Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in null_and's LiveJournal:

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Wednesday, March 15th, 2006
5:38 pm	Chapter One: In which I develop an elaborate pretext for dropping a name no one has heard of. So I went ahead with the gambling plan, $20 with max wager every time, and lost all $20 in a matter of five minutes. There's a lesson here. The interesting thing about this is that I really feel that if I were to continue to gamble the slot machines, it would be a problem. So I'm learning poker. Two men are pointing guns at each other's heads. They pull the triggers at the same time. They are interwacking. I was staring into a candle and reflecting last night, and among other things I realized that one ought to raise pertinent questions on one's blog if one wants to intertalk with one's readers. So here's my question: what do you guys think of pandora.com. You haven't encountered it? Well, it's based on the music genome project, "the most comprehensive analysis of music ever'. These folks assembled "literally hundreds" of musical attributes and applied them to pretty much all existing music that has been distributed by amazon, chapters, whatever. So if you go to pandora.com and type in a song, it will create a radio station for you based on your exact music tastes. That is, you will hear an endless stream of music that sounds something like your original input, mostly music you've never heard of before, depending on what you enter. I was discussing this matter with local indie rock legend Graham Van Pelt (oh yeah, we're friends, that's right... good friends too. We discuss our private lives in emails. You've never heard of him? Well you don't know anything.), and he thinks it's bad news. GVP (that's his rapper name. He has an online agent.) claims that it's no good because it stultifies your musical taste. I don't disagree, but I still listen to it, because I like my taste in music. So, whose side are you on: apathetic, status-quo-loving Mark Mann, or local indie rock legend GVP (in the house)? I mean, with regard to the question of Pandora's box. I should add that Pandora's website is not flawless; I typed in Sigur Ros and it played Phil Collins. -mark (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, February 27th, 2006
5:39 pm	line up your oranges So I've decided to get into gambling in a big way, specifically slot machines. The wonderful thing about gambling is that you can make a lot of money by just pushing a button. So far, in four sessions of tempting lascivious fortune (that slut), I've wagered $30. At present I'm up $5, but I've been speculating and I have big plans. The key is to put in $20 and wager max bet every time. That is, on a five cent game, you wager fifty points or $2.50, and inevitably before you run out of money you'll hit it big and rake it home to poppa, momma and all the wee, misbegotten bantlings. Essentially it all comes to down to feelings, a hazy glow in the abdomen, but fate rewards the flipsy tricksy as well as the viscerally slippery. That is, it’s not all slop and slobber when it comes to jerking chance’s crank, as some would have it. You may have the grip of Grendel, but you still need to perfect that cunning shift of the wrist if you want to put it in the trunk. I’m speaking abstractly, of course. I love gambling. The whole issue of fiscal venturesomeness has become more pressing ever since I finally confirmed that I will indeed (but not inaction...?) be working on the oil rigs this summer. That means that I will have a good 12 hours out of any given 24 hour period in which I won't be methodically crushing my fingers in the greasy cogs of lower hades, and I'll have to fill my time somehow. Of course, this is hopelessly condescending, but I’m really scared of arriving in Alberta with a backpack full of flannel and no knowledge of how slot-machines work, let alone no taste for it. Despite my recent efforts, the situation is still dire. I know that sevens and pots of gold are good, and fruit is pretty lame, but when it comes to the meaning of their configurations, I’m clueless. I also think that it’s more honest to dissipate your money with unrestrained pointlessness. Otherwise, you might deceive yourself into thinking that you’re spending it wisely. And as the great Christian thinker C.S. Lewis once quipped (isn't it hilarious to call someone a 'thinker'? Maybe just lolarious), gambling indicates a daring spirit and is therefore a virtue. That’s the jist of it anyway. At any rate, I'll keep everyone posted as to how I progress. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, February 18th, 2006
