Rapidly Multiplying Bill Palmers
Bill Palmer
to be people in parked cars watching me go into the post
office.
I've been up for two nights straight and I'm feeling
unsurpassingly strange.
Not many hours ago someone dragged me out from under a
table where I was cowering and kicking in blind panic.
I agree that seems like curious behavior for a writer
who does not drink or use drugs.
It's lots of things spinning out of control and coming
down hard all at once.
Like my being the major target of a massive, crypto-
nazi forgery operation making me feel like a bug
wriggling frantically in a vast spiderweb.
And on top of that, echoing the forgers' defamations
and muddying the waters among my readership, come the
gloating attacks from net losers.
Those cheapshot artists prove far too petty and
vindictive to say, "Yes, in his performance art
role as The Amazing Flame Giant, the alt.genius has
knouted me with satire. Well, though, now that
he's been targeted by something big and sinister,
I'll do nothing to support the defamations." But
they can't even refrain from adding dishonest fuel
to the fire.
Hell with 'em. I'll ask no mercy from flame war
losers who need to pelt me with libelous rocks at the
same time I'm targeted by forgery gangs. The rock-
throwers got caught in a tough verbal sport and lost
big on wordscreens. It's all there in the archives.
Something IS spinning out of control here, though,
as I said a moment ago.
It's like my main man Artaud warned me, "Be careful or
the pernicious voices can whisper self-destructive advice
in your ear."
It is an unsettling condition rather like someone
looking into one mirror and being startled since
he forgot there was a second, very large mirror
behind him, and then seeing all those multiplied
images of himself.
Someone or some THING is mirroring me all over the
planet. All those reflections--the true and false
ones merging--are bewildering almost beyond the
protection of my sanity.
If this be web trance, I want nothing to do with it.
Rapidly multiplying Bill Palmers. Is there anything
that could be more disturbing to contemplate?
FOR PITY'S PROFESSOR CHUDOV, TUNE THAT THING!...YES,
YOU "GREW ME" CONSIDERABLY. YOU DESERVE MUCH CREDIT.
BUT I'M BEGGING YOU TO PLEASE SLOW IT DOWN JUST A BIT
BECAUSE WE NEED SOME TWEAKING ON THIS...
I confess. I am guilty under the new law passed by
the Russian parliament.
Yes, I Bill Palmer entered Russia surreptitiously
on many occasions to spread fear and bewilderment
among the populace.
I confess to trailing Mr. Alexeev down an avenue in
Moscow and waving my arms and calling out to him.
I was desperate for a friend. He walked away
rapidly and he seemed afraid upon finding what he
may have misunderstood as a "foreigner" following
him and shouting his name on a public street.
In a different incident, I never should have made the
remark about the "potato sack woman". That was downright
boorish.
I entered "The Stalker" film by Tarkovsky and was in the
same forest just beyind the railroad tracks and later
I walked along the water near the great sad factories.
I confess I was a childish buffoon for imagining at
the beginning of the movie that the protagonist was
going to be a Russian hitman who stalked aliens.
I hereby confess that Bill Palmer is a pathetic
creature who got into something too big for his boots
and is now crazed with panic as a result. A pitiful
nobody too ignorant to know what is going on at the
center of the galaxy he inhabits as a mud-crawler
who doesn't know up from down. A bozo who hasn't
the foggiest notion what his brain is doing at any
given moment.
Pain...
Yet, I do now recall a promise and I remember being
recently given a present I neither earned nor merited.
It was something I think I have right over there in my
coat pocket.
When I was a child I saw a fiery sphere falling in the
middle of the afternoon, coming down across a pasture
and near a creek and I knew that a promise had been
given to this strange little creature who held up
his hand like a claw...I didn't know what the help
would be...I didn't know I would need it later
as I dangled here on wordscreens...what was it?...
my head is aching again...
There! I'm rebounding already.
My new possesson, to guide and strengthen Bill
Palmer the funny little wilhelp man alt.genius.bill-
palmer and The Amazing Flame Giant!
It's mine, the Pistol star. I will use it wisely and
with a great sense of responsibility.
Thank you for your discovery, brilliant astronomers...
Near the Center,
Piercing Night--
You speak to us
With radiant light.
Mike MacLennan
>
> I never suspected it would happen like this, with what seems
> to be people in parked cars watching me go into the post
> office.
It's the FBI, Biil. It's now illegal to be a complete and total
fuckhead. The law was passed while you were being hurled from a cliff.
>
> I've been up for two nights straight and I'm feeling
> unsurpassingly strange.
That certainly explains the lack of coherency in this post. Now please
account for the lack of coherency in your previous 10,000.
>
> Not many hours ago someone dragged me out from under a
> table where I was cowering and kicking in blind panic.
A sense of deja-vu, no doubt.
> I agree that seems like curious behavior for a writer
> who does not drink or use drugs.
Proof please.
> It's lots of things spinning out of control and coming
> down hard all at once.
Put your foot on the side of the bed.
[flush]
--
If you love someone, set them free.
If they return, set them on fire.
-George Carlin-