Saturday, March 27, 2004

This is a test.

On a whole new provider, Doc40 enters a whole new phase this Saturday morning. The last few days have not been nice and I have learned a whole lot about the bowels of the corporate culture. The gods help us all, it really isn’t nice either, but that’s nothing new, except I’ve made it this far on a kind of winsome charm and brute psychology, and that ain’t gonna play much longer, because the portals will be guarded by goons who never deviate from the script (which doesn’t take too much perception to recognize as fascism in Nikes.) So the battle will be rejoined with some new cyber toys, and maybe speculation as to how the corps can be thwarted. TTC – Thwart The Corp. On this theme all thoughts are welcome.

I still have to figure it all these new and unfamiliar screens right now, and so this post should be looked on as something of a test, and we will proceed with the real thing with increasing vigor and panache.

In the meantime, here’s a poem about hangovers that some of you may have heard before. It was inspired by a cocktail involving tequila mixed by Eric, the bartender at Canters in Hollywood...


Room 101
A ratcage on my face
The pain is close indescribable
The horror, the horror
Last night I took a ride
In Diabolo's Cadillac

Morning is beyond the drapes
And demons wrench at my eyelids
With steel pliers
Blessed Virgin just show me mercy
Or give me a Valium
Last night I took a ride
In Diabolo's Cadillac

My brain is as dry and shrivelled
As a motherless sponge
And I dread the ultimate re-entry
Of the blood
When the torture of the damned
Will resemble a bright day at the beach
Last night I took a ride
In Diabolo's Cadillac

Jesus, God, give me a break here will you?
It's only a chemical analogue
For those two old dogs
Pleasure and retribution
I've heard that twelve steps
Can lead to salvation
But I also recall that one more
Will take you to the gallows
I don't need a stinking program
Just a remission from guilt
And some show about hitler
On the History Channel
While I collect my scattered senses
Last night I took a ride
In Diabolo's Cadillac

CRYPTIQUEThere really is never a penguin when you need one.

Friday, March 26, 2004


Okay, so it turns out to be one more day running on impulse power. Serious insomnia plus a weirdass dream about Ozzie Osbourne dropping dead at my feet (I swear) meant I really only made it through the remains of the day on grass and guarana, and did not feel sufficiently coordinated to refigure the warp drive. Metaphoric dilitium crystals can turn nasty on the tired and stoned.

Also TCM showed a unfuckedwith version of Norman Jewison's original Rollerball with James Caan, and I decided, since I haven't seen the film in yarons, I should be considered a cultural override on all levels. And, boy, has it stood the test of time. Aside from a really stupid 64k scene with Raph Richardson and a huge compter, the 1970s vision corportate totalitarianism in 2018 wholly holds water. The plan seems to be coming true before our eyes. The imagined exectutive pleasure girls even had the same smug vacuuity we see in the face of Paris Hilton.

Tomorrow I will brave the labyrinth of a new internet provider and all that may entail, even though the changing of the passwords alone is daunting.

CRYPTIQUE -- Wandering bootheels?

Thursday, March 25, 2004

"NEVER OFFER EXCUSES..." shows weakness." Wasn't it Gen. George Patton who said that (played by George C. Scott in the movie)? Well, I'll quit my crying about unwinable battles with AOL because you're all probably sick of hearing about it, and, I hope, by tomorrow, I'll have installed a new provider which I naively think will all go as advertized, and the Doc40 subversion-cyberparty will no longer be in emergency mode, and I'll can roll out all the great stuff on conspiracy and elk milk. I must thank all the crew who've emailed concern and encouragement, lead by HCB who shot me over me a bit from Salon that confirmed all of my worst fears and most acute observations as to how corporate tech support is little short of consumer fraud, and no CEO gives a rat's ass about a vital infrastructure or nation communication resources.

I was going to leave you with a handcrafted link to LA CityBeat and my latest TV diatribe against Jay Leno, but -- although flatteringly strapped on the cover of the print edition -- whatever genius updates the LACB website forgot to post it. Maybe excuses will be offered. Who knows?

Hell, if I was a paranoid as I used to be, I'd probably go back on drugs...

...but what the fuck? (And there is a load of fine readin' in the archives over yonder on the right.)

CRYPTIQUE -- Yarbles.

Wednesday, March 24, 2004


My battle with AOL goes on, but I'm learning to be calm. I reject anger even though this mega-corp will not allow me to talk to a human being about the problems their systems failure and fragmenting programs are causing me. I will not be consumed by fury, and I will not contemplate a suicide attack on their corporate headquarters, or employing dark, Lovecraftian forces to conjure deformities among their empolyees. I am learning patience.

Fast LEB Emergency Fact -- Our President was once a cheerleader.

CRYPTIQUE -- And if you believe the above...

Tuesday, March 23, 2004

WRITER LOSES MIND (But We Shall Be Revenged)

This is actually well past being funny. After the best part of a week on the phone to AOL, I now realise that their outsourced tech support is not a matter of fixing anything, but simply processing as many complainants through the system as possible by convincing them that the problem is nothing to do with AOL. They simply lie. It's rather like the HMO principle of starting by denying all claims. I can only think I now have to enter the nightmare of signing up with another provider and all the time comnsuming bullshit that entails.

Meanwhile good stuff piles up unpasted and unposted. But, in this wretched situation, I can at least leave you with a couple of links, as the one to the report on the death (murder?) of Athan Gibbs who was attempting to expose the possibility of the fixing of the Diebolt voting machines. (And after you've read the story recall that Karen Silkwood went to same way.)

And also a truly weird cybergraphic.

CRYPTIQUE -- I hate this

Monday, March 22, 2004



For any one who knows about these things, the AOL controls on the emergency AOL 6 I have to use since AOL 9 crashed, will not paste into Blogger. (Although it will cut.) Anyone who knows what's up with that email me a