Note to SCK
Nikolaus Maack
wants to meet face to face? Email me for an address to send it to. You
could mail me a canvas at the same time, for a Freud portrait.
By the way, you have 9 hours and 10 minutes to place a bid on my L. Ron
Hubbard painting, you cheap son of a bitch. I thought you were rich.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
http://cgi.ebay.com/aw-cgi/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=465980432
Nik
--
"I dote on myself. There is a lot of me, and all so luscious." -- Whitman
The Nik Maack Art Gallery
http://www.nikart.com
SCK
> Why don't you mail me the Freud book, seeing as how neither of us actually
> wants to meet face to face? Email me for an address to send it to. You
> could mail me a canvas at the same time, for a Freud portrait.
>
I have vaguely been waiting for your date with Dre. I'm trying to turn
her into a book mule. Let me know if you need me to arrange your meeting
for you.
> By the way, you have 9 hours and 10 minutes to place a bid on my L. Ron
> Hubbard painting, you cheap son of a bitch. I thought you were rich.
> What the fuck is wrong with you?
>
The simple answer is that I have absolutely no desire to own your L. Ron
Hubbard collage. If you were aiming to get me to buy one of your
paintings, you picked the absolute last one I would have wanted from
your entire webpage. Anyway, aren't you happy with the $600?
Nikolaus Maack
> I have vaguely been waiting for your date with Dre. I'm trying to turn
> her into a book mule. Let me know if you need me to arrange your meeting
> for you.
As far as I can tell, I will not be meeting Dre any time in the near
future. She lives on another planet or something. So peel a twenty or
two off your vast wealth, hand the book and a canvas to Canada post, and
let them deal with your problems.
> The simple answer is that I have absolutely no desire to own your L. Ron
> Hubbard collage. If you were aiming to get me to buy one of your
> paintings, you picked the absolute last one I would have wanted from
> your entire webpage.
I wasn't aiming to get you to buy it -- just bid on it. I'll have
another, cheaper work up soonish. Trying to decide which one is a bitch.
> Anyway, aren't you happy with the $600?
I would be much happier with $10,000 and the Church of Scientology
stalking me from sophisticated art showing to sophisticated art showing.
SCK
> As far as I can tell, I will not be meeting Dre any time in the near
> future. She lives on another planet or something. So peel a twenty or
> two off your vast wealth, hand the book and a canvas to Canada post, and
> let them deal with your problems.
>
It's a shame that every obstacle is so insurmountable to you and yet
easy for me to solve. You can have your date with Dre any time from
Thursday to Sunday. How about Saturday afternoon? If it escapes your
decisive abilities to name a place, I can pick one of those for you,
too.
> I wasn't aiming to get you to buy it -- just bid on it. I'll have
> another, cheaper work up soonish. Trying to decide which one is a bitch.
>
I didn't want to accidentally win your L. Ron Hubbard collage and then
have to pay you for something I have no interest in displaying. I'll
watch for your next one. However, it seems vaguely important that
eventually some of your art ought to be bought for its innate quality
and not out of good will. You ignored me when I pointed out to you in
your righteous forgetfulness that I did commission a whole series of
portraits from you as my encouragement.
> I would be much happier with $10,000 and the Church of Scientology
> stalking me from sophisticated art showing to sophisticated art showing.
>
When is your next sophisticated art showing? I will be there. I guess
maybe a better question is, when is Richter going to become so
exasperated by your laziness that he organizes it for you?
Nikolaus Maack
> It's a shame that every obstacle is so insurmountable to you and yet
> easy for me to solve. You can have your date with Dre any time from
> Thursday to Sunday. How about Saturday afternoon? If it escapes your
> decisive abilities to name a place, I can pick one of those for you,
> too.
You make the mistake of assuming that my Saturday afternoons are free to
woo your girlfriend. Again, I propose you mail me the book. Problem
solved. If we do it my way, I don't have to risk stealing Dre away from
you and sodomizing her in some sleazy motel. I'll leave that chore to
Jim.
> However, it seems vaguely important that
> eventually some of your art ought to be bought for its innate quality
> and not out of good will.
That day came and went many moons ago. I've sold art work to many
complete strangers over the internet.
> You ignored me when I pointed out to you in
> your righteous forgetfulness that I did commission a whole series of
> portraits from you as my encouragement.
I once said I would help you build your deck. Then I did so. You once
said you'd comission a piece of artwork from me. You never did. See the
difference? You've always been all talk.
"Oh, oh, but YOU could have done something about it, Nik!"
Yes, I could have.
But as I said before: many of my friends have DONE things to help. You've
done a lot of talking. Some of it, admittedly, useful. But all of it
just talking.
Ask me for a mailing address in email. Mail me the book. Prove me wrong.
> When is your next sophisticated art showing? I will be there. I guess
> maybe a better question is, when is Richter going to become so
> exasperated by your laziness that he organizes it for you?
It's not laziness -- it's cowardice. Get your facts straight when you
insult me, sir.
Dre
Nikolaus Maack wrote:
> SCK (s...@igs.net) writes:
> > It's a shame that every obstacle is so insurmountable to you and yet
> > easy for me to solve. You can have your date with Dre any time from
> > Thursday to Sunday. How about Saturday afternoon? If it escapes your
> > decisive abilities to name a place, I can pick one of those for you,
> > too.
>
> You make the mistake of assuming that my Saturday afternoons are free to
> woo your girlfriend. Again, I propose you mail me the book. Problem
> solved. If we do it my way, I don't have to risk stealing Dre away from
> you and sodomizing her in some sleazy motel. I'll leave that chore to
> Jim.
Nik - ew. I'm stuttering ews out uncontrollably, they are spilling out of my
mouth, hobbling down the stairs, filling the rooms. And no, they don't look
like sheep.
Nikolaus Maack
> Nik - ew. I'm stuttering ews out uncontrollably, they are spilling out of my
> mouth, hobbling down the stairs, filling the rooms. And no, they don't look
> like sheep.
Do they look like large, red eels? I ask because I am a Freudian, and
read far too much into everything.
Dre
Nikolaus Maack wrote:
> Dre (dra...@hotmail.com) writes:
> > Nik - ew. I'm stuttering ews out uncontrollably, they are spilling out of my
> > mouth, hobbling down the stairs, filling the rooms. And no, they don't look
> > like sheep.
>
> Do they look like large, red eels? I ask because I am a Freudian, and
> read far too much into everything.
Figures you'd be a Freudian. Much better to explain away your anal fixation with
his phase theories rather than admit that you simply like assholes.
No, the ews don't look like eels. They look like little L. Ron Hubbard collages.
(mwahaha)
SCK
> You make the mistake of assuming that my Saturday afternoons are free to
> woo your girlfriend. Again, I propose you mail me the book. Problem
> solved. If we do it my way, I don't have to risk stealing Dre away
It doesn't have to be Saturday afternoon, surely the fast-paced world of
nannydom lets up sometime. I thought you had a Starry Night poster for
her? I thought you wanted her to have it, and not just use it as an
opportunity to post about?
> I once said I would help you build your deck. Then I did so. You once
> said you'd comission a piece of artwork from me. You never did. See the
> difference? You've always been all talk.
>
I'm not sure you understand the process of commissioning. I commissioned
a series of paintings from you. We agreed on a price in e-mail. The
first one was for a 'Che Guevara'. That *is* commissioning. The next
step is yours. Is it done? Where is it?
Dre
SCK
>
> You're at home, aren't you? I know you are. Naughty.
>
It is probably not a coincidence that my Caligula DVD arrived in the
mail today.
Dre
SCK wrote:
Are you dreaming of your golden beard? Looking for the Temples of
Fortune? Sipping Caesars? Wondering why the Gods hath marked your face
so fortuitously, so that you may remain in their favour whilst you drop
out of everyone else's?
JHall
> You're at home, aren't you? I know you are. Naughty.
Recovering no doubt.
JHall
> ...
