August 30th, 2010 — curious
August 25th, 2010 — city, sketch, technology
Within the freight elevator, the old Mr. Pointe spends a day’s eternity. Through the wire mesh at the bottom of the shaft a maintenance man hovers over a dark wheel. Spinning ratchets and dull greased pulleys. In Mr. Pointe’s cab are the necessary items of faith. There are old Christmas lights tangled and burned beyond repair. A toy mouse with a rusty grin is affixed to a switchbox. The cab’s color is sky blue, lit by a single raw bulb. Outside the cage the subsequent dark shafts appear endless. Mt. Pointe has no teeth. His neck seems to have been broken once. There is a religious calendar with a painting of wise men in a desert. There are certain exact dates circled in red meticulously. A plastic rose is woven through the links of the mesh. A ripped picture of a beautiful young woman by the sea is taped to a small panel. The girl is photogenic but very shy. Long dark hair covers her eyes. A brown newspaper clipping without a headline flips down only secured by a piece of tape at the bottom now. The words are faded and gone. The story was about Mr. Pointe’s friends from long ago who won all that money. Mr. Pointe believes in luck. A buzzer blares from the top of the shaft and Mr. Pointe secures the stretching cab gate and bolts it down. As the ascent begins, Mr. Pointe yells to the floors above. He complains about their lateness. A camera blinks a blue eye from the far corner of the cab. It’s cool lens is docile and thoughtless, as the cab ascends up through the abysmal space.
X. F. Pine
August 13th, 2010 — curious, sketch
She keeps a collection of pictures of herself with others in her room. Some are of old barely forgotten boyfriends. They are in an envelope under a box on top of a bureau. She’ll shows them to the new boy, editing out the precious ones, and the dangerous skin embarrassing intimate nudity camera play photos. She shows the most model-like ones, and the “glint in her eye pictures”, shuffling past her own provocative image over and over. She flips through the photos quite madly now. Here she’s leaning against a fence with a different hair cut in the summer. Green trees surround her. She holds a white cat in another. An old boyfriend wonders in during a snapshot captured forever. Here her eyes gleam like a devil girl in the shade. It’s a tease, over and over again. A picture of an old bicycle with a special name: “Gertrude”. She stuffs the photographs back in the envelope. Her wash lies unfolded, piled on the mattress below the bureau. A few scattered books. A couple of kooky hats on hooks by the window. A fragile God’s Eye above the doorway. The new boy must leave.
There’s a photo pinned to the wall of her father from the 60’s in a bright white t-shirt, almost smiling. Telephone poles stretch out across a plain. A dustbowl of a town. She loves that one the most. The new boy kisses her on the lips twice and once angelically on her forehead, parting her hair gently. He leaves and his smile fades through the crack in the door. The new boy wonders down the stairs and out into the street at night, thinking of traps, and his own old pictures of traps.
X..F. Pine
August 12th, 2010 — curious, history, places
I’ve always been obsessed with Pyramids and Pseudoscientific Pyramidology.
A theory I’ve heard about over years is the correlations between the constellation of Orion’s Belt and the three main Pyramids at Giza. This is also known as the OCT (Orion Correlation Theory). See this amazing site for a more detailed explanation of the theory.
Recently I have been experimenting with composites and layers in Google Earth and had to attempt this by mapping the constellation to the ground.
Google Earth actually has the structures built into the system so you can see the correlation when the layer is installed.
Here is the .kmz layer file to download.
Here is the most recent version of Google Earth.
If you already have Google Earth installed the file should load up into the “Places” panel on the left automatically. If not try to open the .kmz manually via the Google Earth application.
It’s easier to see the star field if you turn OFF the Panoramio photos checkbox in the “Layers’ panel on the left. Photos show up as blue dots. Turn ON the checkbox for 3D buildings in the left “Layers” panel to see the structures.
Notice that the map is slightly off kilter and also there are other smaller stars that seem to map to other structures on the ground nearby south of the main Pyramids. One must also wonder if there has been some drift in the stars and astronomic angles over 4000 years since the pyramids were built.