9:38 pm	I scream Sunday Several years ago, while I was staying at a monastery in France, I took a vow of silence for a week. The monk told me to go for long walks during the day and never to read anything except the Bible. Every day I walked for an hour in a different direction, and each time I tried to find a different route back. One day I came across a stream. I swam in it for a while, naked, then kept walking. After a while I found an old chapel and sat in it for a while. I don't think it had been used institutionally in decades. It was very cramped and musty. I sat, waiting for something to happen, and finally when nothing occurred I walked home. On the way back I watched a horse for fifteen minutes. Finally I came back to the same stream I had been swimming in earlier. Halfway across the little bridge I noticed a van parked a little ways off. I glanced to my right and found a middle-aged lady standing in the water with her jeans rolled up her thighs, holding a fishing rod and staring at my with a stunned expression. I glanced to my left and found a man standing on the bank, whipping his penis around and laughing. Then he noticed me and shouted something I didn't understand. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 14th, 2006
2:57 pm	The girl that's inside me. To clarify my previous post (and temper its somewhat deranged mood) and respond to Joanna's comment more generally, I've never read 'Catcher in the Rye', though I've been pretty obsessed with Salinger's other writings recently. My impression from a few sources is that Catcher is his most palatable and least interesting novel. Seymour is the character who shoots himself in 'A Perfect Day for Bananafish'. In that story he comes across as an unstable creep-dog, but in the rest of Salinger's writing he is portrayed as a sort of floppy-eared American avatar. In fact, Salinger's depiction of Seymour is one of the very few examples of Western appropriation of Eastern thought that I find compelling. If Seymour hadn't committed suicide he might have been too monochrome, too Byzantine, but the fact that he offed himself has me in knots, just in the sense that it's so fundamentally wrong. Anyway, the reason it sprang to mind is that in principle an article on suicide would be very fitting for the escape issue, but there are just too many ways to do it badly. The monstrously delicate balance of levity and seriousness and selflessness required for such a topic is just too difficult for me to trust anyone to do it (not that The Void doesn't have really great writers, don't get me wrong). I mean, I'm sort of embarrassed even to bring it up at all. It's one of those things that could be tremendously interesting (maybe?), in the way that it's so fascinating for this Seymour character, but all the alternatives to excellence are so very, very tedious. I suppose if any Void writers are reading this and agree that such an article could be really good yet share my skepticism but still think they can do it well, let me know. -mark ps. Incidentally Joanna, if you type "Suddenly Seymour" in on google, the first site gives the lyrics and plays the karaoke version of the song. The glory you missed is only a few clicks away. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, February 11th, 2006
9:49 pm	weaving winter We jumped off bridges with our headphones on. I'm trying to come up with ideas about running away, guys, but someone stuffed my head full of discarded mittens. My creativity is hemophiliacticated: nothing congeals. I'm a hodge podge of dodgery. I need a bulldozer to blast through this block, but I'm riding a tricycle in the ocean, and I'm sinking. Sorry. I'm at loose ends. No, not even loose; these ends are goddam viscous. I'm drooping into unforgivable melodrama. Have any of the three of you that read this ever read any of Salinger's writing about the Glass family? I need to know what you think about why Seymour commits suicide. He skipped out on his wedding because he was too happy to get married. Was he too happy to live? I can't think of anything that doesn't have to do with escapism, so coming up with a succint, clever way of describing the next issue of The Void is like trying to come up with a succinct, clever way of describing Human Activity. Well, now that I'm officially writing an utterly pointless entry, I might as well say anything. I talk to my cat. -mark (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, February 8th, 2006
