Winter Gathering: here; this weekend.

The Beat Brothers Part Deux

Silliman: Lee's driving a Mercedes now. I'm pretty sure he's The Man. You know, not as in, "You're the man!" but-
August: Capital T, capital M The Man.
Silliman: Right.

Pause, then simultaneously

August: He bought in.
Silliman: He sold out.
August: Dude, he didn't sell out. He bought in. "Selling out" entails using a former way of life and/or friends for profit.
Silliman: He didn't buy in! He was born in! He sold his soul! That's what he sold out!

Pause.

August: I think we need to post this.
Silliman: I was thinking the same thing, and I would, but I just posted.
August: I'll do it.
Silliman: Represent me fairly.

August, typing, remembers back to the weekend Bob maced him in the face, and the words Bob spoke drunkenly to Lee Nunn during the Hunter S. Thompson weekend-o-rama ring in August's ears: "As your attorney I advise you to buy a fast car with no top."

August: I guess Lee Nunn took that advice to heart.

The Beat Brothers

Scene: The Beat, quasi-clean, after dinner.

Silliman: My transcripts have to be in Atlanta tomorrow.
August: Atlanta?
Silliman: We have two packs of cigarettes, a dozen beers, a quarter tank of gas, we're wearing sunglasses and it's dark.
August: I think we can make it.
Silliman: Hit it.

Down w/ the past

For the first time in a long time/forever, there is order and sense to the kitchen cabinets at the Beat.

Early Christmas Eve

"So I've been wearing a viking helmet and smoking cigarettes and shooting August with an airsoft gun. It practically is a party. Except all the beer bottles are empty." -- Silliman

August, after waking up from a 20-hour nap:

"I had this dream where you, me, Dan Greene, Jack Hittenger, a terrier and Tom Waits were trashing Saga. Jack was apparently feeling vindictive and kept shouting that we were doing "random acts of terrierism" and then Dan Greene hit him. Tom Waits kept talking in his weird-ass voice about how he had done this stuff for 20 years."

Indeed, what is dada?

Schnaugs

The thing about living with just August - with the rest of you off Happy Holidaying - is that one day he'll appear and be saying "what's for dinner" and give you a 20 minute discussion of Weber on Melville and then you won't see him again for days. It's weird, the sporaticness. And also his mom kinda freaked me out.


Is there any consensus on the prefered late-December holiday(s) well-wishing from the Beat? Merry X-kwananukkamas?

So not true

"Undergrad presentations are no place for experimentations in slant rhyme."
        - Dan Greene

Microsoft Office has given me an early dose of home.

Spellcheck is apparently set on appalachian mode--below is the sentence it suggested:

"With them fingers close my eyes."

Ryan, I order you to write a song.

P.S. I just spellchecked this message; spellcheck doesn't recognise itself.

Oh the void.

I had a dream...

that we started this club were we sat around and watched videos of suicide bombers all day and Dave kept saying, "well, at least we're not those guys!"

Not only is the Void staring back...it is also making funny faces.

Courtesy of Farnham: a slogan off.

Current idea at the Beat: write ourselves and/or the Beat into Wikipedia.

Gibs, after some sort of revelatory experience involving a buggy and train, is starting a counter movement. The Beat will soon be devided into two factions - The Voids and The Absurds.

The void

"Picture a number of men in chains, and all condemned to death; each day some are strangled in the sight of the rest; those who remain see their own condition in that of their fellows, looking at one another with sorrow and without hope, each awaiting his turn. This is the picture of the condition of man."
        - Pascal

Evan's Fingers Be Lightning, John's Drums Be a Cannon, and Kyle's Bass Blows Our Collective Asses Out

An acrid pall is hanging over our basement, thick with a loathesome doom. It smells of beer, melted tubes and fire. Like a war. Like a firefight. The whole house is hemorrhaging sound as Midnight Special rocks the revolution.

Two double-deuces of Steel Reserve is cheaper than a forty, FYI.

The summit of void is insurmountable.

Since posting Toothpaste for Dinner comics seems to be the flavor of the week, here's one for the beat.

Blackout '05
Beatniks in the dark.