Another part of the theory mentions that the Nile itself represents the edge of the Milky Way galaxy and the placement of the Sphinx is connected to the constellation Leo. I would need to find a larger more highly detailed map to test this.
X. F. Pine
August 11th, 2010 — Rants, curious
Chinese Girl at counter with little tiny padlocks. 10 layers of peeling paint on subway column. Broke up fight on platform between two businessmen. Kids compare wrong notes about atomic disasters. People sleeping outside church in car. There will be a day when people live in eight-hundred year old tenements. There are Rottweiler dogs like huge sows wandering around in a churchyard. Wesley is an old drunken fuck-up who likes dirty magazines. On the bus there is a conversation about Carnegie hall. Kids discuss picture books about rock stars as if they know them on a first name basis. I went down to the fires of hell and spit at the devil. Who do you dance with, the handsome guy or the rich one. Why they can’t even get out of their own underwear. It’s better to apologize later than ask permission now. Waves are powerful, they can badly injure you. Adaptability and Survivability are instinctive.
X. F. Pine
August 10th, 2010 — curious, disturbing, future, history, places
I try not to be a fatalist. Fatalism is just so unpopular these days. I am tired of negativity just like everyone else. I try to support my negativity with facts and data.
In the middle of the fourth heat wave this July I needed to seek answers as I turned my AC up a notch. I came across this fascinating data on weatherperspectives.com gleaned from NOAA and broken down by states in the U.S. over a hundred years or so.
It seems it’s not my imagination or my aging memory over the last twenty years in the New York region. There has been something strange going on.
What’s fascinating about this perspective is the spike which appears in the mid-1950s? Could this have been a latent result of WWII and huge industrial production or even firebombing in Europe? Or could it have been due to the peak in atomic testing that took place in the atmosphere. Or a combination or everything. The ramp up starts in what looks like early 1942 so there must be a connection there.
In addition, there are other states listed and it’s interesting to see patterns in comparison. For instance it looks like Arizona is getting much hotter than other places.
But then places like Missippippi are getting cooler over decades.
The overall data of all the states looks like this. I think the only long term solution as far as comfort goes is to move to Maine or Cape Breton to become a Mi’kmaq Indian. One must change and adapt to survive or die in the process.
X.F. Pine
July 28th, 2010 — curious
My friend tunes in the radio while we are driving with my girlfriend’s Father. We ride in a large black SUV. It is nighttime in the country. There is just electric light from the dashboard. My friend finds a cult station he knows well. It broadcasts a mantra over and over again for hours on end. It’s called a “chanting station”. He does not understand the mantra. He says that every once in a while they slip in some soap commercials. I find this to be sacrilege. There is no reaction from my girlfriend’s Father.
I explain to everyone about how recently I saw people coming out of the emergency animal hospital on my street with a huge cage. I gesture wildly with my arms to show the size of the animal as I tell the story. Inside the cage was a giant cat with stripes. The animal brought me closer instantly as I had never seen anything that fantastic on my street. The men moving the cat told me it was a Savannah Cat from Africa. I was immediately humbled by this creature.
When we return to the house, we must act like the party did not happen. We must hide these facts from my girlfriend’s Mother and Father. They seem to like me even though I am a bad person and lie all the time.
X. F. Pine
July 27th, 2010 — disturbing, history, places
When I worked at Weiser’s Bookstore on 24th street I didn’t realize I was witnessing the end of something, but one never does.
The famous store had been around since the 1920s and specialized in Oriental Philosophy and the Occult. It was an interesting period of time because it was at the beginning of the commercialization of the New Age movement, but the place had this older eccentric atmosphere. There were people who worked there who were practicing Rosicrucians and others associated with the Golden Dawn. Crystal hunters would come in to sell their finds. A customer would rage about the Planet X and be escorted to the door.
Now that I tend to collect books, I cannot even imagine what amazing obscurities the manager Chip had behind the counter towards the back. I realize that places like this in New York are more obscure than ever now. Places with old magical knowledge you could talk to people about in person. The Store is just online now.
