I've Been Hacked!

No, I haven't really. Though I know some overly trusting bloggers who have, and I've some thoughts on the matter. I've collected them into a short outline I've entitled Designs. Below is just a portion, also entitled Designs. The complete content listing of the Designs outline is as such:

1) Passwords: Purpose, nothing cute, please.
2) Designs.
3) Catch the tiger by its tail, nothing cute.
4) Tandem (Designs #6)
5) Sometimes we change our passwords because the loves of our lives have passed.
6) Don't be cute with your password, a hacker can always tell.
7) Branching out is not a good idea, especially when you bear no fruit.
8) Designs pt. 2.

Here is 2) Designs.

No small business, the design of the hacker. He sits in front of his computer. His sister, Patrice, she is normally near by, nibbling on a piece of puckerish fruit, licks a spot of juice from the corner of her mouth.

-- Now tell me, hacker, how do you plan on breaking in?
-- The keys are here in my mind. The question should be, How do you plan on stopping me?
-- I don't plan on stopping you. I plan on allerting all of my friends. You're a dog.

Please, don't be cute. The hacker's sister, Patrice, she was cute. We need only remember her tree-ripened breasts, and how she lifted the puckerish fruit to her brother's lips, and that a ghostly wind from the outside managed its way in beneath a cracked window. This was not a time of the year for cracked windows.

-- The dating website is complete, sir.
-- Now unsuspecting bloggers shall find fuck-buddies.
-- All across the U.S.

Patrice didn't know where to stand while waiting for her brother, so she chose in front of the card shop. A trolley passed, but this was on a chain. Of sorts. No need to worry. A car. Oh, cars were something else. When your brother is a hacker, even the empty darkness, a chilly august night, even that has eyes.

-- May I ask you sir -
-- If you must.
-- What will become of my sister? We were on good terms. She had no intention of getting in the way of our work. She only wanted to feed me the fruit -
-- Where are your loyalties, boy? Don't you know that you hack? You must be alone. There are designs. Don't you understand? An important element of this design is that you must remain alone. All of the time. There is no room for a sister.

**** To Be Cont'd*******

Time Takes Time

It's been a while since I've written a blog, and I will be honest with you, honest readers, as to why that is. I have given up on literature. I will not be writing about literature anymore.
And why? you ask. The answer, you don't want to hear, because, like most honest people, you are offended by truth. But I, David Pollock, have suffered a bout of mental illness.
Yes! Mental Illness! And instead of talking about books (books I haven't written because they are not very good) I would like to talk about myself.

You'll notice the title of this entry is "Time Takes Time" This is what my therapist, Sir Redmond Scott, tells me. And I agree with him. All of my problems go back to unclean relations I've had with my younger sister, Patricia Cornwell (No relation to the author, her last name is a product of her imagination which I have condoned).

I'm afraid I can't be very entertaining. Only that the bedlight was lit and blue, and that she asked I call her Margerie, after a neighbor we had, age fifty-six, with the ripest breasts this side of Blackville.

The very mention of my sister's name causes me distress. We, Patricia Cornwell and myself, are of the damned. You, faithful readers, hopefully are not.

When I am well, I will write again. In the meantime, here is my belated year-end reading list:

5)Tree on Smoky Water by Dennis Johnson
4)My Sister's Tree-Ripened Breasts by Nadine Gorimer
3)Carrie by Steven Khing
2)The Brief Wonderous Life of Junot Diaz by Oscar Wao

and...

1)My Mother, My Sister and Me by Susanna Sonnenburg

How the West was Exchanged for a More Dynamic West

Is there no value that cannot be exchanged for a more dynamic value? Two authors come to mind: Tao Lin and Zadie Smith. Our Contemporaries. I plan on doing a brief comparative study. I see that a comparitive study is necessary, for each of these authors have exchanged the truth value of violence (I am cut, therefore I bleed) for the truth value of conception (sperm meets the egg, then Mr/Ms Baby is born).

