rocket to nowhere

“you must choose between the things not worth mentioning and those even less so.” -samuel beckett

Archive for April, 2006

Still, ah, developing content

Looking for something to read?

The list of spammer “names” I’ve been compiling grows weekly. Recently received and added names include:

Quiches S. Gingivitis
Caged H. Sapphire
Laughably J. Guile
Abridged F. Hatcheries
Probably V. Openings
Unsightliness O. Derogating

Otherwise . . . it may be a while before anything happens here. Your patience is appreciated.

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The previous post edited by deletion of words and addition of punctuation.

She watched always for ecstasy. Choosing the G freely. West revealed a marvellous, solitary, plaguy hall to shut the world. The heard was over the moments not in thought. Richard of the whistling whistled back moments. Lucy alone composed one human of a something. But then suddenly words doubt like these days. Miss walking itself further to stretch one’s thread, the rain-drops might simply bone this mediocrity. Hugh there about corruption. Death reaching closeness alone. For what must I what?

She watched far for you. Choosing lemon. The G freely. West revealed marvellous trees over me to shut the familiar. The heard was over with–moments rose not in thought. Richard of the whistling whistled back moments. Lucy, how effort alone composed the human except something. But then his amazement with charity suddenly over without words to doubt. Miss walking it further to stretch one’s hazy rain-drops didn’t simply bone him. Hugh there own corruption. Death to closeness. For it must.

She watched always for a lemon. The West revealed a marvellous solitary hall to shut the familiar. The moments are not in thought. Repay to Richard the whistled back moments. How effort alone composed the human. Except something, but then thinks. His amazement with ‘time’ over without words. Their doubt these days consisted itself further to stretch one’s thread. The rain-drops slept. Might might. Simply another glacier and this mediocrity enriched Hugh about corruption. Death to reaching. Closeness alone for it. What must I? What?

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Every seventh word from what I copied out of Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

She watched far always very day for a you ecstasy Choosing be lemon the The G freely West the revealed a marvellous in be trees solitary over plaguy me hall a to shut the like world familiar The heard was over the to with moments tree are rose not in thought repay to Richard of the whistling whistled back moments Lucy how effort her alone composed one the human he of except a something these But then thinks his rapidly amazement as with charity suddenly aspect ‘time’ over like without words their an to doubt like these days a sight silly to consisted Miss walking possible the it itself further to they stretch as one’s after thread hazy the a rain-drops slept might might didn’t ghost simply another as glacier bone and this mediocrity one him enriched to must who of do Hugh there about own corruption Death to reaching closeness alone For it what must I what.

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What I copied out of Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

