*Hey gang, I found it!!!!!!!! Ruth
At 6:25 PM -0600 3/16/03, John Callan wrote:
Its right between the command/apple key and the control key on my keyboard.
Oh....I see the problem! Your computer has a little symbol on it that
says, "intel inside" doesn't it. Geez, now you see, that's your problem!
You gotta get that stuff outa yur machine dude!
-jc
On Sunday, March 16, 2003, at 05:01 PM, Leland Torrence wrote:
John,
I am impressed, but where is the option key?
Leland
-----Original Message-----
From: "Let us not speak foul in folly!" - ][<en Phollit
[mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of John Callan
Sent: Sunday, March 16, 2003 11:19 AM
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: Windham College
My location for the degree mark is the asterix with the option and
shift key down. I think it may change depending on which
font you are using...but I'm satisfied that I rememberd it at all.
When I forget it takes a long long time to find it again.
-jc
On Sunday, March 16, 2003, at 06:56 AM, Leland Torrence wrote:
Now there's the ][<en I know. You must ramble more often.
And how do you find the long and short marks on the computer key
board? Oh, and while we're at it, where is the little circle for
degrees?
Thanks for reminding me of Vachel Lindsey. I enjoyed a good
read this morning after reading your post. My father used to read him
aloud to us but then he sailed from Byzantium and got mired in his own
Prufrock.
Terra Dactyl
-----Original Message-----
From: "Let us not speak foul in folly!" - ][<en Phollit
[mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of Ken
Follett
Sent: Saturday, March 15, 2003 7:07 PM
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: Windham College
John,
I'm not disappointed with either of our outcomes. Though the other
night when I woke up suddenly at 2:25 AM with a start dreaming that
loading the shotgun in the closet and blowing my head off might be
beneficial to the family... mind you, this is not catastrophic
suicidal but a measure of personal engagement with the outcome of not
wanting to let my friends or family down... the stress caused me to
pause long enough to wonder what the f*ck this is all about! Christ,
John, ask Jim Hicks if I am not suffering from am unshakeable belief
that I am responsible for the well being of the entire universe.
Always willing to assist in the development of good character.
Yeah. I sat directly across from Allen at table for a lunch at the
Rockland County Community College and had a pleasant chat with his
humbleness for close to an hour before he went on to his reading.
Meeting him was one of the goals of my youth. He was wearing a suit
and tie and he was not what I had expected. Prior to that I had seen
him performing at an anti-war rally in Washington. Meeting him was a
turning point in my de-mythologizing of the hero. It was also when I
found out that young muscular stonemasonry bucks eating lunch with
famous old poets would attract ditzy female poets with large
gazoongas. Though I enjoy his early work, particularly Howl and
Kaddish, his later work I feel got a bit flaccid and he was running on
fumes. He wrote a poem about a green terra cotta building in Manhattan
that I recall was very moving... Sharpshooter will know the building.
Ginsberg remains a character that I am curious about, the full extent
of his career and how much of a pure businessman he was about
promoting his group, the beats. He was damned sharp about business and
promotion. He was still busy promoting the beats when I met him. I was
tagging on the heals of a lesser known beat, Charlie Plymell, an old
friend of his. Plymell turned out to be a manic-depressive coke head
with all sorts of emotional and anger control problems. Charlie's wife
Pamela was the daughter of Sylvia Beach, a publisher of James Joyce.
Sylvia ran around with a French guy named Claude Peleu (sp) Washburn
who was a real whacka-do. I also met and spent some time with Ray
Bremser who at that point was totally strung out and near the end of
his life. It was not long before we could not stomach Charlie --
particularly after he decided that I was the Ken Follett that had just
got a $35,000 advance on my first novel and that I was not sharing --
and we split that scene. The fact that Ginzberg died is more
significant to me than the death of Mr. Rogers. Anyone that would piss
on the desk of a dean at Columbia, apocryphal or not, has got my
interest. Where is our Ginsberg now? The man legitimized the left and
most certainly poetisized politics. I regret though that I did not ask
him about his meeting with Ezra Pound. And there is one thing that
sticks in my mind which is Ginsberg talking about losing ourselves to
the point that we not only relenquish our belongings,like a
transitorized Marcus Aurelieus, but that we may even approach the
consciousness of losing our name. I've been out to look toward that
place of silence and losing name and feel that without going there
that we will never quite be whole with ourselves. Sort of akin to the
strategy that Zen poetics -- snap bang --
My favorite encounter with a famous poet was going to a reading of
Robert Creeley in Buffalo. The reading was at a small coffee & new-age
donut shop kind of place with mint tea and incense so we all sat on
wooden folding chairs and it was real close. Early in the afternoon on
a Saturday. I like to sit up front. Creeley was late, real late. We
had driven a long long way to see him. He showed up drunk and brought
his own six of beer. He proceeded to wobble around in his chair and
mumble and curse at us, pop his cans and drink beer. Finally I told
him that if he could not give us any poetry at least he could share
his f*ckin beer. He was not in a mood to share and we left. As far as
I can tell the guy has written one really good poem. He should be
happy.
My disappointment was when I did not get to actually see Borges. He
was speaking at NYU and I drove into town from Westchester after
working all day. DUe to circumstances beyond my ambition we ended up
spending too much time in a friggin pizza parlor and by the time our
friend got us to the gig we had to stand outside and listen to Borges
over an intercom.
Today and yesterday my favorite poet is Vachel Lindsey.
Tell Patrick that if he wants to meet someone famous that he should
listen to you about getting an education... and when the time is right
you can tell him that all you got to do is have the b*lls to say,
Hello, how are you? Nice weather, you know." Problem we got here these
days with industrialized celebrity is that the famous people to meet
are usually very shallow. Who wants to really meet Donald Trump or
Michael Jackson?
][<en
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[log in to unmask]
Westminster, VT
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