> Nik - ew. I'm stuttering ews out uncontrollably, they are spilling out of my
> mouth, hobbling down the stairs, filling the rooms. And no, they don't look
> like sheep.
I do hope you read the change I made to Nik's post.
You write that they are not sheep then why do they smell like sheep ?
Baaa Bleet Baaa
Dre
JHall wrote:
> Hey dinky-doo
>
I ain't no Dinky-doo-
If anyone, that's you,
with your "oweewaaoo-ooos"
and your "I'll be there for yous"
All us human beany-poos
know you'll only every lose
When your campaign trail's a fool's
way of MANUFACTURING CONSENT.
> On Mon, 23 Oct 2000, Dre wrote:
>
> > Are you dreaming of your golden beard? Looking for the Temples of
> > Fortune? Sipping Caesars? Wondering why the Gods hath marked your face
> > so fortuitously, so that you may remain in their favour whilst you drop
> > out of everyone else's?
>
> Those were not gods but mere mortals with feet of clay.
Alrighteepoo.
JHall
Nikolaus Maack
> It doesn't have to be Saturday afternoon, surely the fast-paced world of
> nannydom lets up sometime. I thought you had a Starry Night poster for
> her? I thought you wanted her to have it, and not just use it as an
> opportunity to post about?
You haven't talked to Dre about this subject recently. I suggest you do
so. It will clear things up.
JHall
> SCK (s...@igs.net) writes:
> > It doesn't have to be Saturday afternoon, surely the fast-paced world of
> > nannydom lets up sometime. I thought you had a Starry Night poster for
> > her? I thought you wanted her to have it, and not just use it as an
> > opportunity to post about?
>
> You haven't talked to Dre about this subject recently. I suggest you do
> so. It will clear things up.
Ahhh Nik you romantic you.
You mailed it to a friend who has a friend who has a friend who is an
acquaintance of an acquaintance to sck and this acquaintance got
dinky-doo's address from sck and then mailed the poster to
dinky-doo-doo-pooh.
Dinky would have told sck but has not found a reason to do so YET.
Remember sck and dinky-doo require a reason, no, the perfect reason
(planned with every possibility covered) before proceeding with
life's next step.
sck will find out 'cause gossip swirls when he walks and when he talks.
SCK
> You haven't talked to Dre about this subject recently. I suggest you do
> so. It will clear things up.
>
We don't really talk about you.
You didn't answer whether you felt there was a miscommunication when I
commissioned a portrait of El Che.
Dre
Your blathering is irritating, and on a better day I might be able to dismiss it
as being the banter of a grey-headed banshee (oooweeewaaooo), bent on
sermonizing his life's philosophy with berserk anecdotes he thinks represent the
hallowed lives of those around him.
Today, however, you deserve a swift Fuck Off.
JHall wrote:
> On 24 Oct 2000, Nikolaus Maack wrote:
>
> > SCK (s...@igs.net) writes:
> > > It doesn't have to be Saturday afternoon, surely the fast-paced world of
> > > nannydom lets up sometime. I thought you had a Starry Night poster for
> > > her? I thought you wanted her to have it, and not just use it as an
> > > opportunity to post about?
> >
> > You haven't talked to Dre about this subject recently. I suggest you do
> > so. It will clear things up.
>
Nikolaus Maack
> We don't really talk about you.
I wasn't suggesting you and Dre should talk about me. God forbid. I was
suggesting you talk about "Starry Night" and all that it implies. But I
think you knew that.
> You didn't answer whether you felt there was a miscommunication when I
> commissioned a portrait of El Che.
I didn't bother because it was a misdirection on your part.
I said, "Steve, all you do is talk, you never act."
Your response was, "I asked you to do a paintings of Che, didn't I?
Perhaps you don't understand how commissioning a painting works."
Or words to that effect. (If I had the technological know-how, I would
underline the word "words" in the previous sentence.)
Your response does not logically follow from what I said. You can make an
argument that it does -- "Words are actions, Nik!" -- but I believe that
would be further misdirection on your part.
My train of thought for you, for today, is: why do you spend so much time
telling people what they should be doing, offering them unasked for
advice, burying them in words, when you could teach them far more,
encourage them far more, by acting? On those rare occasions that you do
claim you've taken an action, you're usually claiming that you acted
through someone else. An agent of some kind. I think that is an attempt
to take credit for someone else's abilities, but never mind that.
The rest of the actions you take seem to occur -- pardon me for raising
this subject once more -- when you're drunk. I hear many stories from you
about the exciting things you did while under the influence. What kind of
exciting things do you do when sober?
Are you never tempted to calculatedly reach out, into the real world, the
world beyond mere words, and take an action that has some kind of an
effect? Something that reinforces your words, shows that you mean
business, that you're not some kind of fluffy cloud in the sky that will
never touch the ground?
Answer these questions -- if you'd like to -- in any way you see fit.
Answer from a personal standpoint, a philosophical one, or what have you.
I'll even accept a response that involves interpretive dance. In fact, I
think I would encourage that form of response most of all. Mail me a
videotape.
It occurs to me that I could trivially find your mailing address in the
phone book. It might be amusing to send you something. Presumably you
could do the same with me, were you actually interested in mailing the
Freud book to my current address.
I note that you dropped this subject, almost as if the thought of taking
an action weighs heavilly upon you, and you are loathe to so much as
discuss it. Have you noticed that the people around you, the ones we
might describe as "being asleep", hate to *DO* anything? Instead they are
always talking about what they might like to do, someday, if only they had
the talent, the energy, if only they weren't so very tired, so asleep.
Laur
> JHall wrote:
>
> > Hey dinky-doo
> >
>
> I ain't no Dinky-doo-
> If anyone, that's you,
> with your "oweewaaoo-ooos"
> and your "I'll be there for yous"
>
> All us human beany-poos
> know you'll only every lose
> When your campaign trail's a fool's
> way of MANUFACTURING CONSENT.
I didn't think you actually drank Dre. You're much more sensible sober.
Dre
Laur wrote:
I was sober. Now you see why I don't drink.
Think of how much worse that could have been.
Nikolaus Maack
> Mr. James Hall;
[snip]
> Today, however, you deserve a swift Fuck Off.
Well, now he knows he's hit a nerve -- doesn't he? How strange that
"Starry Night" is still a nerve, and it seems that it always will be. I
suppose every couple has its issues, its symbols. Let me ponder the
symbols that have stuffed the love affairs of my past...
In no particular order:
Two female cats. A red T-shirt. Strathcona park. Some computer files
that were deleted "accidentally". A certain shirt she wore that didn't
button up quite right, exposing curves of her braless breasts. Cheating
-- of course. A chinese restaurant. The Internet -- of course.
Feminism. Another red shirt, and also a blue one, both made of rough
silk. Writing. Cooking. Reading. Laziness. Libraries. The Mayflower
II restaurant. The National Gallery. A certain dress that was very
revealing.
I'm trying to think if any specific paintings are important. I think that
Modigliani's portrait of Soutine might have some relevance. "Alleluia",
by that group of seven artist who did abstracts. I can never remember his
name. A painting of some buildings, that hangs in the National Gallery --
sitting there and looking at it for a long time with her and her friends.
I can't think of any other ones, off the top of my head.
JHall
On 24 Oct 2000, Nikolaus Maack wrote:
> ...
>
> My train of thought for you, for today, is: why do you spend so much time
> telling people what they should be doing, offering them unasked for
> advice, burying them in words, when you could teach them far more,
> encourage them far more, by acting? On those rare occasions that you do
> claim you've taken an action, you're usually claiming that you acted
> through someone else. An agent of some kind. I think that is an attempt
> to take credit for someone else's abilities, but never mind that.
>
> The rest of the actions you take seem to occur -- pardon me for raising
> this subject once more -- when you're drunk. I hear many stories from you
> about the exciting things you did while under the influence. What kind of
> exciting things do you do when sober?