10:03 pm	more on what oft was thought While sleeping the other day I realized that if mental telepathy were possible, it would dramatically change how we write poetry. I had this dream about this alien berating me for using metaphors, as though metaphors were the most pathetic form of communication. The logic is that presumably if you could connect your brain to someone else's, you would communicate in images rather than language. So instead of drawing analogies, similes and metaphors, you would go for something like an image jumble. Then reciting would be more like remembering, and the poetry of it (what would distinguish it from film and painting) would lie in your capacity to recreate your poetry with exactitude, which would be nearly impossible. So my argument against the alien is that telepathic poetry would degenerate into mere mental virtuosity, which gets old (but maybe that's the point). Anyway, food for thought, food for thought (do you see it?). The point is, the third issue of the fourth volume of The Void came out yesterday, and it's gawgeous. Check us out on the web (www.thevoidmagazine.org). -mark (Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 7th, 2006
3:29 pm	fulmination Mark Mann's Easy Four-Step Formula for Writing Vaguely Satisfying Poetry: 1)Choose suitably preposterous rap lyrics, preferably Tupac (note: many websites featuring rap lyrics have black backgrounds with white font, which may cause confusion when cutting and pasting). I'm just a young black male cursed since my birth had ta turn to crack sells if worse come to worse headed for them pack jails so maybe it's a hearse My only way to stack bail is out here doin dirt My decisions do or die been hustlein' since Jr. High No time for askin why getten' high getten' mine 2) Find a bizarre nursery rhyme (a remarkably easy task). All around the mulberry bush The monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought 'twas all in fun. Pop! goes the weasel. A penny for a spool of thread, A penny for a needle. That's the way the money goes. Pop! goes the weasel. Up and down the City Road, In and out of the Eagle, That's the way the money goes. Pop! goes the weasel. Half a pound of tuppenney rice, Half a pound of treacle, Mix it up and make it nice, Pop! goes the weasel. 3) Pick an allusive/abstruse parable of Jesus: No man, when he has lit a lamp, puts it in a cellar, nor under a basket, but on a stand, that those who enter in may see the light. The lamp of the body is the eye. Therefore when your eye is good, your whole body is also full of light; but when it is evil, your body also is full of darkness. Therefore see whether the light that is in you isn’t darkness. If therefore your whole body is full of light, having no part dark, it will be wholly full of light, as when the lamp with its bright shining gives you light. 4) Collect the more resonant elements of each, unify the voice and jumble them appropriately: Had to turn to crack sells With half a pound of tuppenney rice. If worse come to worse Mix it up and make it nice. A penny for a needle And your whole body is full of light. When my eye is shining bright Getting mine out here doing dirt All around the mulberry bush, That's the way the money goes. No time for askin why, The lamp of the body is the eye. Your whole body is full of light. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, February 1st, 2006
4:01 pm	never heard of heaven Well, I've started a band called Evergoose. It's sort of satanic alt-pop think hop ballad core. If you know what I mean. The last post was the lyrics to our first song. So, I've been looking into getting a job as a roughneck this summer. I'll be doing things like scraping the congealed oil off of the rigs with my teeth and developing an immunity to hydrogen sulfide. From what I can gather, it's like working in the gulags, only you get paid a lot of money. Like, a whole lot of money. I bring this up because I've decided I need to toughen up in preparation. I'm open to suggestions. For starters I've begun beating up my girlfriend, but I'm not sure that's enough. I'm taking language classes in the patois of the working man, doing one-hand handstand push-ups, and glaring at people in the metro. The other day I smashed a beer bottle while continuing to hold it in my hand. Surprisingly, it worked, though I didn't have anyone to jab the slicey end at. Anyway, if anyone has any thoughts about how I can make myself tough, by all means, pass them on. Regards, mark (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, January 26th, 2006
