We, the First Committee of the International Necronautical Society, declare the following:-

1.That death is a type of space, which we intend to map, enter, colonise and, eventually, inhabit.

2. That there is no beauty without death, its immanence. We shall sing death's beauty - that is, beauty.

3. That we shall take it upon us, as our task, to bring death out into the world. We will chart all its forms and media: in literature and art, where it is most apparent; also in science and culture, where it lurks submerged but no less potent for the obfuscation. We shall attempt to tap into its frequencies - by radio, the internet and all sites where its processes and avatars are active. In the quotidian, to no smaller a degree, death moves: in traffic accidents both realised and narrowly avoided; in hearses and undertakers' shops, in florists' wreaths, in butchers' fridges and in dustbins of decaying produce. Death moves in our appartments, through our television screens, the wires and plumbing in our walls, our dreams. Our very bodies are no more than vehicles carrying us ineluctably towards death. We are all necronauts, always, already.

4. Our ultimate aim shall be the construction of a craft* that will convey us into death in such a way that we may, if not live, then at least persist. With famine, war, disease and asteroid impact threatening to greatly speed up the universal passage towards oblivion, mankind's sole chance of survival lies in its ability, as yet unsynthesised, to die in new, imaginative ways. Let us deliver ourselves over utterly to death, not in desperation but rigorously, creatively, eyes and mouths wide open so that they may be filled from the deep wells of the Unknown.

*This term must be understood in the most versatile way possible.It could designate a set of practices, such as the usurpation of identities and personas of dead people, the development of specially adapted genetic or semantic codes based on the meticulous gathering of data pertaining to certain and specific deaths, the rehabilitation of sacrifice as an accepted social ritual, the perfection, patenting and eventual widespread distribution of ThanadrineTM, or, indeed, the building of an actual craft - all of the above being projects currently before the First Committee.


For more information go to INS

oh senior thesis

where have you gone? your belly is hungry, your mouth is dry, your brain is weak. your actual existence is not necessary, but oh what an accomplishment you are. the mere fact that you show your face to me makes me desire your blood. when i stare into your eyes makes me desire your passion. what can a lonely reptile do but want to create perfection. since when does an indifference and misunderstanding of technology inhibit such creativity. it nearly boils my organs to have such fingers on my soul and yet no control over which muscles they massage. 'tis a wily beast, this idea of theosophy, just ask madame blavatsky, but perhaps a more controlled idea in a focused thesis will do quite nicely. the coquettish idea of flirting with ideas and the mind struggles in my brain, and yet is not even of my brain; more having to do with universal truths and interrupting human nature for a single visit to its home norsouweseast of here. it dawns on me to just pick one, perhaps the web in your brain storms through the forest of your mind before finding a single clearing in which to lie down and die, or live if the occasion calls for it. but in the endless laws of nature, the single clearing in the forest of your mind used to be a pond, it used to be a marsh, it used to be a lake, it used to be an ocean.

as we get older our brain cells decrease, yet our memories become sharper.

as the vast ocean of information in your brain fills in to become a swamp surrounded by forest, does the information become condensed as well? what information does the surrounding forest hold in its bark and leaves? is it all the information you used to have? is it storing all of it for you so when you die it can be released with you? because you cannot get it back, the forest grows and becomes older and wiser, but you remain liquified, a mind always churning with information. the trees in the forest forever hold your forgotten thoughts, your stored emotions, your lost truths. what happens to us? what happens to our mind? the water provides no safety for our thoughts. how does our memory become so sharp, so stringent, so metallic, but it becomes so small, so so small.

it must get so condensed, so packed tightly wound up in threads, that your mind when you get older weighs a ton.

oh town of bethany beach.  

I already gave you several quarter-dollar pieces to park along your Atlantic Ave.  What's $20 more for a parking violation/honeset mistake?  Sealed in a bright orange envelope, you will join some thank-you letters and James Family CDs in a mailbox to be bundled and flown by foot downstate.

WHAT!
 
Oh Dear!

 
Och bozhe!


What happened to my quaint little neighboring town?

Hey Dad, would it be okay if I just brought them home with me?  the post office near me is seriously lacking in boxes, not like the one near Times Square somewhere on eighth avenue. 

my hands are clammy from walking around east village looking for another post office and then getting back in time to get my clothes out of the dryer.  unfortunately, I put too many clothes in the dryer because I only had a dollar for the dryer so six or seven shirts are drying currently on my bed while I sit in adam's room listening to the new animal collective record.  I cannot get over how good it is.  gosh, it is so eerily ambient and amazing.  jon mcglone, if you read this, pick up sung tongs by the animal collective, it will go with your film or it will go with bill morrison's film http://www.plexifilm.com/decasia.html. 

in other news, what would have happened if we let the Soviets control the Middle East oh so many years ago?