Once I remember I went out for lunch and wondered down 23rd street. I came across a card table where an old man sold used books. I immediately noticed the Burroughs’ classics Naked Lunch and Junky on the top. The copies were old worn paperbacks. When I picked up the copy of Junky, another man with serious eyes and who looked like a ghoul took notice of my interest and said, “That’s a good book.”
It took me a while to realize that the man was Herbert Huncke himself, one of the characters in Junky. I was spooked. Had he put the book there as bait? I believe I shook his hand and we had a discussion of where Burroughs was now. We talked about the bunker Burroughs’ had on the Bowery. He looked remarkably good for all he had been through. I believe I bought the copy of Naked Lunch to avoid feeling like I was being hustled. The idea of having Huncke sign the copy of Junky passed through my mind, but then I realized he didn’t write the book. He just lived it. I went back looking for him a couple of times, but never saw him again.
I find it disturbing that CORBIS owns the best pictures of Huncke via Allen Ginsburg. I’d like to think they are all somewhere laughing at the fact that their images are held by the one of the richest men in the world.
I encountered Ginsburg a few times. Once on the north side of Union Square. I recognized him and he smiled. He was just standing there. We were across the street from the old Max’s Kansas City which was now a deli. He looked like an old ghost passing through the city. The other time was at a New Year’s Day reading at the St. Mark’s church. He would be sitting there cross legged like a wise Buddha listening, always listening.
Another day when I was working on the floor at Weiser’s, a strange old man with a scrawny beard came in and started asking about books about pyramids and archeology. He had of stack of these books in his frail hands. He had glasses and a loud almost shrieking voice that got your attention instantly. He said he had a film card which gave him a discount. I am positive now that this man was Harry Smith. I believe he lived at the Chelsea Hotel at the time where he died a few years later. For those who might not know, Smith was a polymath, ethnomusicologist, filmmaker and mystic. CORBIS has Ginsburg’s photos of him too. What would they all think of our strange world now?
X.F. Pine
July 23rd, 2010 — Rants
You must always take more than you give. Your manners are always weak. You must stop saving seconds and losing lives. I swim around in an atmosphere that is so heavy it makes me scream and cry. No one is the better in it. Life is no longer easy. It is the fourth heat wave. My head is broken, my thoughts are out of step with reason. My navigation is circular. I starve and get dreadfully nervous. I question my own body. I want to get rid of my body and my head. I want to float away. I want to make peace with all that is broken. I want to be left on a mountain top like a crystal and be devoured by hawks.
I imagine the phone rings. I imagine many things. I sink into the pit. I cover myself away. I saw lighting over the city. I saw the clouds in layers. I’ve forgotten how to be lost in curiosity. People bring fear. People’s expectations bring horror. The moon rises over the Atlantic. The boardwalk is perpendicular. The slats lead to other places. It takes an immense effort to trace them. It takes strength I do not have. I remember when I did not question effort or the stream that exits my head as thoughts. I try to see the horizon. I see fortresses from angles. I consult maps. I see waves in the distance. I see rocks and fear. I feel the breeze and it’s like a drug. It caresses my skin like a sound.
I finish books in diners and my hands smell like gasoline. The waitresses are so friendly. They take care of me automatically. They smile at the most subtle things. They make arrangements. They look me in my troubled eyes. They make things I do not want vanish. .I attempt to go to the beach but feel so disoriented I cannot go near the water. I become paranoid that my phone knows I’ve been drinking and have driven. They would have to subpoena the evidence and geographic locations over time. I would lose. I make slow five hour movies of plants to confirm they move and are alive.. I need to write my own will and testament. How does anyone acknowledge worth? How does anyone retain closeness? How do people NOT question love and kindness. You have to be abandoned in the wilderness to really understand. You have to be shot out of cannon and have people catch you before you know your true worth.
X. F. Pine
November 7th, 2009 — disturbing, history