>
> Are you never tempted to calculatedly reach out, into the real world, the
> world beyond mere words, and take an action that has some kind of an
> effect? Something that reinforces your words, shows that you mean
> business, that you're not some kind of fluffy cloud in the sky that will
> never touch the ground?
>
> ...
> discuss it. Have you noticed that the people around you, the ones we
> might describe as "being asleep", hate to *DO* anything? Instead they are
> always talking about what they might like to do, someday, if only they had
> the talent, the energy, if only they weren't so very tired, so asleep.
or so full of themselves such that a view point becomes a personal matter
and one that they must demolish or fight to prove is correct should it
even exist.
SCK
> I wasn't suggesting you and Dre should talk about me. God forbid. I was
> suggesting you talk about "Starry Night" and all that it implies. But I
> think you knew that.
>
No, I didn't know that, I don't even believe it. I merely observed in a
sad kind of way that everything I accused you of then - at the point
that you bought the painting - still holds true. You bought a painting
that you claimed was for kindness, yet the painting is still somewhere
in the attic growing fungus, although you have already milked your act
for every possible self-gratuity, and are doing it still. That you can
act so completely without awareness astounds me, and that is why I have
been trying to remove every obstacle to your giving the painting to Dre:
because your every stupid, flimsy and vacuous refusal proves that giving
it to her was never your intent. Get it? I will *help in every way I
can* for you to achieve your stated purpose of giving the poster to Dre
because you wanted her to have it. The only obstacle now is you. Do you
understand? I am calling your bluff. The farther and farther you retreat
now from your original assertion, how inconvenient it is, etc. is just
amazing.
The only thing that would make this in any way un-pathetic is if you
didn't even buy the painting at all, that you made it all up. If you
know you're never going to act on your purported agenda, then the
amusing fact is, there doesn't even need to be a poster. There doesn't
even have to be a poster-seller at the University. Nothing needs to
exist for real - if your only motive was to post and reap the whirlwind.
And also, of course, because I want Dre to meet you. I am going to
cherish my opportunity to play Owen Meany as the Ghost of Christmas
Future.
> > You didn't answer whether you felt there was a miscommunication when I
> > commissioned a portrait of El Che.
>
> I didn't bother because it was a misdirection on your part.
>
It wasn't misdirection, I honestly don't have a clue what more of an act
you expected me to take. I commissioned the painting. We agreed on the
subject (Che Guevara) and the price. That *IS* an act. What else am I
supposed to do? Sit behind you and physically make you paint it? So all
I can ask you - again - is, where is the painting? Why didn't you paint
it?
I also gave you a lap-top because I thought it would give you more
opportunity to write. I also read your novel and gave you a critique.
Are neither of those acts, either? I asked you to edit my novel at the
same time. Did you? No.
The rest of your message is especially humourous to me because, A) it
goes on to argue that I should act instead of talk, which is just
parroting my advice to you; and B) it again high-lights your obsession
with drunkenness. I do more sober than drunk.
I act encouragingly all the time, we are just at odds over what
constitutes viable, useful encouragement. If I think someone should
paint, I encourage them verbally to paint, I give them a canvas and some
paint. I do that, but I don't paint the picture for them. If I think
someone should write, I encourage them by reading what they have written
and showing them that I did by explaining what worked for me as a reader
and did not. I try to be helpful so that they can develop, I don't write
it for them.
You could learn something from my dentist. He has a plaque in his office
that reads,
"Tell me and I forget,
teach me and I remember,
involve me and I learn."
I think it is a quote from Ben Franklin. My encouragements to you have
always had the nature of the last: I show you my interest by
commissioning your art (which I did), giving you tools (the lap-top),
and being interested enough to follow through (reading your manuscript),
but I don't paint the picture or write the novel for you. Unfortunately,
all you really want is a hand-out.
You want to market yourself, but do you learn from the process of doing
it yourself? No, Richter does it for you. You want to be an artist, but
when I commission your work, and when Laurie commissions you work, and
when Larry commissions your work, do you paint them? No. Did you paint
any of them? No. The only ones you will paint are the ones where someone
stands behind your back and nags the fuck out of you through sheer
repetitiveness. Next you will be sending me irate e-mails that your
mayoral campaign is a failure because I don't go out and run for mayor
for you.
Geoffrey Dow
Nikolaus Maack wrote:
>
> SCK (s...@igs.net) writes:
> > You didn't answer whether you felt there was a miscommunication when I
> > commissioned a portrait of El Che.
>
> I didn't bother because it was a misdirection on your part.
>
> I said, "Steve, all you do is talk, you never act."
>
> Your response was, "I asked you to do a paintings of Che, didn't I?
> Perhaps you don't understand how commissioning a painting works."
Did SCK or did SCK not commission that painting? If he did, why
haven't you delivered it?
--
********************************************************************************
Geoffrey Dow - "His Name Was Dog", Posted September 10, 2000
http://www.themestream.com/gspd_browse/author/view_author_info.gsp?auth_id=87179
********************************************************************************
Nikolaus Maack
> That you can
> act so completely without awareness astounds me, and that is why I have
> been trying to remove every obstacle to your giving the painting to Dre:
> because your every stupid, flimsy and vacuous refusal proves that giving
> it to her was never your intent. Get it?
I have sent you email explaining the situation. I had every intention of
giving her the painting. You're attacking me without knowing the whole
story. Which is pretty typical of you.
> And also, of course, because I want Dre to meet you. I am going to
> cherish my opportunity to play Owen Meany as the Ghost of Christmas
> Future.
Why on earth do you want me to meet your girlfriend? It doesn't even make
sense, given that you and I don't want to be friends.
> I also gave you a lap-top because I thought it would give you more
> opportunity to write.
"Do you want this? Otherwise I'm going to throw it out."
Yeah, that was a major act of generosity on your part. Way to go.
> I act encouragingly all the time, we are just at odds over what
> constitutes viable, useful encouragement.
You talk a lot, but you act very little. You talk about writing all the
time, but find it difficult to find the time to write. You lecture your
girlfriend about her authenticity instead of just buying her the painting.
The actions that you do take are fairly passive and wilted. The
encouragement you give is borderline abuse. You really don't see this?
How much effort to say, "Take this, or I'll throw it out"? How much
effort to say, "Paint me a Che"? How much effort to read a novel?
Frankly, it's only that you read my novel that vaguely impresses me, and
even that is a relatively passive act.
I don't think you understand what I'm driving at. There are different
ways of encouraging people, of behaving, of taking action. All your
actions strike me as passive, limp, elitist. You sit out in the woods in
your rundown shack and tell people what they should be doing, how they can
be better, mocking them for being small. But what genuine action do you
take to help them improve? Any?
Every action you take is exploded into mythology. Everything you do
supposedly has a profound reason. You're constantly trying to take credit
for the random chaos around you. Sometimes you even try to take credit
for the actions of other people! Even your drinking is something you
consider of philosophical importance. But all you're actually doing is
FLAILING your arms. Even going on trips -- you go to a foreign country,
wander around for a while, come back and say, "Travel broadens horizons."
Your horizons really don't look any bigger. Your perspective still seems
as small and stunted as always.
You claim to be encouraging others. I think that, on some level, you
don't want others to improve. If they did, you'd have no one to sneer at.
You'd have no one to look down on. If they actually went out and achieved
some kind of success, you'd be forced to admit that you're not taking any
action. You're stuck. You're dead. You're broken and lost. But it's
not your fault. You're great and super keen. It's the rest of humanity
that is shit.
> If I think someone should
> paint, I encourage them verbally to paint, I give them a canvas and some
> paint.
You do not give them canvas and paint. Not that I have ever seen.
Richter has, literally, given me canvas and paint. In exchange he wanted
first buying privileges on some work I did. I stuck to that bargain.
> You could learn something from my dentist. He has a plaque in his office
> that reads,
>
> "Tell me and I forget,
> teach me and I remember,
> involve me and I learn."
I have yet to see you get involved with people. And by the way, there's
more to teaching than lecturing. You're very good at lecturing.