6:30 pm	Mother Goose has got it coming to her Puss came dancing out of the barn With a pair of bagpipes under her arm; She could play nothing but ‘Fiddle cum fee, The fly hath married the bumble bee’. Then all the birds of the air did sing, ‘Did you ever hear so merry a thing?’ Fiddle cum fee, fiddle cum fee, The fly hath married the bumble bee. Puss came dancing out of the house Carrying the carcass of Mr. Mouse. She could say nothing but, ‘Waddle dee day, Mr. Mouse hath just been taught to pray.” Then all the silver spiders did chant, ‘Did you ever see a mouse do such a dance?’ Waddle dee day, waddle dee day, Mr. Mouse hath just been taught to pray. Puss came dancing out of the shed With a hatchet sticking out of his head; She could cry nothing but, ‘Rumple dum doo, Behold I have made all things new.’ Then Fat Roger the Raffle-Rat did call, “Did you ever see a cat so cat-cat-caterwaul?’ Rumple dum doo, rumple dum doo, Behold I have made all things new. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 25th, 2006
2:37 pm	call me the happiness coyote I had a chilling self-revelation today: when I'm a pedestrian, I hate bikers and cars; when I'm a biker, I hate pedestrians and cars; and when I'm driving, I hate bikers and pedestrians. I'm a pandora's box of contradictions, not the paragon of logical consistency I had taken myself for. I can also be pretty damn virulent. But if there's one thing I really hate more than anything, it's when cars are so eager to turn corners that they edge up on your legs as you cross the street like some nefarious urban mating ritual. But the god of lithium and kittens intervened today in the form of Tom Waits, ironically enough. I was listening to his Black Rider album as I walked to class and chuckling to myself audibly the whole way. As I crossed the final street to Concordia's downtown monument to brutalism and wage-slavery where our classes are held, this most hated of events occurred. The problem was that right as I was about to throw my laptop through the windshield of this bastard vehicle, Tom Waits started crooning his home phone number to his baby. So instead of glaring machetes at the driver, I just ended up grinning stupidly at him and traipsed along. Foiled. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, January 10th, 2006
3:19 pm	To the passengers on flight 603 "From here we'll skim the tops Of clouds till home, so be prepared For bumps,” our pilot croons Like Zeus into our headphones. With trays upright we stare Into the storm, and no one talks. And if the cunning airline swan, Our captain husky and divine, Knows before our thighs are loose From sitting still and propping books, We’ll hear his throaty mating cry, “Please put your seatbelts on.” (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 27th, 2005
4:15 am	a snippet of snapdragons I had a surprising revelation the other day: I don't like bookstores. Well, mostly I don't like bookstores for new books. Firstly, I hate seeing signs like 'poetry' or 'spirituality' or 'philosophy' and thinking "That's for me". I don't want an assigned section. Secondly, I don't like being reminded of how many people are writing books. I don't want to know that people are buying the new Michel Crichton book or a book called, "Love Smart: Find the one you want - fix the one you've got". And thirdly, buying books that you won't read is possibly the most pathetic form of self-validation available to Western man. There are few activities more odious and untrustworthy than Building a Personal Library. Better just to avoid the risk. Oh, and I want to apologize for my previous post. I don't know what I was thinking. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, December 22nd, 2005
5:55 am	Merry Christmas from Mann Well, it’s hard to believe a whole year has come and gone again, isn’t it? This holiday season is a time for giving thanks to God for everything, and boy do I have a lot of everything to be thankful for (‘for which to be thankful’ that is, if you’re using good grammar, but this is also a season for informal silliness, isn’t it? It’d better be, or I’m fucked! *wink wink*). For starters, I got a new computer, a Dell INSPIRON 15100 Pentium 4. Well, it was my Dad’s computer, but he can’t walk so I took it. It’s pretty good, but it’s also pretty slow sometimes, and it has 122 viruses on it. I’ve been playing a lot of music this year as well. I played in an open microwave recently… woops, I mean open microphone! … recently, which was pretty fun. My friend Sylvan got on stage with me and did some crazy dancing, which was a lot of fun, and then he was supposed to do some improvisational rapping or something but he only sort of wailed at everyone, which was okay but not quite what I’d hoped. I also played a ten-song set on a sunny Sunday afternoon at an organic co-op that was celebrating Buy Nothing Day. It was full of children being managed by socially-conscious mothers, and I cursed once, which they probably didn’t appreciate (the mothers, that is). So yeah, it’s been a big year