zensolo’s e-mailed chronicles posted by morituri.

Archive for November, 2000

November 20th 2000

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stephen dedalus says in th ulysses,
‘history is a nightmare from which i’m trying to awake’
well, @ this point in what is arguably th end of human history as western
civilization has conceptualised it since th renaissance & th ‘enlightenment’,
technology is th inescapable, recurrent nightmare i find myself bogged in.
after a second trip to th repair shop, an acrimonious telephone conversation
w/ a reticent tech, & over a month of waiting around, th best sony can do is
tacitly admit there is a problem in sending power, data & audio signals thru
th one cable & pc card connection by enclosing an audio cable to make a
separate connection between th ‘line out’ & ‘line in’ terminals…d-uh.
meanwhile, th problem i only noticed for th second trip out- th screen that
dims thirty seconds from booting when i run th laptop on battery power-
continues unabated. who do i go to? better business bureau? lawyers? i’m
exhausted, @ th end of my emotional & financial ropes.
it’s a choice between letting mike tyler, poet in residence @ th carlton
arms, ‘lease’ th machine from me if he cares to struggle w/ sony, inc. in new
york, or bringing it w/ me & take my chances on puerto rico sony service
shops & th extended international warranty i paid a couple of hundred extra
dollars for…
it’s gonna be a workout, exercising my thankfulness this thanksgiving. john @
th hotel threw out some nice french cheeses i bought for a dinner party i was
supposed to help organise & cook for yesterday…he did peevishly dismiss my
chagrin by assuring me he wd pay for them. let’s see if it’s not a major
operation, having him keep his word…
i miss november in weimar, & th soft, dusty-flaked snow coming down lightly
but steadily every night as i walked back from th railway station when th
internet cafe closed @ midnight…
i miss november in barcelona, & th blustery drizzle of mediterranean autumn
blowing down th narrow streets of el barrio gotico…
‘love, love/i have hung our cave w/ roses’

(along w/ my continuing infatuation w/ sylvia plath, i have fallen in love
w/ th intense & personal photographic work of francesca woodman, who jumped
out of her apartment in th east village in 1981, @ th age of 22-)

Written by morituri

November 20th, 2000 at 7:51 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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