heyoka on pasta and other things i forgot or lost.

so many things. so long since i last did this. so many people who i emailed out of the blue saying 'i'd love to put this in the next issue of swallow,' and so many replies saying yes even though i had and have no idea why anyone would want to. so much complete up-the-own-arse inability to be prepared to look with an honest eye at my own actions and activities, and so many unnecessary meaningless tiny disappointments unwittingly handed to people who didn't deserve it and didn't need it and didn't care anyway and why should they. so much self-reference and so much misunderstanding, so much mist and so much bullshit, so much wordplay and so many lies. but no guilt. just idiocy.

pure idiocy. pure white avraham-ben-yitzhak-like silent idiocy, refusal to play any of the games and so a permanent game of what-happens-to-you-instead. all the blind alleys, all the random moments of helplessness, all the giving in to the overwhelming neverending invisible rollercoaster that i for one never remember getting on or asking for and am permanently commanded rightly to enjoy or get off, but not to get off, never to get off, because i must get off as we all get off, as stefan got off and...

and i still have no idea what the *fuck* i am doing or who i am or where. or any of it. but i really did want to put that excellent article about pasta by heyoka up somewhere without frames, and to reproduce that article sent to nettime that i can't even remember the name of the guy who wrote it but thought was incredible and important, and i don't remember for sure if i actually dared to ask alan sondheim or gregory alkaitis-carafelli for anything but am terrified i did and managed to piss them both off for absolutely no good reason and worse there are surely all kinds of people whose stuff i just completely lost and completely forgot about and will never see again because my failure to reproduce any of it here will just annoy ever so slightly at best and i oughtn't even abuse that by saying it but can't not because it is the point.

understand?

i am such a *bad* editor. or *someone* is. that's for damn sure.

so. mail me stuff, but at your own risk. :\