I need to get out of here.  Its 1:30 and I should go on an urban walkabout.  Let's try and find a good post office, eh and maybe see Le temps du loup at the theatres, oops, twenty minutes too late to catch it at the cinema village on 12th st.  perhaps, I'll just head over to kim's and try and find the latest Wire issue or maybe buy a floppy diskette to try and fix my computer.  how's about them apples?  what do you think america?  san diego?  canada?  motor city?  what do you guys think I should do today?  why not have today be an interactive day for me and the rest of you out in computerland and internetworld.  you guys tell me what to do.

oh lauren shopp. 

i love you so.  take all the doubters in the world and you still cannot match my love for you.  ooooh filled whales, how I will never forget thee.  speak to me through your gummy spout and quench my heat drenched gullet with gelatin and sugary sweet preservatives.  oh lancaster, how the double meaning of your name fills my heart with glee.  i shall miss you more than you know and more than the original inhabitors of my fortress and my countryside writhe in sweet delicious passion together when they will meet for the first time in my hungry mind.  the last time i was near either of you i spoke to a majestic and merry forest and melted in the warm sunshine of wildlife and wild natives.  not to mention the ghosts i spoke to from my shoulder and the nude landing of millions of tiny blades of grass on my feet and hands.  i welcomed your invasion upon my skin and ask you to wash away and do it again, not once, but several thousand times over a deep and spiritual journey along lonely rails.

it is i, lauren, a knight in shining silvery ribboned armor smoking a pipe and diving into the trenches for a hand that perhaps may lay upon my brow when i rest.  this little missive is filled with yearnings and heart dwellings alike.  i only want you.

oh jonathan mcglone.

fair is said to accompany harsh reality in the real world.  normality no longer breathes life into the full of breath.  and insignificance belies everything and nothing.  in fact those of us are not normal and nothing we do is insignificant.  a different world view launches a fuller, more wide-eyed bright youth in me at the moment.  i acted like a child at work today because i am in an office that does not belong to me for the week because the production director is in los angeles and the space was available while my space was returned back to another department for reassignment.  i felt like a kid because i was surrounded by people who love television.  although they were my fellow interns i did not really follow what was going on because of said love of television.  and i am not a part of that conversation, i just listened intently to try and find a single inkling of recognizable parts of speech made into words where i could interject something.  but, i understand that i have not been an avid watcher of television since the turn of the century.  good!  i do not feel good about television and i rather dislike it.  oh well.  so we sat in this office with our feet up watching a digital video disc of graduate student films from columbia university from the past graduation year of 2004.  i enjoyed them, but i bet with a different audience surrounding me i would have enjoyed them more.  now i am happy with my decision from three weeks ago to take an unopened copy of the columbia student film fest of aught three.  that indeed made me excited to get up to school to start the new year.  hey jonathan - i still have that email where you suggested watching the russian film come and see (idi i smotri) and i promise you that it will be the first thing i watch before the semester starts as soon as i get back up to school and settled. 

again i have found myself wandering in this office environment.  so many people pass by the office, so many voices talking, talking, talking, talk, talk, talk.  i cannot concentrate.  there is a window in this office that faces more cubicles.  i cannot see what is outside this building because all the blinds are closed.  jon i miss you.  i yearn to relax on a grand rapids porch in the middle of the day talking of things i hardly know anything about...

Yours is a blind/broke love.  One that fits accordingly down the sleeves but I'm a 'tall' so we might have to designate this a "special order."  42 tall, please.  Thank my Mom and Dad for my birthday blazer/sportscoat/kerchief holder in that exact size.  Thanks for the accurate and belated phone calls and text and/or instant messages.  You fit the bill for "good friends."  It's nice to enjoy a sip or two from J-Kwon's Greygoose bottle (Delaware singles take note: this is a turn-on for the crowd at the newly-opened Harry's Seafood Grille who wish to give off high-class vibes).  Ask me, ask me, ask me.

Because it's the bomb that will bring us together. 

Like I said, things are going fine.  I battled thru a rainy drive to Lancaster, Pee Ay on Sunday to see my good ol' blog buddy and his infant-poking G.  Boy, there are a lot of cows there.  And bonita waitresses at El Serrano.  But it was no Mexican Post.

You probably already knew that.  The dialogues catch up with you and you compromise to move yourself along.  Be selfish for once.  Quote The Smiths haphazardly and throw in some Aloha too.  Treat yourself.

GREETINGS [from Lancaster, Pennsylvania].

Today Chris found a pair of shoes that fit nicely and also we drank some hot apple cider with cinnamon & nutmeg. Chris was overzealous with the cinnamon & nutmeg and it was LAME. My mom is a control freak- aieeee!

