Far and Wide

If you try to whittle down Google search results by adding one word at a time until left with only one site, and you end up with the sequence "war gay android tree decadent spaceship pansy happiness hair figure voldemort", you'll end up at a Friendster sign-up page.

A picture is worth a thousand words, but none of those words are these ones.

I found an 11x17 photocopy of a shadowy photograph of a muscular naked man holding a bow and arrow in a machine at Kinko's (Kinky's?).

I also found some wonderful poetries. As always, they follow unedited and unabridged.


Untitled #1 (Bich Sing)
by Anonymous Kinko's Wordsmith

is this
real our is
i sead it is
vision
noumerio
uno
pizza Boy
i aint no Boy
ive paid
7 dollaurs
just to hear that
Bich sing
sticky fingers
paint it Black
our sitting hear
ya ya waiting on
my lala


Untitled #2 (Spookie Skunk Syndrome)
by Anonymous Master of the English Language

sad day
@ the Horse
race's
Henry Bukalazki
was
not around
if you
see me crying
than i and
my tear's our
ex citted
Donnauld jus
our
Elings Worth
Kelly
SPOOKIE
SKUNK
SYNDROME



La lingua e bella.

It's essentially the perfect find.

I found this piece of paper ripped out from a small lined pad on the sidewalk near NYU, where I work, although I don't think (and sincerely hope) that it wasn't written by an NYU student. It follows verbatim:


9/11 Page 1

It was a sunny day on September 11, 2006. I was on my way to work. I work on the 96th floor in the TWIN towers.

I'm on my way to work going through rush hour. I picked up the newspaper. It was the Daily News on September 11, 2001. I'm late for work and I'm in a hurry. My wife just called, she is very unhappy. Me & her are going through some changes. On my way out the house she threw a book at me and it hit me on my head and I got a big bump.



[It's nice to know the world didn't stop having its littler problems on that day.]

Oh boy.

Time Out New York has this to say in its review of Matthew Barney's latest piece of filmic "art":

"Barney, naked and ass-reamed with a giant turnip, is strapped to the underbelly of the tractor, rubbing his engorged penis against the machine and squeezing feces out of a stuffed monkey onto his abdomen. It all has to do with biomorphic transformations and defying the second law of thermodynamics - obviously - but the clueless will be equally mesmerized."

I really cannot comprehend how someone can attempt to attach any kind of meaning or impact to the above description. It's especially troubling how disgustingly condescending the writer of this review can be towards "the clueless," when "the clueless" are actually "the people who have enough sense to realize that rubbing your penis on a tractor while smearing feces on yourself has less meaning than running on stage at a Saturday evening performance of the Lion King and screaming, 'Look at me! Look at me!' until a stagehand drops a sandbag from the grid." But I guess when your girlfriend runs around looking like this, you at least have to try and keep up.

I'd love you, but my head is so heavy.

The guy who normally sits behind me at work has changed his shift for the rest of the summer, and his desk has been hijacked by someone who I think was out for the last three months due to frequent court appearances. Anyway, he sits there, and has conversations with his girlfriend on speakerphone. I shouldn't say conversations. Rather, she talks, and talks, and it (on a good day) fades into the background and sounds like a late-night AM radio program in which a lonely woman talks about the minutae of her day.

On other days, he falls asleep on the desk and it takes her a full five minutes to realize that he hasn't responded in a full five minutes. She'd figure it out sooner if she had to breathe more than twelve times in an hour. At this point, the almost-soothing radio personality, let's call her Melissa, turns into this:

MELISSA: Hello? Did you fall asleep? ... Hello? I think you fell asleep. ... Hello? Hellowwww? Are you asleep? ... You're asleep. Hello? ... Just tell me you're thinking about me.


Hello.

This is a really bad movie poster.

In case you had any doubts about this being the most captivating, haunting, and original "psychological thriller" of the season, the plot summary (handily co-written by the unbiased writer and the director of the film) includes such genius, ne'er-before-seen, and hugely descriptive word pairings as "empty promise," "tensions mount," and "devastating news." Not to be missed is the use of "reveals" and "revealed" in consecutive sentences. To be missed? More than likely, this film.