for me and music, hasn’t it? I’ve dated three girls this year: Melissa, Vanessa and Sophie. I just accidentally stood up Melissa (we were supposed to meet for coffee but I forgot), so she pretty much despises me with somewhat good reason, but now at least she feels superior to me, and everyone wants to transcend their ex, so I’m sure she’s at least somewhat satisfied (she said as much). Vanessa works on The Void as finance manager, and we’re still friends, though she is given to blunt criticisms of my taste in music and hats. I like it though; few people are honest about taste. Sophie, who I am currently dating, is a jumpy dame, and I just found a topless picture of her on the internet, so she certainly has some explaining to do (you can’t see her nipples though… she’s sort of using her arm as a bra in the picture, and it’s in the woods. It’s art). I spent most of the year working as a bathroom attendant in downtown clubs, and was recently fired ignominiously as some of you know. The other night in a bar I ran into the guy who fired me for no reason, realized he made a big stupid mistake, but then still did nothing about it. He's a good old boy, a healthy Newfoundlander with a paunch and a sudden laugh, and being in his presence made me feel uncomfortable and vaguely ashamed. So I told him I didn't want to be his friend, or more specifically, "I don't want to hang out with you." The whole bathroom attendant business is full of conniving bastards, isn't it? Being a Newf is the perfect disguise. I also walked across Spain with my friend Melissa, who I didn't physically touch except once when we were drunk and she fell on top of me in bed. In Spain I met the Archangel Michael and was mauled by a dog. Well, I wish I could write more but it is six in the morning and I've been up all night watching violent movies. May this nativity season bring you joy! Mark (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 21st, 2005
9:10 pm	I'm going to bomb your house I'm going to sneak into your house every night for the next ten months. I'm going to release fistfulls of sand on top of your bike helmet for five hours every night, creating miniscule fractures in the infrastructure of the helmet, weakening it's crash-resistance durability, and thereby subjecting you to the peril of curb and bumper. You won't notice anything because I'll clean up after myself. I'm going to call your house at 10:13 PM on the second Thursday of every month and ask for 'Margot'. I'm going do this until you realize what's going on, then I'm going to stop. This will inspire in you an oceanic sense of dread at the strangeness of strangers. You might kill yourself. I'm going to send you a Christmas newsletter every year, describing my life as an evangelical missionary in Togo, West Africa, and asking you to send money for Bibles, which only cost $2. If you don't, I'll pray that you never find peace. If you do, I'll ask you who the fuck you think you are. Either way, you'll be vastly unsettled. Take that. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 14th, 2005
12:51 pm	you gonna bark all day little doggy... or are you gonna bite? We all knew he was a damned Marxian, but the thistle-toed tumbler knew his trade, blustering his buckles and rummaging his buttons like one of his bilgy tea-grumps. Sorry Samwell, you’re bumptious as a bottom-thumper but sallow as a Sunday swimmer: we all palavered those brilling buttons, for lady’s dresses. And don’t say Father Dowd’s gone frowsy; it’s just McFrump who crimps Dowd’s strumps turned grundy and the Marxian got it. But what good’s a box of blippers if you just eat it sneezy breezy? Anyway, the boy drowned the old billigan’s storks. He cried like a sheldrake, and feathers on his palms. Only me and the Marxian know. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 13th, 2005
4:20 pm	the dik-dik must go On every fifth birthday the Botanians built small square structures with no roofs. They called them snads and would lie down spread-eagle in the center for fifteen hours at a time. They went in a cycle of fifteen-hours-in/fifteen-hours-out for a week, and in each of the seven periods a member of the worshipper’s family would enter the snad and spend about half an hour. They maintained a strict vow of silence as to what transpired inside the snad, but the poet Oliver once wrote a long narrative between himself and an antelope that was said to be inspired by his experiences in the snad on his thirtieth birthday. He was publicly eviscerated. (Comment on this)
Monday, December 12th, 2005
