May 26, 1997, Monday

The sad fact is: inalienable rights are absurd; you have only the rights the most formidable will grant you.

We also ate a little free food from the magic refrigerator.

L


eah left for work early. I'd left a pillow on the roof of Dart and naturally it was soaked in rain this morning. I threw it in the dryer. Meanwhile Leah's dogs whined and complained and paced the floor.

Matthew Hart and I drank beers immediately upon waking. That's okay, it was afternoon already. We also ate a little free food from the magic refrigerator.

But we couldn't stay long. Leah's father was expected to return imminently from a vacation at the beach. Monster Boy, Matthew and I piled into the Dart and tore off down those lonely country roads and then onto I-64 heading west. We disposed of all of our beer bottles in the most juvenile manner available to us. Highway littering is the least of this nation's crises.

We went to Bodo's Bagels on Preston Avenue and had cheap bagels. Well...mine was overpriced because it was rung up as a "cheese sandwich" and not as its component pieces. The girl ringing me up had come to Space Party II. You'd think she'd owe me.

But my reception there is calculatedly hostile these days, as if they've suddenly discovered that I'm really not a very good person.

I


  had to break free of the social world to get my shit together. I left Matthew and Monster Boy to do their own thing and returned to the Dynashack. I suppose I could stay there until the end of the month since the rent is paid. But my reception there is calculatedly hostile these days, as if they've suddenly discovered that I'm really not a very good person. It makes me hate them. I enter through the back door and go about my business. Today I took a shower. As I was leaving, Elizabeth and Liz West were just arriving. Liz has been overly-friendly to me ever since the shit went down. It disturbs me that she thinks I'm in need of her sympathy. And Elizabeth says hello to me in this disgusting forced way. I don't know how she can live with herself.

UVA's Cocke Hall is reassuringly non-threatening and indifferent to my presence. It's a good place to work on the musings. I wanted Jessika to respond to some email I'd sent her about recent events, but she never responds to my email. She only responds to my musings. Respond, okay?

On the other hand, the Amy who lives in Memphis, TN, and who worked at the Tokyo Rose, sent some very supportive email.

I talked with the local artist Luke in front of Follette's on my way to take my pre-work nap. He was moulding clay, making his ideal woman with perky little breasts. I thought he should find a model; it was looking real stiff. I joined in playing with the clay, making a little three-legged ash tray.

The pre-work nap took place in 22 Elliewood, the old Comet headquarters. I slept very nicely there once I actually drifted off.

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T


he online journal movement is busting out in rings left and right. Let's see, there's Geek Pages for journal keepers who earn their keep with computers. I would think that the majority of us do. It seems a ring for people who work outside the computer industry would be more selective. My bread and butter (and the roof that once shielded me from rain) might come from my geekiness, but I prefer to write about the grungy low-tech side of life in the 90s. I feel that my duty is to report the under-reported.

Then there's a Ring of Her Own for those of us who lack penises.

Finally, there's Often, for people such as me who update our journals with a compulsiveness that borders on insanity.

Shoddy writing about uninteresting things at rare intervals is what I'm trying to miss.

Of these, it seems Often makes the most sense, since frequency of update is the principle factor that keeps me coming back. I enjoy reading about the misery of a cold specula and geeky rantings about the evil of Bill Gates, but I rarely set out with an urge to read about specific subjects or lifestyles in journals. I just try to avoid being bored. Shoddy writing about uninteresting things at rare intervals is what I'm trying to miss.

Strangely enough, I always like it when journal-keepers mention other journals in the way that I am sort of doing now. The subject of online journals has become fascinating to me, though there really isn't much written about them online. Perhaps a ring of journal keepers who write lots about online journals would be a nightmare of self-reference, but I'd be sure to go through it regularly.

Or, alternatively, Javina and I could form a little ring of homeless web journal keepers.

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Over at Nova Notes, Al Schroeder says he's the anti-goth. It's really strange reading someone in their suburban middle age writing about goths. Not that I would defend for a moment the uninteresting and unoriginal complaining that goths do in their stupid journals. Interestingly, Al somehow managed to tie in a discussion of the existential void with a mention of Frank Drake (that's Rippy's father, remember). I'm reminded of my particularly gothic page about the Future.

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