Journals of Lord Malinov

the poetry of madness

flock

I took a stroll through the bookstore, to lift my spirits and cleanse my mind.  In a matter of moments, I had a flock of pretty young women following me around the store, stealing glances and chances to smile.  I muttered a few hello's in passing as I worked through the clearance shelves and checked my favorite sections.  I did a slow review of the fiction, hoping to find the next pretentious masterpiece.  It's been a long time - Mason Dixon - since one's been published. 

I feel rather better.

My confidence is in the rafters - perhaps I am too aggressive for bureaucratic life.  Corporate can be benefited by aggressive ambitions but the same qualities may become a hinderance to entry.  Can I pretend to be less confident?

I know many things about many things and many things that few others even imagine knowing, but when it comes to patents, I know things that no one else will ever know.  I'm not saying there aren't many things I don't know, for there are scads, but I know many things about patents and some of those things are uniquely known by me, who is not Mojo Jojo because he is not called by the name of Mojo Jojo, not being Mojo Jojo.

Worse yet, I have ideas about patents, ideas formed in the unique perspective of my vantage view. 

Since it is my pleasure to write myself as many damn patents as I feel like, I will dedicate myself to owning every bit of IP space in the Nokian future.  What the hell.  I might as well choose my own nemesis.

and then I'm going to go out of my way to warm the globe, just to flood Finland.  Take that, you black-balling bastards.  Ha.  Ha ha.  Ha ha ha. Ha. 

Some of the very first books I read current with their publication were Jaws, Helter Skelter, Summer of '42, M*A*S*H, and All the President's Men.  The seventies saw the decimation of trust as Vietnam, Watergate and the death of Hoover made our distrust of government inescapable.  That was the real difference between the 60s and the 70s - the 60s had a romantic distrust of everyone over 30 and the 70s had a bloody, stinking authoritative corpse that obviously couldn't be trusted.

I was, perhaps, fourteen when I read Bernstein and Woodward.  It challenged the romance of my young ideas with the implacable dastardliness of Tricky Dick.  I have remained cynical of government and authority in general. 

Manson's tale taught me that madness may descend into the ugliest depths.  I still wonder how a tiny, scruffy lunatic can attract a camp full of pretty girls.  Even nutsy pretty girls usually have higher standards than Charlie could ever hope to attain.  Actually, I think much of Manson's power came from continual doses of LSD.  An acid trip is disorienting, but to trip with daily doses over a period of months or longer would act like psychosis if it didn't become pyschosis - detaching from sensory reality leaves people susceptible to suggested realities in ways that no other narcotic (I know of) would accomplish.

Jaws was a stupid book, needing visuals to prompt actual fear.  I was living in Kansas, about as far as one can get from oceanic waters on this land mass.  Sharks have never meant anything to me.

Summer of '42 was very sexy.  The theme song - The Summer Knows - was the first radio song I liked, when I was seven or so.  I have the music but have never been able to find a copy of the recording.  I can still hear it in my head. 

she sheds her clothes

A line like that does things to a boy.  I have always had strong visuals associated with the song, although I am certain I have never seen the images I imagine.

M*A*S*H was just hysterical, so much funnier than the movie, which was hysterical, or the early show which was pretty damn funny.  Frank Burns - not Duvall but Linville - was the funniest character ever. 

I hid Summer of '42 and M*A*S*H in a drawer, not actively hiding but keeping out of sight.  My sister informed me at some point that Mom was aware of them, but I knew it didn't matter. 

When Mom discovered I was smoking ganja, her response was - I kid you not - "what's it like?" 

So I had to explain psychadelics to my naive artist mother.  She might have done some really cool shit if she hadn't become pregnant at nineteen.  Of course, I wouldn't be doing anything at all. 

My hair can be quite a spectacle - huge masses of fluffy curl-clouds moving with their own living force as I stroll.  People laugh when it catches them by surprise, the spontaneous expression of delights discovered in the midst of normalcy. 

My hair is tame tonight, a bit wild but in a dashing way.  I'm wearing a grey USPTO t-shirt which brings out my eyes and provides that conflict of an ordinary shirt adorned with an array of tech symbols.  No wonder they follow me around.  Just like you, they long to be, close to me.

enjoy,

M

posted by: Malinov at 19:18 | link | comments |
tales of passing time

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