knock your halo all over me
"ding dang dong"
(*) music: Electronica
(*) game: roller coaster tycoon
(*) career: palmpilot painter
some of
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summer '96


96 97 98 99




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(do it yourself)

not just justin:

thanks cyborganic

busy with paying work and bbqing america,
i make june 28th - notes on cat lust and notes on web99 online lounge where i was last week unavailable to nearly everyone i know.

doug block's home page the movie plays on HBO "signature" (HBO for special people or something) this month, so i am ever more thrust back into my own armpit 1996

red suit hair while i pledged then with so much confidence to always believe in everything i held true as a diarrhist i am increasingly weary of participating in promoting this thing - "justin, can we interview about DBHP?" "sure." "what happened to your hair? do you still have it?" "what made you want to talk about your life online?" "did anyone ever mind?"

and then a client calls up and says that his dad saw the movie and can't believe he's working with me or something. and i say sure i participated and talked and i'm sure there's all sorts of blessings, i got to learn interesting things about filmmaking and see into another community. carbonite encased figure but all of a sudden i realize that i'm changing, i'm growing, and the young man in the film is some kind of figure encased in carbonite that is only freed within the hearts of web-diarists waiting to happen and folks who are looking for one kind of axe to grind or another

the other night i was at a party (a friend of a friend of this guy) and someone put on some jungle music. i was feeling loose and languid, i danced, and then i began to realize, something strange is going to emerge soon, a further mutation permutation of this already bizarre necklace of beats and will i find myself jigglable in time with that too? i realized i wonder if i will be knowing what "the kids" know for very long. heck, it's probably gabber or speed garage or something and i'm already so thoroughly out of the loop. which is why i can now be paid to be a writer. if you're truly in the loop, you don't have time to write about why it's so cool. because you have to spend too much time doing translation. (bud keeps me somewhat in the know, and i have nice friends who share lottamusic)

i like receiving mail from all sorts of folks all over the place, but i feel too curmudgeonly and busy to reply well. it's nice to hear from far distant friends that glimpse you on TV, and we often re)kindle correspondence for some brief glowing moment of memory and possibility, but eventually unconsciously, whatever force had worked its way between me and that person begins again and i find myself in contact with no more people than i was before. except that i have noted where i might think to stay when next i visit L.A., but by the time i'm ready to go it's been so long corresponding that it really would be rude to email them on such short notice just about that. so maybe i'd better actually work some more so i can afford to put myself up and just see them for lunch? work

i love making my web pages, helping other people make web pages, talking about web pages with people, learning about things and making web pages about them, and sharing my studies and experiences with technology for money. but now i feel like i'm a writer, and a bbq chef, and a gardener, and nearly gasp a husband sometimes. it's strange - i feel like any other obnoxious man, especially wearing my "i'm just a sun on the beach" powder blue wife-beater with cut off "branders" brand shorts from grampa, yelling at amy and calling her friends "crazy bitches" and other epithets equally unoriginal but absolutely heartfelt.

really most of my social life consists of hanging around local oakland artists, which is its own narrowcasted view on the world, and subject for another daze writing.

i spend most of my time in a little world augmented by computer communication but still undeniably physically based in my girl and my garden. this week i took leftover concrete fragments from the destroyed porch and built an altar by the side of a creek below me. i spend a lot of time here and i like it. amy read to me a quote from the sunday new york times' magazine about stanley kubrick that reminded her of me:

CHRISTIANE KUBRICK: He thought it was boring away from home. He liked all his stuff around him, all his telephones and televisions and fax machines. Also, we have a zoo. We have a lot of animals and he liked those and he liked the children and later the grandchildren. He liked being at home. But not like a hermit -- he had lots of friends -- they just weren't in the film business. He talked to everyone -- he just didn't talk to the press.

(more the first part she said)

recently i've missed some press queries, questions for articles about doug's film. i have the feeling that i end up being potrayed more poorly for not answering their queries. or portrayed not at all. which begins to appear as a sort of blessing to me.

5 july
28 june

justin hoo?