Chris says in a fastidious tone, "Bill shall be coming soon, my love." He beckons me with his finger! I dare not pass that point of breaking [???]. I used to dress like a secretary in 12th grade- should I, LR SHOPP, continue with said tradition or break free from the perils of cubicles and office life? My future hangs in the folds of a large woman's stomach. And there I am finished.

Christopher, anything to say?

Not today my friends.

Byyyye you hate me I know you do. I'm sorry, this won't happen again.

Seacrest-OUT!

Poor Bobby



Those of you have watched me play chess in the past...

I just finished listening to The Double's Palm Fronds record at work at a very low level so I could not make out much except for some abrasive distortion and some lo-fi reverb buzz with some guitar and voice.

Bill, I keep pushing Adam to create a band this year, but he laughs at me foolishly. I need your help, we need to create something. Bring all of your tools and a lot of magic and I will see what I can muster. Cheers.

Chocolate covered gummy bears



Oh so much deliciousness we put in our body! And most of it unbeknownst to us when we digest. Just let the stomach and internal organs take care of it we say! Pshaw!




Uh oh Lauren, I'm watching you, you know I love cherries!

now for the annual/bi-annual/tri-annual/qui-annual/quinti-annual or sex-i-annual blog about what I see out my window! (I'm not sure how many times I do this in a given year, so, thus the extra annuals. And the last one you say, why the extra hyphen? Why kids, I do not want you to get any dirty thoughts, I am not a sex columnist nor have I perused a SI swimsuit issue in probably half a decade.)

So onto the awards...

One quick note: I am in a new place this time and actually in some one else's room. I am in New York City and in my friend/roommate Adam's room because I'm using my computer as a decorative piece only(!!!) in my room so I am using Adam's room for all of my Internet needs when I am not at work. Cheers!

All right, here is what I see out of Adam's room and other time saving news clippings:

A building across the street, a building diagonal with patio furniture and patio umbrellas on the roof along with plants and other miscellaneous objects. Then in the distance there are more buildings. Damn! That's about it. I cannot see the horizon through the fog and rain and brick. That sounds depressing. It sure is.

Hmm...I just listened to the new Animal Collective record and it sounded fabulous, a little more mellow than their last effort, but still excellent. I want to check out Avey Tare and Panda Bear's pre-Animal Collective Campfire Songs album, something tells me its very similar to Sung Tongs. Now I'm listening to Brian Eno & David Byrne's record My Life in the Bush of Ghosts. It reminds me of Jon, he loves Talking Heads and that era of music. I remember when he told me he heard My Bloody Valentine's Loveless for the first time probably three years ago and I don't think he has left that era of music since! Fine by me, I don't have a clue about that time period except for slight soundbytes of The Cure, Cocteau Twins, Joy Division, Talking Heads, etc. Ah well, maybe some day I will learn, but it might take a while.

It is raining outside. This entry is done. I do not have the mental capacity.

Please take this concept into consideration



Ah the joys of understanding fashion. Don't worry, those tongue-in-cheek police will hawk you into falconing your condor into an alabaster albatross seagulling a wood-carved eaglet in Archaeopteryx Tree Field Pond. Also, don't worry because television is protecting this area! What kind of ugg-bollocking bally-hoo is that nonsense. No cheers go to swallowing whole the entire area for television and greedy pixels. Nein! Sprechen mein Deutsch freund. Or is it "meine Deutsche freund"? Perhaps Fraulein Baker could help me out with such a phrase. Nyet! Govoritye moy russki droog. Or is it something else? Perhaps gospodiin ili tovarish Jesperson could help me out with such a phrase. Or should I be more formal and use Joshua and his patryonimic, but I do not know his father's name. Rats. Oh well.



Today I went and got lunch for the president of Spike TV(television) and I was quite confident in my job doing such. I have yet to get comfortable with this job. Maybe its because I'm the only intern without my own desk. Or maybe its because I share intern duties with a nice guy, but he's been here two months longer than I have and staying two weeks longer than I am. Weird. Gladly I'm graduating before him so he cannot compete with me in the job market, although he is a very nice fellow and has a bright future ahead of him in whatever passion his heart takes him. The weather outside is slightly hotter than somewhere in the United States right now, and much muggier and much uglier. The cityscape is quite dirty and ugly like a clown with a spraygun. I'm quite intimidated and afraid by all that I see here. Bums with voices like angels sing Mozart operettas and short motown soul vignettes on the subway. I would give them money but I've been walking around with less than three dollars in my pocket for a little over a week now and I'm scared by the dried blood on their shoes and hands. Although they are well spoken, polite, and have nicely trimmed beards. I wonder if they are just students performing in a broadway play and look much older than they are supposed to. Maybe its a lone drifters dream to peddle the rest of his life and see if he can be the ultimate human by surviving in old fort towns and city streets. Maybe I'm him...