I am up and awake on my 23rd birthday sitting in the kitchen drinking a tall boy Arnold Palmer and looking out the sliding glass door to see the distant sun covering Cambridge in rays.  Weak rays, for sure, but still I feel like the G-D has sent down this light to illuminate the darkness of time for me on this day of reflection and introspection.  No matter how cold the winter there’s always global warming, and I will be last in line to deliver my complaint about temperatures above freezing on my January birthday.

Bob Marley sings you got to keep on walking down the road to Zion, but since it is my twenty third year on Earth I’m going to pull on Bulls jersey and go for the eagle leap towards the hoop this year.  I have so much content that I want to hit up 3rdarm.biz with, but before I get to all the stuff on my chest (which may be producing my Cheney-heart blip blop syndrome) today I’m going to start offering up links to the community of bloggers webmasters & internet gurus who are bringing me up in this digital reality…

As a future technician I see the green box on the left of my website growing a yellow midbox for the people whose words I eat like Wheaties when I’m working with the Pippen on my shoulder to win another Ring.  Ya’ll can find the links to such excellent blogs such as Do I AMUSE You? — Movement of C — Sometimes I think Funny Thoughts — Stubborn Lion — Shebrew Magazine — Ro’s Colored Glasses — Los Adventuras Excelente de Emerson y Genevieve & White Animal — Return to Frownland — Digital Muckamuck — Eliot’s Space — Future Doctors of Internationallity & WeFunk radio for your mind, etc…

Please take some time out of your busy days to further your internet questing to include these websites written by the people who are helping me get from birthday to birthday, and let ME worry about thumping out to ya’ll these heavy 3rdarm.biz tablets handed to me on the Mount… The G-D gave me some jewels to drop on ya brain.  Keep your head up!

Okay, you know where Steely Dan got their name from, right?  A giant steam-powered flying dildo.

When I was first living in Chicago I was downtown in the South loop near the school I was attending at the time.  A boy I met of mixed race impressed me with his dj skills.  I dropped out of school and threw away the credit card my mom had given me.  The boy & I got late night/ early morning jobs together.  All the time on the turntables and talking, I grew to love him.

We moved in together in a neighborhood northwest of the city, and got full time jobs in the same department at what used to be a mens club downtown, which counted George H.W. Bush as its member.  But the extreme amount of time & space that we shared chafed at our nature towards one another, and things got heated.  Not in a lets-acknowledge-mutual-feelings kind of way, but in a violent way that took it out on me.

But in a sense, or out of nonsense, looking back on all that, even from the Dick Cheney perspective, softens me.  And I will always have fondness for mulatto boys.  So anyway I discovered that Google was moderating my image search results and disabled the filter and tested the results first with an “Arthur Mullen” search (same # of search results) and then a “mulatto boy” search (more results), and I came across this image, and I laughed.

I am starting a jazzrock band called “Bully Boy Mulatto” and I play drums.

The other day my friends from Turner Fisheries came over my house to hang out for a minute.  I hadn’t seen them since my supposed last week of work (my third week of notice) which I didn’t show up for because I had to handle the business of the street, which basically means I had to go down to Connecticut to drink lots of coffee and talk with my grandmother.  They hadn’t seen me in so long that they thought I’d lost my marbles.  We had to count them up to make sure I wasn’t missing a few.

Tara Carlos & Ricki came over my house and we sat around and told stories & tales.  People say Ricki has ADD, adult ADD, whatever, and its true.  When he started to get all shifty eyed I asked him to count these marbles that my grandmother gave to me, a whole lot of marbles that kids in the neighborhood gave to her, one by one, four or five decades ago.  Ricki was more than game.  We all took bets on how many there were inside the giant glass vase they reside inside.

I guessed something like 400.  But Ricki with his sharp eye was the closest.  Answer was 188.  Moral of this story is, if you come over my house and I try to sucker-bet you into a bet over how many marbles are in my vases, don’t take the bet.  This is your one and only heads up.  I will hustle you like a sucka.  Big ups to Ricki, Coco, Carlos, Tara, Steph, and of course Big Robby C with his Gene Wilder eyes!  Big ups to my people!

 

It hit me while I was coming out of the bathroom today that its about time that it was really cold outside.  This part of January is the far, dark side of winter.  Last year at this time I came down with flu and my lung eventually ended up collapsing about a week after my first fever.  But I fought off the high temperature in a futuristic Hong Kong-style steam shower, and used a 7-11 Slurpee Straw size Grande to reinflate my lung manually.

Now all of that overbearing sickness was mostly bugs jumping on me because I was on a new continent & a real weak target just wandering the landscape for all sorts of viscious geezerbugs, European baxteria.  This year I am going to be turning a year older on my native American soil, and now I’m the geezerbug with the long teeth and the weak Dick Cheney geezerheart.