> Unfortunately,
> all you really want is a hand-out.
No. What I want is genuine support and assistance from people who
genuinely care about me and my work. You don't give a shit about me or my
writing or my paintings. You really don't. What you're looking for is
people to justify your stationary position. You surround yourself with
fellow drunks and people who buy your mythology and then you just stand
still.
Why did you want to get out of the COMA community? Because they're
killing you, holding you back. You've surrounded yourself with idiots,
which means you have to do very little to impress them -- but it also
means that you're using only half the talent you have.
I don't like getting involved with people I don't trust. I don't trust
you, or Laurie. I'm going to do business with you people?
As for Larry, well, I would prefer that people come to me with a
photograph and say, "Hey, paint this." Larry said, "I would like a
portrait of so-and-so." The photographs I have seen of her kind of suck.
So far, nothing more has been said than that.
Meanwhile I am busy making art for people elsewhere.
> You want to market yourself, but do you learn from the process of doing
> it yourself? No, Richter does it for you.
You don't even know what you're talking about. Like a little kid, you're
just flailing your fists in the air, hoping you're lucky enough to land a
punch. It's pathetic.
Richter helped me set up the auction on Ebay, and let me use his account
and his credit-card payment system he'd set up. I needed computer
know-how and he's got it. In exchange, I've given him a cut of the
profits -- ten percent of the take. He's also helping me set up the
T-shirt sales, and in exchange will be getting a cut of that.
So you see, I'm not taking advantage or looking for hand-outs. I pay back
the people who help me.
> Next you will be sending me irate e-mails that your
> mayoral campaign is a failure because I don't go out and run for mayor
> for you.
I have more respect for James Hall than I do for you. He's running for
mayor and doing interviews and taking action. You're sitting on your ass,
mocking him for it. Of course James isn't going to win. And yes, most of
what he is doing is silly. But he's TAKING ACTION, and you're just
shooting your mouth off. Like you always do.
Nikolaus Maack
> Did SCK or did SCK not commission that painting? If he did, why
> haven't you delivered it?
Yes, he asked me to do the painting. Then we stopped talking to each
other, like we usually do. Nothing ever came of it.
Laur
Dre wrote:
> Laur wrote:
>
> > I didn't think you actually drank Dre. You're much more sensible sober.
>
> I was sober. Now you see why I don't drink.
>
> Think of how much worse that could have been.
Then again, maybe it could have been better.
JHall
> ...
> You don't even know what you're talking about. Like a little kid, you're
> just flailing your fists in the air, hoping you're lucky enough to land a
> punch. It's pathetic.
It certainly is.
> I have more respect for James Hall than I do for you. He's running for
> mayor and doing interviews and taking action. You're sitting on your ass,
> mocking him for it. Of course James isn't going to win. And yes, most of
> what he is doing is silly. But he's TAKING ACTION, and you're just
> shooting your mouth off. Like you always do.
Silly, democracy is silly ? We know (this is the part that people know
but wished they didn't) democracy ain't working as well as it could, never
mind the should, but improvements are permissible.
If the very foundation of our society is shot to shit what we build upon
it (justice, health, education, transportation, yada) ain't worth sitting
on a toilet.
And for those who require help making the connection between ain't worth
shit and ain't worth sitting on a toilet may every stranger you meet
shower you with kindness. 'cause when they get to know you will become
history to said strangers.
History is now defined as the moment an individual realizes he/she has
a past. So history courses begin with the '60's that is 1960's and
move forward from there.
So why do you wear a poppy ? If you don't why not ?
Laur
> Nikolaus Maack wrote:
> <snip>
> You want to market yourself, but do you learn from the process of doing
> it yourself? No, Richter does it for you. You want to be an artist, but
> when I commission your work, and when Laurie commissions you work, and
> when Larry commissions your work, do you paint them? No. Did you paint
> any of them? No. The only ones you will paint are the ones where someone
> stands behind your back and nags the fuck out of you through sheer
> repetitiveness. Next you will be sending me irate e-mails that your
> mayoral campaign is a failure because I don't go out and run for mayor
> for you.
I've always figured he was making good money so didn't need to do 3 more
pictures of my kids. I'm going to get after annie to do their sketches, which
are pricier, but worth it after seeing some of her work. I'd still be
interested in handing 3 portrait pictures to Nik, but he doesn't seem to have a
business sense about him, just personal grudges with people. The irony of it
is, I've got no beef with him, I'm just associated to you so that's a bad
thing.
SCK
> I have sent you email explaining the situation. I had every intention of
> giving her the painting. You're attacking me without knowing the whole
> story. Which is pretty typical of you.
>
You didn't send me anything I didn't know in the e-mail. It doesn't
change anything. You bought the painting and waved it around as a symbol
of your vast compassion, that's all you wanted it for, the opportunity
to post about being a kind benefactor. Other people at the time pointed
out that if you wanted her to have it, as you pretended, you would have
discreetly mailed it to her. You didn't. Have you done that yet, so that
she can do with the poster whatever she sees fit? No.
She sent you an e-mail offering to meet you to get it, you were busy
that day. Now I am offering to go out of my way to help in any way I can
so that you can achieve your stated intentions, but no, being a nanny is
too time-consuming, Saturday afternoons are reserved for bingo, etc,
etc, no effort, excuse after excuse.
Basically, you're a liar. Actually, you're not a liar because that would
take cunning. You're a man who exists in the confused, dark limbo of
himself, throwing everything that is difficult to understand to the
prevailing winds of 'randomness', 'whim' and wish.
> > And also, of course, because I want Dre to meet you. I am going to
> > cherish my opportunity to play Owen Meany as the Ghost of Christmas
> > Future.
>
> Why on earth do you want me to meet your girlfriend? It doesn't even make
> sense, given that you and I don't want to be friends.
>
It's funny how this short sentence is so accurate an example of your
inability to read. I said I wanted Dre to meet you. How you interpret
it: I want you to meet her.
I stand by that. I won't be there. I'll just point voicelessly from the
car with a crooked finger at the tombstone.
> How much effort to say, "Take this, or I'll throw it out"? How much
> effort to say, "Paint me a Che"? How much effort to read a novel?
> Frankly, it's only that you read my novel that vaguely impresses me, and
> even that is a relatively passive act.
>
I didn't say, "take this, or I'll throw it out" about the lap-top.
Absolutely not. This is either your miserable memory (again), or you're
lying.
There wasn't only a "Paint me a Che" there was a whole discussion, and
the commissioning of a series. Your memory is atrocious. The second in
the series was Simon Bolivar. We agreed on a price, you didn't do them.
The reason, as I have already pointed out in the other thread recently
but your memory ails you, is your obsession with my behaviour. *You
didn't do them because you fell out with me*. This does not impugn the
motive of my asking you to do them, it only shows how shallow and fickle
you are. How does your copping out retroactively change the original
intent of my offer?
I read your novel and wrote some fairly extensive commentary. I have
also read pretty much everything else you have written. Why? Not only
because I'm interested, but because I believe that by involving myself,
by showing you that I am interested in what you are doing, you will
become interested in involving yourself in the whole process, as well.
This is what I call encouragement.
You point to yourself as the doer, but actually I think you are pretty
much self-obsessed. How much effort to dig a few holes, when the person
comes and picks you up and drops you off and has a machine to dig the
holes? What about when he asks you to read something?
You're applying the sorry brush to me that you ought to reserve for
yourself. If I think about it, I am sure I can come up with even more
efforts to encourage you. Such as, I offered to display your paintings
at the cafe, even though you were fell out with me again.
> You do not give them canvas and paint. Not that I have ever seen.
> Richter has, literally, given me canvas and paint. In exchange he wanted
> first buying privileges on some work I did. I stuck to that bargain.
>
You mean, of course, that I don't do it for *you, right now*. No, I
don't do it for you, right now. Why would I? But part of our original
deal was that I would supply you with the canvases for the series,
besides money -- forgotten again, huh?