10:41 am	your rain-check bounced So this weekend I was illegally fired from my under-the-table job as a bathroom attendant (yow, that's a mire). The details are irrelevant, but the point is that I'm so innocent I float and yet I still inadvertantly stuck my head between the spokes of guilt and perdition and now the Man is sprawled akimbo across the tiled floor and my neck hurts. Dammit. The bathroom was such a bottomless, porcelain fount of bizarre encounters, and it was taken from me, the most appreciative of awkward-moment-makers, for no reason. No, not for no reason, but a stupid, bullshit, the-world-is-an-abandoned-strip-mall reason. So much for believing in God. (11 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, December 2nd, 2005
6:11 pm	the Friday special “It is universally admitted that the unicorn is a supernatural being of good omen; such is declared in all the odes, annals, biographies of illustrious men and other texts whose authority is unquestionable. Even children and women know that that the unicorn constitutes a favorable presage. But this animal does not figure among the domestic beasts, it is not always easy to find, it does not lend itself to classification. It is not like the horse or the bull, the wolf or the deer. In such conditions, we could be face to face with a unicorn and not know for certain what it was. We know that such and such an animal with a mane is a horse and that such and such an animal with horns is a bull. But we do not know what the unicorn is like.” Han Yu, 9th century The other day I saw a horse eating rice pudding by itself at the diner down the street. It was wearing a bright blue toque pushed awkwardly to the side, as someone had rammed a spike into its head. I thought: “Poor thing.” Then I finished my club sandwich and left. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 30th, 2005
5:57 pm	bathroom o' best-friends-forevership Last night at work a man entered the bathroom and went straight to the sink. He turned on both the hot and cold water and took a second to get the temperature just right. Then he placed the tip of the index finger on his right under the flow of the water and held it there for a few seconds. When his finger was suitably wet he started picking his nose, which took him about two minutes. This is an extremely long time to be picking a nose. During the operation he placed his finger in the water again several times to rewet it. Then, when he was satisfied that his nasal passage was clear, he delicately squirted a little bit of soap onto the finger and washed only that finger with the index finger on his left hand. I handed him a paper towel, he carefully dried just the two index fingers and walked out without saying a word. A tall attractive guy with medium-long brown hair came into the bathroom with a coat over his arm and started to drape it over a stall. I offered to hold it for him and he gratefully agreed. He washed his hands and face, applied gel to his hair and sprayed his shirt with two shots of Swiss Army cologne. Then he looked at me and said, “In one year I will have a ponytail.” This was news. I said, “So that’s how long it takes huh?” “Yeah.” Turns out he’s always had a ponytail and he just shaved his head on a whim once. Now it’s taken him eight months to get it to the length that it is right now and it will take another year for it to look really good. I did some calculations after he’d left based on the type of sweater he was wearing, the tightness of his pants and the five-dollar tip he’d given me, and I realized that between now and the time that he’s really satisfied with his ponytail he will tell somewhere in the range of 2,500 to 2,750 strangers about the fact that one day he will get his ponytail back. You can bet on it. Then, when he finally has his ponytail back, roughly an equivalent number of people will comment on it appreciatively in the proceeding five years. It must be really nice to have a ponytail. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 29th, 2005
3:17 pm	Father-in-Law Time The glass face on my watch is broken. It’s a ten dollar walmart watch and the broken surface somehow justifies it for me. Anyway, a tuft of something or other (Marmoset bellybutton lint? The sleep from something with furry eyes? A hairball from the throat of a gerbil?) got through the crack and can’t get out like a pigeon in the metro. Sometimes the second hand pushes it around to the minute hand and they all three get jammed up and time stops. It’s easy fix but sometimes I don’t notice and end up being late for things. So today finally I spun the minute hand around at a great rate until the tuft was pushed out to the edge of watch and doesn’t seem to be interrupting things anymore. This means that I’m going to be on time a lot more these days. (Comment on this)