tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58861402012-01-30T13:08:58.404-08:00<b> Editor's Note:</b> Marcelle Nerien worked for a reputable auction house in Manhattan. I met her during a trip to Paris, where I watched her stalk and eventually kill a Citroen Luxury Sedan with such power and grace that the assault stands in my memory as "the most beautiful and terrible experience of my early twenties."Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.comBlogger161100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-78252672674458264542009-01-02T18:59:00.000-08:002009-01-02T19:04:45.143-08:00

I recently acquired, through means both delicious and forbidden under Geneva convention letter, several pieces of anti-fauvist sculpture from Carten’s, an art and antiquities treasure house in St. Vincent, Tx. Each of the works interested me separately, and would fetch a comfortable sum if presented for individual sale in the freelance auction circuit. I find myself unable to separate them,

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-56019914679072242132007-08-04T18:05:00.000-07:002007-08-04T18:07:35.012-07:00

I discovered the sunburn in the shower. When the water struck my back, the objections and exhortations of my overly cautious mother came back to me. The words, to this day, are perfectly associated with three visual images of that day—seagulls picking apart an inflatable Disney character stuffed with fish heads (the work of a fraternity), a teenager pissing on a sleeping dog, and a pair of

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-12579729664990212542007-07-21T17:40:00.000-07:002007-07-21T17:44:00.024-07:00

I spent several of my young summers at various child depositories masquerading as wilderness retreats. During all my years of summer camp, I only wrote my parents once. I had developed a couple of blisters during a forced march from the mess hall to the state-sponsored rifle range/planetarium. The terrain was pockmarked from the periodic landfall of mortar shells and a tunnel complex being daily

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-16811200217303723632007-07-12T21:11:00.000-07:002007-07-12T21:16:16.854-07:00

I had to the pay the Medical Examiner $100 to let me have the papers from my brother’s belly. I snapped up the journals right after I called the ambulance. No need to give the emts anything to worry about while they tried to loosen his limbs and get him onto the stretcher. The notes from the stomach made little sense, however, to the examiner. I don’t know why I expected them to, but those

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-63681647652597643452007-07-08T12:26:00.000-07:002007-07-13T12:56:55.189-07:00

I was sunburned the day my brother shot himself. The beach where we had been playing football and smear the queer was relatively free of debris: seaweed, jellyfish, and vagrants. I remember every aspect of the day with Waterford clarity. The images remain vivid because it was this morning.He didn’t do it like in the movies. The troubled character sweats profusely and weeps. His hands shake

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-61880052820800264212007-06-14T20:08:00.000-07:002007-06-14T20:11:47.863-07:00

My trip to Tiffany's Waikiki went better than I expected. My fiance impressed me with her choice of wedding jewelry--a pair of mirror-bright Barrington brother's 70 caliber game rifles trimmed in ivory and standing attentive in quickset florists foam with a splash of baby's breath. “They're beautiful.” My lover struggled to remain composed but nearly wept at the weight of them. The

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-68404022948208201212007-02-26T15:51:00.000-08:002007-02-26T15:59:01.594-08:00

Normally I don't stress out too much about how much time has passed since I accessed some forgotten skill, but I have to play at my friend's wedding in about an hour. The groom, who i met yesterday in a sir arthur conan doyle reading circle (we focus on his forgotten mathematical work, as opposed to his "Holmes and Watson" rubbish. I move almost exclusively in circles with a pathological bent

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-23408300337741352732007-02-13T16:58:00.000-08:002007-02-13T16:44:46.273-08:00

I haven't played piano, or any keyed instrument, since I was 12 years old. It's not fair to include my summers volunteering at various Zydeco halfway houses, referred to collectively as Chez Boozoo. They are chain of nonprofit reacclimation programs for musicians who, depite their best efforts and the washboard maddened entreaties of the crowds, shouting, grunting, frothing and moaning in time

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-1117213629079074742005-05-27T10:06:00.000-07:002005-05-27T10:07:09.083-07:00

As a scientist, I feel it is my responsibility to set the record straight on ghosts and science. They are real. Proven to exist in 50's by team investigated role of Thor in Philadelphia Experiment. Existence further explored by Lockheed-Martin and Grummond (prior to dissolution) for possible use as light ordinance (extremely light, since they are spirits). The ghost's capacity for weapons

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-1114716489947995902005-04-28T12:11:00.000-07:002005-04-28T12:28:09.950-07:00

One of the biggest problems facing religious discourse is the emotion inherent in the positions taken. An interesting method of separating the passion from the logical structure of the arguments beings hurled across the coffee shop gift table or bus station urinal is a simple substitution. Instead of Jesus/God/Saviour/messiah, etc. simply say Spiderman. Instead of The Bible, say Amazing

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-1112197053758404402005-03-30T06:51:00.000-08:002005-03-30T07:44:55.256-08:00

I am consistently amazed by the odd things religious organizations choose to attack. The vatican devoted time and manpower to check into the DaVinci Code and construct not only arguments against it, but formulate an official response to it. How much of the Vatican's underground treasury was looted to garner funds for this research? ""Bishop Valencia...melt down the ruby chalice of St. Andrew. Yes

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-1089841875767296222004-07-14T14:39:00.000-07:002004-07-15T00:21:00.516-07:00

Most of the senses and their corresponding administrative functions reside in the head, so head-covering has always been an effective first step deprivation of the subject's senses, i.e. cover the head with some sort of sense blocking device. Blindfolding is a time-honored way to stop sight, and enlarging the fold to cover the nose greatly inhibits sniffing (scent-acquisition). I have, on

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-1089664443225604882004-07-12T13:20:00.000-07:002004-07-12T13:34:03.226-07:00

I have begun the design of a sensory deprivation apparatus that will rival any in prior or concurrent development. Rather than focusing on the benefits afforded during meditation or the detrimental effects afforded the unruly child or surly barfly who finds himself, inexplicably, in the care of a criminal mastermind or cartel lord, my team is concerned with the underlying nature of sense...and

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-1065473513778715192003-10-06T13:30:00.001-07:002003-10-07T13:31:47.883-07:00

Recently I have become fascinated by the nature of fear, as opposed to my youth when I was fearful of natural fascination. Actually, I spent the whole of one summer feared, naturally, by a chap named Random Fascine (but that is a subject for his letters, not mine). By fear I mean any of the various combinations of horror, terror, frison, fright, unsettlement, troubletation, and botherism--to

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-1065232355066992532003-10-03T18:43:00.000-07:002003-10-07T13:28:25.180-07:00

So much has been made of the dialectic (Hegel's three young 'uns) that important aspects of their inter-relatedness...ness have been overlooked. Behold, his dialectic elements, as they appear in the indie-film classic chronicling their respective addictions to talc, salve, and gas station sushi. Thesis: an idea Antithesis (or anti-thesis): A conflicting idea which arises in response to the

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5886140.post-1065132235894464642003-10-02T14:51:00.000-07:002003-10-07T13:32:29.286-07:00

When a loved one, whether jovial aunt, crotchety 1000-times-great grand pere, or faithful family pet, passes from this life into the next, everyone involved begins to pose the requsite questions. "What happens when we die?" "Will it be boring in heaven, since there is no sin?" "Is it death I fear, or the act of dying?" A possible solution to these is the existence of ghosts. If they are

Joshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12375657935485069033noreply@blogger.com0