Do you ever just get really mad at your memory, like you want to kick
the shit out of it? All these times when you accuse me of something that
enforces only what you wish I was, and all these times it takes me no
effort at all to remember an instance that shows it not to be true. You
ever just want to choke your memory, grab it by its evil, betraying
throat and throttle it?
> I don't like getting involved with people I don't trust. I don't trust
> you, or Laurie. I'm going to do business with you people?
>
Oh brother. So, you don't "do business" with people you don't trust, but
that evidently doesn't stop you from whining about them not encouraging
you. I don't trust you, but buy me canvas! Send me a Freud book! Bid on
my painting! But I won't "do business" with you. Good grief.
> Richter helped me set up the auction on Ebay, and let me use his account
> and his credit-card payment system he'd set up. I needed computer
> know-how and he's got it. In exchange, I've given him a cut of the
> profits -- ten percent of the take. He's also helping me set up the
> T-shirt sales, and in exchange will be getting a cut of that.
>
> So you see, I'm not taking advantage or looking for hand-outs. I pay back
> the people who help me.
>
How convenient. Your whole life is about begging for hand-outs. You're
the newsgroup's biggest beggar. You look to everyone else in your life
to surmount the obstacles to your own success. It's the inherent
lefty-ism in you that allows you to gaze covetously at those around you
and demand that they give you things - material, money, knowledge - and
that somehow everybody owes it to you to ensure your happiness.
And so, your parents pay for your education and your clothes and your
dentist, your dad gets you gallery interviews, Richter does your
marketing, your girlfriend makes your webpages, someone lets you live
there for free. Even I give you places to get your art displayed,
somewhere that took me all of one evening to find when I went out
consciously looking for places to display, you can't even be bothered
doing that for no one's gain but your own. You life is a perpetual act
of waiting for others to remove the obstacles from your path.
You have what PJ O'Rourke calls, "the blank-eyed gaze of expectant
want."
> > Next you will be sending me irate e-mails that your
> > mayoral campaign is a failure because I don't go out and run for mayor
> > for you.
>
> I have more respect for James Hall than I do for you. He's running for
> mayor and doing interviews and taking action. You're sitting on your ass,
> mocking him for it. Of course James isn't going to win. And yes, most of
> what he is doing is silly. But he's TAKING ACTION, and you're just
> shooting your mouth off. Like you always do.
Really? So this is how it begins. The inexorable spiral into the failed
life of James Hall begins by admiring incompetence for the incredible
speeds at which you can be incompetent.
Anyway, how do you know what action I am or am not taking, Scooter? Are
you following me with a web-cam that Richter set up for you?
Nikolaus Maack
> You didn't send me anything I didn't know in the e-mail. It doesn't
> change anything. You bought the painting and waved it around as a symbol
> of your vast compassion, that's all you wanted it for, the opportunity
> to post about being a kind benefactor. Other people at the time pointed
> out that if you wanted her to have it, as you pretended, you would have
> discreetly mailed it to her. You didn't. Have you done that yet, so that
> she can do with the poster whatever she sees fit? No.
I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but you're two years old
and your diaper needs changing. It needed changing about two years ago.
You came out of the womb with a full load, and now the stench is making
your brain malfunction. Take the diaper off your head, Steve, and move
away from the keyboard.
> She sent you an e-mail offering to meet you to get it, you were busy
> that day.
You are mistaken. She sent me an email saying that she did NOT want the
painting, but it might be nice to meet in person anyway. She said she
didn't think she could accept the gift from me, so sorry. I respect her
decision, and will make no attempt to send it to her. She did, after all,
ask me not to. I said that I was too busy to meet that weekend -- she
sent me email on Friday asking if we could meet Saturday -- and I asked
her a question about her attitude towards the painting, nowadays. She
never responded. Oh well.
> Basically, you're a liar. Actually, you're not a liar because that would
> take cunning. You're a man who exists in the confused, dark limbo of
> himself, throwing everything that is difficult to understand to the
> prevailing winds of 'randomness', 'whim' and wish.
If you honestly described what your emotional range is, and we compared it
to music, you wouldn't have enough notes to play "Bah Bah Black Sheep" on
a Fisher Price xylophone. We'd get "Bah, Bah, black sheep, have you
any..." and the piece would have to end there, thus causing the toddler at
the xylophone -- which would be you -- to smash it repeatedly with his
forehead.
> I didn't say, "take this, or I'll throw it out" about the lap-top.
> Absolutely not. This is either your miserable memory (again), or you're
> lying.
Steve, the laptop was lying in the bottom of your closet under a stack of
9600 baud modems, unstrung harps, and issues of National Geographic dating
back before the continents separated.
> *You
> didn't do them because you fell out with me*.
Some day you'll try to start taking responsability for your actions.
Let's hope you don't decide to do it retroactively. I suspect that you'll
have to hire a team of lawyers and courriers just to cover the first few
years of adolescence.
Yes, I fell out with you. Can you understand why? No. Which is,
in itself, hysterically amusing.
> How much effort to dig a few holes, when the person
> comes and picks you up and drops you off and has a machine to dig the
> holes?
If I was at your place (and I was) and I had a hammer (which I did), I
would hammer in the morning (which I did) and I would hammer in the
evening (ditto) and I would hammer all day long (ditto). On a couple of
different days.
Not that I am trying to suggest I pulled a burning automobile off you or
anything.
> You're applying the sorry brush to me that you ought to reserve for
> yourself.
I dream of the day when you start to peck at your own soul as publically
as you try to peck at the souls of others. What am I saying -- you have
no soul.
> Do you ever just get really mad at your memory, like you want to kick
> the shit out of it?
Not really.
Do you ever stop to think that looking for wounds and weaknesses and scabs
on other people, so you can cram your fingers into them, might not be the
best way to spend your days? Perhaps there is some other calling waiting
for you. Seeing as how you're a miserable, human-hating sadist, I
recommend you become a dentist, or perhaps a vacuum cleaner salesman.
Perhaps you should work in technical support?
> How convenient. Your whole life is about begging for hand-outs. You're
> the newsgroup's biggest beggar. You look to everyone else in your life
> to surmount the obstacles to your own success.
Steve, you're very silly. I just finished telling you that I am making
business arrangements with others -- arrangements where they help fund and
then profit from my work -- and you call me a beggar. This is simply
sloppy thinking on your part which allows you to act all indignant and
pissed off. That five note emotional range of yours, again.
Do you ever bore yourself to tears?
> Really? So this is how it begins. The inexorable spiral into the failed
> life of James Hall begins by admiring incompetence for the incredible
> speeds at which you can be incompetent.
Is there anyone on the internet today, in Ottawa, whom you do not hate or
feel is lacking in some way? Kindly point them out, and I'll watch you
for the next month or so, to see if you break down and start listing all
their flaws. You should feel safe entering into this kind of agreement
with me, given that I have the memory of a sickly mayfly.
> Anyway, how do you know what action I am or am not taking, Scooter? Are
> you following me with a web-cam that Richter set up for you?
I'd follow you to the ends of the earth, but only so I could push you off.
SCK
> > *You
> > didn't do them because you fell out with me*.
>
> Some day you'll try to start taking responsability for your actions.
> Let's hope you don't decide to do it retroactively. I suspect that you'll
> have to hire a team of lawyers and courriers just to cover the first few
> years of adolescence.
>
> Yes, I fell out with you. Can you understand why? No. Which is,
> in itself, hysterically amusing.
>
In all of your message, you again failed to answer the question, how
does the nature of my act of encouragement - commissioning your
paintings, giving you things, reading your work - change retroactively
to become something lesser, just because you have fallen out with me
afterwards? It sounds to me like you're just admitting that you re-write
history to suit your emotional state.
