death takeover. Never mind the terrorist indoctrination full liability comprehensive plan. Never mind the collection agency's pedantic perusal of your bodily flesh. Excise your sin taxes and levy the poisoned language juice in their artless direction. Turn strong social impacts into natural make-up compacts and see how they run like peegs from a numb see how they fly.

Blue Sky calls me over the intercom to say she's all lost in the secret agent boiling bubbling hot love lava of last night. Easy happy going coming. Super stroll in the autumn bowl. Leaves of her ass strumming electric blue guitar notes against my despotic numbed musculature. Freedom tongues rolling hot saliva sweat over the creamy dew drop madness moisture. Heaven and Earth. Wild lustful forestry energy. Trees on the horizon in a natural burn. Eating clear Blue Sky heaven juices cleansing insides reeling years morning dreams thundered pleasure lightning happiness eyes wide open. Summer shower tar pits kneel. The feel of plunder.

More Black Death resounding throughout the skies above little twitches in the face responding humanly despondent responding. "I'm gonna run for The House . . . change some things . . . turn back the clock to Eden . . ." :

  easy   going   open   heart   mind   
electric   blue   sky   numb   hope   peace   care   flesh   free

the lower of the lower of the lower of the lower of the lower 
of the lover of the loner of the lower of the loner of the lover
of the       B  !!       L  !!!      A   !!      S    !!!    T    !!

The shack shakes and rattles. Smacks of independence(?). The shits are coming!! The shits are coming!! Before we can put on our excess clothing drapery refinements fashionable chic motif in a new wave nightclub pretentiously portraying the scene of our lifeless generation the feds bust in ::: Bureau Chiefs (says The Big Wig). Are you Alkaloid Boy?

I was Alkaloid Boy until you guys gentrified the world. Now I'm occasionally employed by online journals. Dealing with the intelligentsia. Our growing traffic volume is a direct tribute to you and your oft spoken of leader The Great Software Producer. Is he still alive?

Never you mind Alkaloid Boy you're under arrest. Who's the babe?

I'm no babe you pig shithead I'm Blue Sky and I represent this too harassed heavy metal genius of other-worldly consciousness.

No such thing as an other-worldy consciousness sweety better get yer facts straight (she looks at him / her face is swollen and full of my cummmm). We got it all on the fact sheets. Spread dead and ready to go. We can put out your story faster than you can dream up a new name sister. Hey. Wait a minute. Don't I know you? Weren't you Sister Slew in that ear droning nightmare demonstration we bombarded back in 92?

Look pig shithead you may be The Great Software Producer's loyal Bureau Chief but that doesn't dismiss the fact that my client and I have our god given rights as unalienated beings doing our own thing here in . . .

Fuck the facts sweety you've got two minutes to get your shit together or we're taking you as you are. Okay boys. Start burning . . .

Symbiotic conflagrations burning persisting desiring the mode made contagious and spreading all over the facts sheet balance sheet clean reading sheets slowly preambling a long and ever needed silence. Yours is Youth I can hear a voice whisper to me. Yours is to make up the despondent truce and then break out free swinging reluctant renegade. Keep the fires burning. Toil in the making and give for the taking. Rake in the mind some extra sensitive leaves of flesh and intermesh with the golden locks of the linked Blue Lady. Terminal dysfunctional regional start-up. Slow expansion of the peripheral phases on the edges moving in. Satellite superstardom promiscuous selling of the idea in the form of fleshy things!! What perfect timing!! Just as the tyrants finally got hold of something real and useable the switches blew and the hub heeded progress. More storms later. Many more. Writing's sweet revenge on the numb. The num is out there

1 or 0
o lord

arbor equals tree.
it's official.
The troops are climbing high in pin-stripes army stripes electronic ticker hype.
The upper of the Upper.
resounding in the heavens.
Blue Sky laughs eye dying
piercing stinging madness.

at a standstill










Decharacterization:  first and foremost / high on the list of things

           To     Do

1)   evil eyed optimist
2)   puritanical pessimist
3)   retrograde renegade
4)   easygoing numskull
5)   taxing interest
6)   megalomaniacal monsterman
7)   persevering wanderer
8)   sunshiny souvenir
9)   sovereign veneer
10) venereal vegetarian
11) pornosophic filmmaker
12) college student
13) bank president
14) beatnik historian
15) girl watcher
16) punky playboy
17) diseased dyslexic
18) monkey grammarian
19) existentialist outlaw
20) linguistic statesman
21) dopey nyet.artist
22) effervescent eunuch
23) egghead eavesdropper
24) neoconservative butcher
25) egotistical holyman
26) harmonic hegelian 
27) continue the discontinue
28) still crazy after all these years
29) butcher the butcher
30) wearisome whacker
31) where art thou waterfall?
32) butcher the butcher
333) dead meat   dead meat   dead meat    dead meat
421) off to the boonies
5X1r#217) name address social security perforation

final mishapover
 B L O W N
pro  ./  por   ./   tions

                eros intensification





Alkaloid Boy and Blue Sky meet up with another couple who go by the names Hair Monster and Rose Hips. Hair Monster looks kind of like the protagonist in the film ERASERHEAD although his persona and presence remind you more of Sergy Eisenstein. His light eyes shine in the dark and you'll often feel the weight of his prolonged silences as they surround and eventually control the action being generated in the scene you share with him. Rose Hips is a She-Ra love goddess who has something for everyone. Her energy adds to Hair Monster's energy and together the fields of force go whacko. You get the feeling you're going out on your first eco-anarcho double date. There's no Weatherman-like bomb-exploding going to go on here, no Black Panther rabble-rousing. Just energy shock waves sending electric love currents all throughout the mise-en-scene. A major motion picture. A creature feature starring friction and static with a cameo by mystical genius.

Alkaloid Boy is telling Hair Monster about the unexpected wake-up call he and Blue Sky received from The Bureau Chiefs.

"They were lost in the mid-twentieth century, man, I mean you wouldn't believe it. They had it all covered in one major crackup: breaking and entering, illegal search and seizure, unwarranted arrests and, of course . . . "

Hair Monster raised his index finger to his lips and said Shhh.

Rose Hips made an expression like I know, we've already been there.

Blue Sky whispered that she thought the page was being bugged.

Big Artist Man appeared out of nowhere and said Hey, watch out, they'll throw you in the pit for resisting slave labor technocratic nightmare.

Isreal Disreal threw up his hands in passive disgust and said Win some Lose most.

M/F an old friend recently taken out of the pit and put back on the contaminated soil said Don't kvetch it's worse down there.

A few naive net.artists, not understanding the implications of their defaming propoganda, attacked a Jewish intellectual of Eastern European descent, stealing his electronic identity wishing they had access to the gold in his teeth.

New Anima is now Nude Arsenal. S/he is busy inventing a religion that wipes out supply/demand via autosuck restitution full money back guarantee.

Open your eyes and tell me what you see.

project influx < context > ä ? nota usage exchange