“She had a perpetual sense, as she watched the taxicabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day” (8). “‘That is all,’ she repeated, pausing for a moment at the window of a glove shop where, before the War, you could by almost perfect gloves” (11). “religious ecstasy made people callous (so did causes)” (12). “Choosing a pair of gloves—should they be to the elbow or above it, lemon or pale grey?—ladies stopped; when the sentence was finished something had happened” (18). “The clouds to which the letters E, G, or L had attached themselves moved freely, as if destined to cross from West to East on a mission of the greatest importance which would never be revealed, and yet certainly so it was—a mission of the greatest importance” (21). “A marvellous discovery indeed—that the human voce in certain atmospheric conditions (for one must be scientific, above all scientific) can quicken trees into life!” (22). “To love makes one solitary, she thought” (23). “tokens of victories not over armies, but over, he thought, that plaguy spirit of truth seeking which leaves me at present without a situation” (28). “The hall of the house was cool as a vault. Mrs. Dalloway raised her hand to her eyes, and, as the maid shut the door to, and she heard the swish of Lucy’s skirts, she felt like a nun who has left the world and feels fold round her the familiar veils and response to old devotions. The cook whistled in the kitchen. She heard the click of the typewriter. It was her life, and, bending her head over the hall table, she bowed beneath the influence, felt blessed and purified, saying to herself, as she took the pad with the telephone message on it, how moments like this are buds on the tree of life, flowers of darkness they are, she thought (as if some lovely rose had blossomed for her eyes only); not for a moment did she believe in God; but all the more, she thought, taking up the pad, must one repay in daily life to servants, yes, to dogs and canaries, above all to Richard her husband, who was the foundation of it—of the gay sounds, of the green lights, of the cook even whistling, for Mrs. Walker was Irish and whistled all day long—one must pay back from this secret deposit of exquisite moments, she thought, lifting the pad, while Lucy stood by her, trying to explain how . . .” (29). “That was her self when some effort, some call on her to be her self, drew the parts together, she alone knew how different, how incompatible and composed so for the world only into one centre, one diamond, one woman” (37). “Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame” (49). “By conviction an atheist perhaps, he is taken by surprise with moments of extraordinary exaltation. Nothing exists outside us except a state of mind, he thinks; a desire for solace, for relief, for something outside these miserable pigmies, these feeble, these ugly, these craven men and women. But if he can conceive of her, then in some sort she exists, he thinks, and advancing down the path with his eyes upon sky and branches he rapidly endows them with womanhood; sees with amazement how grave they become; how majestically, as the breeze stirs them, they disperse with a small flutter of the leaves charity, comprehension, absolution, and then, flinging themselves suddenly aloft, confound the piety of their aspect with a wild carouse” (57). “The word ‘time’ split its husk; pourd its riches over him; and from his lips fell like shells, like shavings from a plane, without his making them, hard, white, imperishable words, and flew to attach themselves to their places in an ode to Time; an immortal ode to Time” (69). “This Susceptibility to impressions had been his undoing no doubt. Still at his age he had, like a boy or a girl even, these alternations of mood; good days, bad days, for no reason whatever, happiness from a pretty face, downright misery at the sight of a frump” (71). It was a silly, silly dream, being unhappy” (83). “He went to France to save an England which consisted almost entirely of Shakespeare’s plays and Miss Isabel Pole in a green dress walking in a square” (86). “It might be possible, Septimus thought, looking at England from the train window, as they left Newhaven; it might be possible that the world itself is without meaning” (88). “And they went further and further from her, being attached to her by a thin thread (since they had lunched with her) which would stretch and stretch, get thinner and thinner as they walked across London; as if one’s friends were attached to one’s body, after lunching with them, by a thin thread, which (as she dozed there) became hazy with the sound of bells, striking the hour or ringing to service, as a single spider’s thread is blotted with rain-drops, and, burdened, sags down. So she slept” (112). “And the supreme mystery which Kilman might say she had solved, or Peter might say he had solved, but Clarissa didn’t believe either of them had the ghost of an idea of solving, was simply this: here was one room; there another. Did religion solve that, or love?” (127). “as in the rough stream of a glacier the ice holds a splinter of bone, a blue petal, some oak trees, and rolls them on” (138). “whereas, it was this; it was middle age; it was mediocrity” (155). “and get at the truth about one or two little matters that interested him” (158). “Having done things millions of times enriched them, though it might be said to take the surface off” (163). “Villains there must be, and God knows the rascals who get hanged for battering the brains of a girl out in a train do less harm on the whole than Hugh Whitbread and his kindness” (173). “A thing there was that mattered; a thing, wreathed about with chatter, defaced, obscured in her own life, let drop every day in corruption, lies, chatter. This he had preserved. Death was defiance. Death was an attempt to communicate; people feeling the impossibility of reaching the centre which, mystically, evaded them; closeness drew apart; rapture faded, one was alone. There was an embrace in death” (184). “For she had come to feel that it was the only thing worth saying—what one felt. Cleverness was silly. One must say simply what one felt. ¶ ‘But I do not know,’ said Peter Walsh, ‘what I feel’” (191).

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solving for x (part 2)

(part 1 here)

Reader “thereverend” over at the blog Six Degrees of Sexy Sarcasm has responded to my call to solve for x. Click the link and read such gems as

Mildred Pierce combines power with environmentally friendly emission control.
&
Donald H. Rumsfeld offers four extra inches of running surface and a variable degree of cushioning.

Then write your own and either send me a link or send them directly. I’ll publish the link or publish them here.

Reader Dylan Gaughan from the wonderful Pimps of Gore is exempted from playing the “solve for x” game because of his experience with too many beach towels:

When the kings of the jungle hit the beach, they do it in style. Now, you can be the cat’s meow of the sandbox by wrapping yourself in this soft but stunning recreation of a tiger in the wild. This large 34″ x 64″ beach towel is smooth to the touch on one side, thick and absorbent on the other. 100% Cotton. Machine washable. Imported.

How does that line from “Open House” by Lou Reed and John Cale on their album Songs for Drella go? Oh yeah: ” You scared yourself with music, I scared myself with paint / I drew 550 different shoes today, it almost made me faint.”

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