I do take responsibility for my actions -- that's why I don't explain
them with 'randomness'. That's why I blame myself for my failures. I
know, ultimately, I am accountable to anything I do or fail to do. If I
choose to spin my wheels writing newsgroup garbage to you instead of
real writing, as I am now, I know that that is a value judgment on my
part, whether I like it or not, which I cannot assign to you. I rarely
try to blame anyone else for my failures, and if I do I hope to be
corrected.
Where you mis-apply the concept of responsibility is that you often
blame others for your failures, or more frequently, expect them to be
the conduit of your success. Your failure becomes their failure to have
championed you. I commissioned your art in good faith, you fell out with
me afterwards and so didn't do the paintings. Now your having not done
the paintings has become my fault - it's my fault you fell out with me.
No, dude, it isn't. I don't want that power over you. You are the author
of your own destiny. You're mad at me, so shout, "Fuck you, Steve, I'm
mad and I'm not doing your paintings!" Fine. But don't tell me I never
encouraged you, never commissioned them and that I had no good
intentions in doing so.
> Steve, you're very silly. I just finished telling you that I am making
> business arrangements with others -- arrangements where they help fund and
> then profit from my work -- and you call me a beggar. This is simply
> sloppy thinking on your part which allows you to act all indignant and
> pissed off. That five note emotional range of yours, again.
>
These aren't business arrangements, they're extensions of your friends'
charity attempting to encourage you the same way I did. The only thing
that is different between then and now is that you have a different set
of friends.
None of these "business arrangements" would be happening if the people
were not, first and foremost, your friends, and the arrangements will
exist only so long as you remain friends. Richter will not continue to
toss you pennies if you fall out with him. How do I know? Because that
is precisely what we are talking about when I commissioned your art: I
commissioned it as your friend to encourage you, just as the Michael
twins are doing now, and those 'business arrangements' are forgotten
about the moment that your friendship ceases. We already have the proof
of that. See above.
If they are business arrangements then they are legally enforceable by
contract law. If you fail to deliver your painting, will Richter sue
you? Am I suing you? No. We were/are your friends, trying to help you
out. I hope that the Michael twins are paying attention to what kind of
vile shit-shower you'll heap upon their decent efforts retroactively
should you ever part ways.
SCK
> Are you dreaming of your golden beard? Looking for the Temples of
> Fortune? Sipping Caesars? Wondering why the Gods hath marked your face
> so fortuitously, so that you may remain in their favour whilst you drop
> out of everyone else's?
>
Naw, it doesn't bother me that I am always sliding out of favour. It
actually makes life a lot easier - I don't have to wonder who to trust.
"Caligula" is probably the world's evilest movie, and the world's best
political story. It was written by Gore Vidal, stars Malcolm MacDowell
and Peter O'Toole, but was produced by Penthouse.
Rather unfortunately for me, I was eating shrimps during the scene where
they cut off Proculus' penis and feed it to the Dobermans.
Dre
Nikolaus Maack wrote:
> Dre (dra...@hotmail.com) writes:
> > Mr. James Hall;
> [snip]
> > Today, however, you deserve a swift Fuck Off.
>
> Well, now he knows he's hit a nerve -- doesn't he? How strange that
> "Starry Night" is still a nerve, and it seems that it always will be.
He didn't hit a nerve the way you think he did, my dear. He's simply become
too much of a nuisance (in this and the other newsgroup) - constantly spouting
out nonsensical crap about me and that other guy, and about anyone else he can
pretend he hates so that he will forget what a failure he is. Firstly - he
doesn't know what he's talking about and it gets annoying when someone insists
continually that the sky is green when you are standing under blue. Secondly,
he's a hypocrite. He's smarmy, and to make that all the more irritating, he's
insane. It gets to be annoying when a self-righteous mad hatter with no real
knowledge of his audience sits rattling on his keyboard while others of us
would like to actually discuss things sensibly (comparatively- speaking).
In other words, I felt like telling the screamer wandering the sidewalks,
calling everyone a dickhead, and then asking for money, to stuff it.
Dre
Laur wrote:
Maybe but its a newsgroup Laur. I don't right rough-drafts.
Final Draft:
Maybe, but it's a newsgroup, Laur. I don't write rough drafts.
Dre
SCK wrote:
Yes, but at least you were not watching it in boxer shorts with old one-eyed
Jessie sitting there begging for the celery in your Caesar.
Geoffrey Dow
>
> Geoffrey Dow (geoff...@sympatico.ca) writes:
> > Did SCK or did SCK not commission that painting? If he did, why
> > haven't you delivered it?
>
> Yes, he asked me to do the painting. Then we stopped talking to each
> other, like we usually do. Nothing ever came of it.
>
> Nik
It's hard not to read your final sentence as meaning "I didn't
do the painting(s)."
Nikolaus Maack
>
> In all of your message, you again failed to answer the question, how
> does the nature of my act of encouragement - commissioning your
> paintings, giving you things, reading your work - change retroactively
> to become something lesser, just because you have fallen out with me
> afterwards?
You can be so very, very male.
"Let us once more go over the facts in a pretend attempt to clarify, when
in fact what I am hoping to achieve, once and for all time, is my
dominance. We will do this calmly, cooly, rationally and without giving
in to our base emotions. So, please, humour me, and, one last time,
explain to me, Nikolaus, why you aren't an asshole. That is all I ask."
And the part that makes me the craziest, the part that has me biting my
knuckles and cursing the existence of the Y chromosome, is that you don't
even know that you're doing it. And when I talk to you, I find myself
doing it too. And it's boring. It's more boring than watching a patch of
mold grow on top of another patch of mold, in a large pool of mold, in
some moldy swamp out in the middle of a moldy wood.
You know, we could cut through a lot of time and verbiage if we got
together in a men's washroom -- I'll let you choose which one -- and
compared the size of our dicks. Then, once and for always, on the most
primitive of levels, we could end this conversation. We can even have
pictures of our gonads taken and we'll post them on the internet, side by
side for comparitive purposes. That way we can let all of usenet
determine for us, but clicking on one pee-pole or the other, who is the
better man.
This is your cue, by the way, to throw your hands up in the air in
bafflement and say, "Dominance? Nik, what are you talking about? That's
your word for this thing. I'm just having a conversation here. I'm just
trying to sort some things out. I'm just trying to have a little fun."
I must warn you -- if you say anything remotely like "You started it!" I
will scream. I will scream so loud blood will spatter my lips as my vocal
cords stretch to near breaking.
Please. Let us make a solemn pact, here and now, before God and Usenet.
From this day forth you and I will avoid all sentences that can be
interpreted as being even remotely similar to the following pattern:
"You know what your problem is? Let me tell you what your problem is!"
Because your problem, Steve, is that you seem to think you know what
everyone's problem is.
Damn, damn -- I've done it already. You see how doomed we are, to repeat
these silly patterns of ours? Doomed, I tell you. Doomed.
So let's break the pattern for a minute or two.
Are you ever going to admit to me, or yourself, that the real reason you
are upset with me is not because of any of my artistic failures or
character flaws, but because I rejected your friendship? I saw who and
what you were, where you were going, and said to myself, I do not wish to
go there. In essence, I rejected you.
That wounded you, and I'm sorry. But I think on some level you can see
where you're headed, and you don't want to go there either. You can even
understand why I rejected you, which makes the rejection all the more
painful for you. Because my rejection was not based on what you look
like, or the more obscure thoughts you possess. I didn't judge you
because of race, gender, or income. My rejection was based solely on who
you were. Who you may or may not still be.
(Of course, ha ha, you're not going to tell me who you are, now. Why
should you? Clever, clever, little boy!)
I think even you have tried to reject yourself on occasion. This is why
you tried to rid yourself of the COMA crowd, and loudly announced, "Next
year I'm going to have a whole new set of friends. I won't know or talk
to any of you!" You saw them as the explanation for where you were headed
and tried to rid yourself of their weight.
Ironically some of your own friends -- your nearest and dearest -- see you
in the same light. They know that if they stick with you, they'll be
stuck in a certain kind of life.
