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UtenaSama's
High Curried Trip - July 15th, 2000:
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Well, UtenaSama sent issue, and finally updated a few things. UtenaDios
totally updated the pages. I could never do that. I am so HTML clueless. I could never be able to do anything graphically wonderful, ...but I do try with my ML. I do try to make things different in my own way. I really do. When I was a Journalist back in the day, I lo-o-o-o-o-o-ved to write! GAWD, it was exciting. I yearned to learn new words so that I could use them over and over again. Making my vocabulary not only seem bigger, but my stories, richer. I could drip creation like an old Mr. Coffee, ...warm black perfection turning into a pool of addictive darkness. [I might have been a God] Lately, it seems, I have been leaving my self vulnerable to the inevitable. The quips, commentary and occasional stalker mentality. "No one questions you, UtenaSama. You could rule AOL by the end of the year." How naive. No one can rule anyone. Unless they wished to be ruled. UtenaSama. UtenaDios. UtenaSama. UtenaDios. SamaUtena. DiosUtena. SamaUtena. DiosUtena. Something else Does Utena. Same Utena Dies Utena. Blah. I don't want to be Utena anymore. Maybe my most unfavorite person, Star Bert, is right. I am an Utena-wannabe. Scratch that. I am not anything Utena wants to be, it is only my screen name. Only someone to admire who isn't real to begin with. [And the Ends of the World came when "UtenaSama" realized that there were no more heroes.] Brett says AOL has made me into a character. Like some giant cultural icon rose up and scrambled me into a huge blender full of Ohtori and Power. "Your ML has become a seat of power, it seems. And you sit upon it, and they look at you as if you are godly." Quick! Do not look behind the curtain! The great Oz implores you all! And no, Brett. I do not sit on a seat of power. Actually, I sit on a very uncomfortable chair, in front of a relatively not-so-new Compaq and just bang on keys until I feel something worth saying has been said. Absolute Apocalypse Destiny. Absolute Apocalypse Destiny. Absolute Apocalyptic Destination. Absolut Vodka And Dean Martin. So I can't do graphics, and I cannot do web work, but I can do my ML. The people seem to respond well. Honestly. And in great volumes. Which is a good sign for a cultural icon such as myself. Members make me feel better than I thought. Probably the main reason great men like Jim Jones and David Koresh felt so confident in their plans for a small piece of global domination. The Brain should have done it that way, ...and he should have served Kool-Aid. And Pinky should have been executed for the sake of the cause. For The Revolution Of The World! For The Revolution Of The World! For The Revolution Of The World! Form Revolutionaries For The World! Former Revolutions Devastated The World. But that was a dinner topic during the 80's cold-war. No one thinks about true revolution anymore. No one speaks revolution or writes revolution. It's all digitalized, and homogenized, and plagiarized, and pixilized. This IS The Matrix. There Is No Spoon There Is No Spoon. There Is No Spoon. There'll Be No One Soon. *sigh* I feel downtrodden. That's a very English word, "downtrodden." Downtrodden and melancholy. But, I actually loved the response I got from my last issue. It was encouraging. It lets me know that I could send out nothing but words, and the people would still enjoy it. The kids are all right [they say, they say]. Parting words from my personal journalistic hero: "We were all on a survival trip now. No more of the speed that fueled the 60's. That was the fatal flaw in Tim Leary's trip. He crashed around America selling consciousness expansion, without ever giving a thought to the grim meat hook realities that were lying in wait for all those people who took him seriously. All those pathetically eager acid freaks who thought they could buy peace and understanding for three bucks a hit. But their loss, ...and failure, ...is ours, too. What Leary took down with him was the central illusion of a whole lifestyle that he helped create. A generation of permanent cripples. Failed Seekers. Who never understood the essential old mystic fallacy of the acid-culture. The desperate assumption. That somebody, ...or at least some force, is tending the light at the end of the tunnel." - Rev. Dr. H. S. Thompson Life is wonderful. -UtenaSama Desu. |