EEEEEEEE by Lin is a short novel divided into three parts (reminiscent of another baby book by Ariel Dorfman), there is pre-womb, womb, and violence/conception/marriage. The first part, which deals in the black spaces of nonexistence, involves the conversation between two specks. One speck is an Israeli, the other an unidentified militant subversive with no particular political partiality. One may ask, on hearing the summary, how can specks speak to one another? Well, this is a good question, rather it is a point. We all know that 'pre-womb' in reality is an ominous darkness, similar in some ways to the stage directions in The Tempest (shapes appear, what is a shape?) and to give this ominous darkness specks is for no other reason than to make it recordable. I have no patience for this bastardization of pre-reality, and the conversation between the specks is null. The exchange is obvious. If you can't see in this example how value (p) is exchanged for dynamic P (D{p}) then I suggest reading Plot to Underestimate America by Richard Yates.
We will skip over the second part of Tao Lin's book. "The womb," he writes, "is the whale, the embryo is the whale-song" I think not, Mr. Lin. I think not!
However, the third portion of this book is fascinating. And while this is only a blog I cannot go into greater detail. Though I would like to cover one scene in particular. The anti-protagonist, a fellow named Mike (may or may not be the speck/embryo(whale-song)) marries an ex-prostitute involved in the theater (we thank M. Proust for this inspiration) and after seeing that she has been unfaithful to him with a killer whale (motiff or fugue?) He impregnates her. Instead of intercourse, however, he clubs her over the head. Perhaps the blood, which Lin descibes as "crawling from her skull, across the Venetian rug, like a melting ice statue, not at all like a human baby" is supposed to bring us back to the pre-womb specks, for pre-life and conception, both in Lin's world, are impossibilities without discreet ideologies (that is, without discreet relationships to the material world (i.e., -D{p/-p})). Is it cyncism or an objective look at dynamic exchange when Mike, after killing/impregnating his ex-prostitute thespian, befriends the killer whale and invites him out for drinks so they may sing together? My opinion: It is Lin's conception of 'truth' after truth values have been exchanged for more dynamic truth values. (We may write the equation like this: +/-p =-p-+p{D(p)=D(-p)}).

Oh, out of time. I have not yet covered Zadie Smith's Authograph Man. This will be the next blog. My penis has fallen out of my pants and my dog has just entered the study. And a good day to you!

Psychic exchange in the work of Tobias Wolff

I was in my study this afternoon, paging through a collected works of Tobias Wolff, his exploration of what he refers to as "scout exchanges." There are three stories in the "scout exchanges" cycle: Melancholy Theodore, The Night Carries All it Needs to Tie a Knot, and In the Garden of North American Martyrs. In each story (third-person or first) a male scout attaches himself to another male scout. In each story the mystery of kinship is equated to the natural and untamed (in two cases nocturnal, ...Theodore however takes place at the boatshow in the sunlight, and the untamed natural is designated by an angry cat (Tesla)).


In The Night Carries... young Christopher (third-person) takes even younger scout Micheal onto the lake one cool evening. They ride a motorized boat. Christopher is a Torch-Bearer; Micheal is a Tenderfoot. "A boy is awkward," writes Wolff, "before he experiences the phenomenon of Koolie Fish with another boy. There were boys who jerked off in the motorized boat while alone, and the Koolie fish showed up because they sensed the horniness. But those boys never thought a thing about them."


It's not until a boy is horny with another boy, says Wolff, that the presence of the Koolie fish is observed. In The Night Carries... the older scout, Christopher (who has been known to creep through the shower stalls when it was not his time) orders Micheal, the younger, to drop his scout-colored khakis and make a horny little boy out of himself. The younger scout, being a boy, thinks this is a 'hazing' though he doesn't use this word. He says to himself "Even before I'm given a rope, or even a post, I'm expected to tie this first knot. This knot is something that can only be tied in the night."


The scouts get horny together. The motorized boat (the motor shut off) licks back and forth in the water. The night "is as sweet as a bosc(sic) pear" When the first Koolie fish appear, like puddles of ancient jelly, floating on the lake's surface, smelling the horniness, the boys take no notice. It is not until the Koolie fish, red and wiggling, come over the boat's edge and rest themselves at the boys' feet that Micheal, the younger scout, hollers. "We're being attacked," he shouts.


Christopher, the older scout, knows better. He is in the daze. "Relax," he says. "They're only fish. This whole night depends on the heat we can make. Just you and me."



What Tobias Wolff is concerned with, it's clear, is how the tender little beasts inside of us summon unwanted beasts from the unknown. It's as if Kant's a priori had a slight opening in its defining partition. Not a loophole, but a window for exchange between the sensible and the senseless.

This was my first 'blog.' I hope you bear with me. Next time I will discuss the opening in Kant's partition and other exchanges. Psychic currency, to utilize a phrase made popular by Noel Winters in his Culture and Currency: How the West was Exchanged for a More Dynamic West