So your escape attempt... It didn't work, you fell back into it. And the
one person who genuinely saw your pain, your agony, your desire to escape,
also saw you fall back into them. Those people. The ones that you hate.
The ones that are smaller than you are. I saw you fall back into their
waiting arms, a sigh of exasperation escaping from your lips. You were
once more back amongst your people.
I shuddered and I turned away. From you. From them. You didn't escape.
However, almost by accident, you showed me that escape was the best idea.
And I left. And I left you behind.
Now that I am gone from that room, you peer at me through the window, and
curse me. You rail at me, you attack me. And at the heart of it is the
thin pane of glass that seperates us -- you, still in the room; me,
outside of it.
It's not too late to escape that room. But I must warn you -- there are
other rooms after that first one. Room after room, each providing a place
to just sit back and relax in, never struggling again. Each of us has a
certain level of comfort that makes action feel impossible.
I had a dream last night.
Somehow I've missed the first four weeks of history class. I was busy
elsewhere, unsure if I wanted to study history. Today I break down, and
decide to go to the class. I I need to learn this stuff, I think. I need
to be there.
I enter the classroom, find a seat. I turn to the student next to me and
say, "What's going on? I missed the first four weeks of class."
He smiles shyly and says, "Me too, actually. This is the first lecture
I've been to."
The professor stands at the front of the classroom. He's a short-ish man
with frazzled orange hair. His nose is bizarre -- a large black root,
with tufts of white growing off of it. He begins to lecture.
"Many people think that Howard Hughes earned his fortune by selling
heroin." The professor pauses dramatically, waggling his eyebrows.
"This," he announces with bland excitement, "is a mistaken assumption."
This comment causes a groan to come from almost all of the students. This
professor's lectures, it seems, are never about what is true, what really
happened, but about what isn't true, and the mistaken beliefs people hold.
Evidently he's been lecturing like this since the beginning of the year.
As the professor continues to drone on, students start getting up to
leave. There is a doorway behind the professor, so people walk past him,
around him, and out through the door. This doesn't distract the
professor, and he continues to prattle on, although the distraction of the
people and the noise they make while leaving renders it impossible to hear
him.
At first I think that these students are idiots. I'm pissed off that they
would show so little respect. Then it starts to dawn on me. This man has
nothing to tell me. Absolutely nothing. I'm wasting my time here.
Instead of leaving the room, I suddenly find myself walking the streets.
I'm in the old neighbourhood, where I grew up. I see a group of school
children gathered around a radio. They listen to it, and sing along with
the words.
"I know I would feel
a whole lot better,
if I were to live my life,
by the letter."
The song horrifies and depresses me, although at the time I do not know
why.
Time to leave the classroom. Time to stop thinking theoretical. Time to
take action, any action. Time to stop living life by their letters.
None of this will make any sense to you, consciously. Cool.
Nikolaus Maack
> He's simply become
> too much of a nuisance (in this and the other newsgroup) - constantly spouting
> out nonsensical crap about me and that other guy, and about anyone else he can
> pretend he hates so that he will forget what a failure he is.
Telling fools and drunks that we think they are fools and drunks is always
a tempting exercise. I know this well. Unfortunately, it never achieves
anything. Because all fools and drunks tend to know all too well that
they are fools and drunks. They just don't care.
And, unfortunately, from what little sense I can glean from James Hall's
gibberish, I don't think he is entirely the fool. Even if he says the sky
is green, and you say it is blue, green ain't that far away from blue on a
colour wheel. He's pretty close to something, if slightly off in hue.
Dre
Nikolaus Maack wrote:
> Dre (dra...@hotmail.com) writes:
> > He's simply become
> > too much of a nuisance (in this and the other newsgroup) - constantly spouting
> > out nonsensical crap about me and that other guy, and about anyone else he can
> > pretend he hates so that he will forget what a failure he is.
>
> Telling fools and drunks that we think they are fools and drunks is always
> a tempting exercise. I know this well. Unfortunately, it never achieves
> anything. Because all fools and drunks tend to know all too well that
> they are fools and drunks. They just don't care.
>
The immaturity behind this is that I don't care if they don't care. Because on some
level, I think they must, and on some level, I must. Does that make sense? What it
achieves, in a sense, is a slightly more sophisticated version of the little child
pointing and naming:
On a train ride, months ago, the little girl seated in front of me spent the entire
trip loudly naming everything she saw as we passed farm houses and fields.
"Look! There's a park!"
"Look! There's a tire in the middle of that yard!"
"Huh! Look! There's a dog!"
Her little silver-haired grandmother nodded and smiled, offering her sandwiches. The
rest of the people on the train let out exasperated sighs. The woman beside me said,
"I'm going to kill that kid if she doesn't shut up". But I could see her through the
crack in the seats. She had dark hair and wore thick glasses, both reflected in the
window while she stared out. There were tiny smudges on the glass in the shapes of
fingertips and the end of a nose.
Everyone on the train was irritated because she was calling out everything she saw.
Her grandmother and I understood that she was just learning to do what we all
eventually must in order to express what we see in the world. She knew there was a
tire in the middle of that yard, and she knew that her grandmother could also see
it. She was calling it as she saw it.
Some people, however, don't learn that there are certain ways of doing this that are
more effective, and that although their observations may be true to them, saying
"Look! A tire! Look! A tire! Look! A tire!" when no one else can see the tire starts
to annoy those other people. That's when resources come in, if they are there, and
we learn that saying gently, almost in a whisper, "Wow, can you see that tire there?
It's amazing. Look closely. I'll bet you'll see it, too" will almost certainly have
a few people turning to look really hard for that tire.
What's my point? Well, there are two things going on here. James Hall is yelling,
"Look! A tire! Look! A tire!" when there simply isn't one, and he doesn't have the
resourcefulness to get me to look for a tire I don't believe exists. And he has no
credit - why should I look for that tire when it's clearly not there to me, when the
only way he seems to want to get my attention is by shouting insanely,
"Dinky-doo-doo!" ? The longer someone says the same thing, the same way, and has no
proof or intrigue to offer me, the more quickly I dismiss them as a fool.
And I was the little girl with the glasses. Calling it as I saw it.
>
> And, unfortunately, from what little sense I can glean from James Hall's
> gibberish, I don't think he is entirely the fool. Even if he says the sky
> is green, and you say it is blue, green ain't that far away from blue on a
> colour wheel. He's pretty close to something, if slightly off in hue.
Again, Nik, he really isn't. You think he is because it probably closely relates to
what you think, and that reassures you that what you think must be alright. That's
why you don't think he's a fool. Because in some cases, you and he think the same
thing. And you aren't a fool, right? You see that tire, despite that I can stand in
that yard and tell you as you pass in that train, that you have never shaken my
hand, stood in that yard, walked on that grass; how would you know a tire exists
somewhere on that lawn at all?
SCK
>
> You can be so very, very male.
>
So, once again you have ignored everything in my message in order to
pontificate. I suppose in your view that is how to have "non-male"
dialogue - go off on a tangent, and then make love to your tangent. Why
don't you just gift-wrap and mail yourself a treadmill.
You spend so much energy seeking to ascribe my motives to everything but
the obvious. I am talking about truth and answers, that's why I talk
about specific facts. You make an accusation, I demonstrate it is wrong
with proof, then you brush it aside with puffery about my motives. You
are unable to see this as anything but a struggle for dominance when it
is actually the struggle for truth. You have negated the struggle for
truth because the nature of truth necessitates that some people will be
wrong and some people right, and tainted it with the idea of dominance.
You have allowed yourself a perpetual escape hatch: whenever I am wrong
about the truth, I am not wrong for the "higher" reason of refusing to
participate in dominance. This is the same set of blinders that people
use to ignore criticism, by refusing to judge anyone themselves, they
can sweep aside all judgments of them. It is a cowardly flight from
truth.
Anyway, all I can do here - again - is offer you good luck. Life may one
day vindicate one of us.
Nikolaus Maack
> So, once again you have ignored everything in my message in order to
> pontificate. I suppose in your view that is how to have "non-male"
> dialogue - go off on a tangent, and then make love to your tangent. Why
> don't you just gift-wrap and mail yourself a treadmill.
Somewhere, somehow, at some unknown time, you put down your sense of
humour to scratch your nose, and then forgot to pick it up again. Now you
talk about how we're arguing whose truth is accurate. Duelling
philosophers on a mountain top. Silly boy. Not that long ago you
admitted that we're bashing each other with sledge hammers because each of
us perceived the other as wasting their talent.
You're not mad at me, you're mad at yourself. And I'm not mad at you, I'm
mad at myself. Given this state of affairs, isn't it very silly to
continue taking swings at each other? Instead we should stay at home and
punch ourselves in the stomach. When a person takes a swing at
themselves, they usually know exactly where to hit to cause the most pain.
Here's something to gnaw on:
It will no doubt please you immensely to know that I spent my morning
dressed up in fancy duds, handing out my CV to temp and employment
agencies. Building within you now is an urge to tell me why this is
foolish and wrong. You'll then want to tell me exactly what I should be
doing. Resist these urges.
> I am talking about truth and answers, that's why I talk
> about specific facts.
You are talking about your truth, your facts -- and often your conclusions
are based on incorrect data. Eg, I'm avoiding Dre, I'm avoiding giving
her the painting, I'm being manipulative and cruel. When you get new data
-- she said she didn't want the damn painting -- you fall silent on that
topic and start looking for some other wound I might have that you can
stuff your fingers into.
This is your quest for truth? Bullshit. This is your quest to wound. To
wound anyone that gets within reach of you. Your so-called objective
quest for truth and knowledge is clearly guided by certain emotional
experiences that you choose to ignore. In my case, my rejection of you
hurt you and you want to fuck my shit up. You can pretend this is an
objective quest to explain myself to me, and that you mean only the best,
and you're only trying to help. In truth, you hurt people, and you get
off on it.
You want petty revenge. If you can prove I am shit, it means that my
rejection of you is of no importance.
If you were genuinely interested in persuing truth, would you keep so much
of your life concealed? It amuses you, you have said, to not tell me
what's going on in your life. Is this a truth quester? Nae, this is a
manipulator trying to win a fight.
I have no problem with any of this, so long as you play this game in a
witty and amusing manner, but lately you come across as glum and serious
as a mortician at the fountain of youth.
> You
> are unable to see this as anything but a struggle for dominance when it
> is actually the struggle for truth.
A struggle for truth is a struggle for dominance -- if the parties
involved act under the assumption that one person must be right and the
other person must be wrong. Which you do.
> You have allowed yourself a perpetual escape hatch: whenever I am wrong
> about the truth, I am not wrong for the "higher" reason of refusing to
> participate in dominance. This is the same set of blinders that people
> use to ignore criticism, by refusing to judge anyone themselves, they
> can sweep aside all judgments of them. It is a cowardly flight from
> truth.
Au contraire. A person who has a set of beliefs and biases and insists on
pretending that those biases are TRUTH is someone who is afraid. They are
afraid to admit that what they believe is little more than one particular
perspective out of many. They're trying to turn their beliefs into
something sacred, something vital, holy, pure. All it is is one point of
view from one grain of sand on a very large beach. Their perspective
might be a bigger than the other grains, but it will never approach the
totality you think you've found.
> Anyway, all I can do here - again - is offer you good luck. Life may one
> day vindicate one of us.
I am sorry that I rejected your friendship and that it has wounded you so.
I mean that. But you DO understand why I did it. I know you do. And it
pains you that you understand. Is this not so?
SCK
> It will no doubt please you immensely to know that I spent my morning
> dressed up in fancy duds, handing out my CV to temp and employment
> agencies. Building within you now is an urge to tell me why this is
> foolish and wrong. You'll then want to tell me exactly what I should be
> doing. Resist these urges.
>
Why would I tell you that is foolish and wrong?
> You are talking about your truth, your facts -- and often your conclusions
> are based on incorrect data. Eg, I'm avoiding Dre, I'm avoiding giving
> her the painting, I'm being manipulative and cruel. When you get new data
> -- she said she didn't want the damn painting -- you fall silent on that
> topic and start looking for some other wound I might have that you can
> stuff your fingers into.
>
There is no such thing as "my facts", there are only facts. A fact is
either true or it is not, independent of the observer. In this case, you
are wrong. I didn't fall silent. I responded, then you responded with
your nonsense paragraph about my "full diapers" -- you evaded. Once
again your atrophied memory is allowing you divert your evasion onto me.
> This is your quest for truth? Bullshit. This is your quest to wound. To
> wound anyone that gets within reach of you. Your so-called objective
> quest for truth and knowledge is clearly guided by certain emotional
> experiences that you choose to ignore. In my case, my rejection of you
> hurt you and you want to fuck my shit up. You can pretend this is an
> objective quest to explain myself to me, and that you mean only the best,
> and you're only trying to help. In truth, you hurt people, and you get
> off on it.
>
How can it be my quest to wound if I am the one on the defensive? If it
were my quest to wound, I would be on the offensive. In this instance, I
was defending what were originally decent motives in offering you
encouragement. You shit all over them with your rewriting history and
old lady memory about how I never commissioned your art, never did this,
never did that, etc.. You then ignored whole swaths of text
demonstrating where I have done things for you. How can my quest to
wound be one where I am on the defensive to prove that your accusations
about me are false?
>
> A struggle for truth is a struggle for dominance -- if the parties
> involved act under the assumption that one person must be right and the
> other person must be wrong. Which you do.
>
How sad a place the world must be if you see every struggle for truth as
a potential injury to your pride and standing. I like to be proved
wrong: it offers me a chance to correct an erroneous foundation. That's
progress, and progress is good.
Every time I prove something, with actual facts and demonstrations about
how your memory has skewed everything to do with me into one big, angry
ball of hate, you ignore it. Where is your, "You're right, you did
commission paintings from me, and that was decent, I just changed it
after the fact to make it sound like you didn't because I was mad at
you?" admission? Where's your apology?
The facts have so little bearing on what you want to believe and be,
that every instance of you being shown to be wrong means you have to
cast about for a higher, nobler quest to annul it. Now, the "rejection
of dominance struggles" makes you too good for truth, it deliberately
casts aside the facts and their consequences so that you can focus on
the virtuosity of your damn form. Did I do a pirouette in the right
place? How was my triple lutz? Well, I'm sure that the Olympic panel
judges all give you high 9s on your form, too bad it doesn't mean
anything.
>
> I am sorry that I rejected your friendship and that it has wounded you so.
> I mean that. But you DO understand why I did it. I know you do. And it
> pains you that you understand. Is this not so?
>
This has baffled me all morning. It seems to me that this angle of yours
has come out of nowhere all of a sudden, and now you have mentioned it
about five times in a single day.
I don't feel like you rejected my friendship, and I don't feel wounded
by you, so you don't have to be sorry. I have no interest in your
friendship right now, you're too far out there in a galaxy of whirling
colours and lights, fake-surrealism and emotion-worship, setting up a
card game with James Hall where the rules are that every move is a
winner.
Basically, you've become a fool to me, and obviously we are unable to
communicate. The reason my messages in this thread are not funny and are
to the point is because it bores me. You can't teach me anything, and
you're obsessed with alcohol.
How many more times do I have to trail off my message with an, "Anyway,
I offer you good luck" before you will just accept that our
philosophical differences are irreconcilable and not bother responding?
Anyway, I wish your lifestyle good luck. Maybe the process of life will
vindicate one of us one day, or maybe not. Maybe we will both be happy.
SCK
> business sense about him, just personal grudges with people. The irony of it
> is, I've got no beef with him, I'm just associated to you so that's a bad
> thing.
Have I mentioned that you should build me a bar? I bet you didn't know
that there's just about nowhere in town that you can still buy a
basement wet bar anymore. Sears told me it was a "fad". Bastards.