I realized how cold it was outside as I was struggling to open the sliding glass door on our deck and had to pull hard because the glass expanded.  When I took a breath of the outside air my lungs felt a bit ragged, perhaps suffering a flashback from last January, and the Slurpee Straw.  I am worried a bit about perhaps coming down with a recurring lung collapse.  Who wouldn’t be?  The other thing that worries me a little bit is the gnawing at my hands.

Is it really just me?  Are there any other human beings walking the planets with red bitten hands & feet?  When I was five or younger I got rid of Planter’s warts by picking them off my feet and eating them and ever since then I have been consistently trimming my hands & feet of meat with a mouth cleaver.  When it gets really cold out the red really shows &
I become suspicious.  Ever since I lost my wallet at 7-11 last week I’ve been feeling winter paranoia.

But that means I go to the warmth of reading inside and what I read inspires me to turn around and go back out again.  Don’t worry if I am a foot-biting cigarette smoking wallet-@-7-11-losing-homeless-person-jacket-wearing people.  For example, today I was meditating on the tiger intellect of King and reading the Atlantic Monthly.  The magazine republished a piece of poetry from a speech on poetry written & delivered by John F. Kennedy:

“In free society art is not a weapon, and it does not belong to the sphere of polemics and idealogy.  Artists are not engineers of the soul.  It may be different elsewhere.  But in a democratic society the highest duty of the writer, the composer, the artist, is to remain true to himself and to let the chips fall where they may.  In serving his vision of the truth, the artist best serves his nation…

I look forward to an America which commands respect throughout the world, not only for its strengths but for its civilization as well.

And I look forward to a world which will be safe, not only for democracy and diversity but also for personal distinction.”

That America is to me less like “Support the troops” sloganeering or talk of “permanent majority” and much more about the answer Jesus gave to the question of where the Kingdom of Heaven is at.  America is inside of us.  Thats why we feel it when we lend a hand into Iraq and the hand gets bitten and turns red, and we hold it up to our face in the middle of winter air.  At least I know that I’m not getting the flu or lung collapse this year.

North American microbes & bacteria & I have a symbiotic relationship.  Ya you know we bangin’ at the same party.

Sometimes for my restaurant staff meal the Chef makes for me brisket and mashed potatos.  I only allow myself to have this once a week because if I had it more than that I’d go crazy.  Being a street attorney and an amateur meat collector I had to know what brisket meant.  It is the cut of cow from the protusion from the cows upper chest right below the neck, and it sure tastes good.  Every once in a while this slow-cooked brisket which is smoked for up to fourteen hours is so succulent & miraculously perfect, like Michelle Kwan has the potential to be if only the Olympic panel decides to send the veteran into the ring, that I have to praise it as my lifebrisket.

In my years writing the author who has been my lifebrisket is the Australian Mcgahan.  After finishing his novel 1988 I immediately set to writing Rosebud: the Great American Novel, (my first book), and finished it in a year.  Since then I have read all of Mcgahan’s other books, watched the film based on his screenplay, and interviewed this lifebrisket for a newspaper, through email:

(Excerpt)Question from me:
There happen to be bears. What to do about it?

Andrew’s response:  Um – what the hell are you talking about?

Later, for clarification, I sent the Australian writer an email with a link to this article, “These bears are the new type, they are not scared of people.”  Although I don’t know if that cleared his confusion about the threat, at any time almost anywhere in the world, of bear attacks.  The scary & very real threat of bears was further expounded upon in Grizzly Man, a film subsequently released.

One of the other reasons why I can’t eat brisket & mashed potatos but once a week is that I am slowly turning into Dick Cheney, and unfortunately my heart was the first organ to make the complete transformation.  The brisket is helping its quick aging along for sure, and so I cut back for my health.  One other reason is that brisket attracts all sorts of wild bears.  My heart is Dick Cheney’s but my writer’s mind was developed on the Andrew Mcgahan model, or so I wish so I made these shots to help myself along, for the health of my writing:

“The San Diego Epilepsy Foundation said some video stimulation at certain frequencies can cause epileptic-type seizures or body jerks.  Doctors said to set time limits for games, keep lights on in the room so it’s bright, and make sure children stay at least two feet way from the screen…”  reported local6.com.

I risk sounding like Hilary Clinton on this one, but the fact that video games cause epileptic siezures ain’t news to me.  Again, where were the parents?  How could they allow this boy to play multiple consecutive hour epileptic siezure-inducing bouts of Playstation until he develeped a full force head twitch?  Good lord, didn’t they see all the Japanese kids in the news passing out from the super electric shock of seeing Pikachu emerging from the Poke ball at a raw 60 frames per second?

After briefly acting all reactionary, I began to think about the boy with the head twitches in a different light.  When my aunt’s cocker spaniel is in deep sleep, it will kick out its furry limbs like its running and sometimes let out muffled barks & yips.  People sleep walk & talk.  Now I’m not gonna try to discredit epilepsy, but maybe there is no such thing.  Perhaps there is just signal processing in the brain more or less sensitive to certain triggers that let the mind know that what is happening is reality, is real.

As videogames technology goes up it will be interesting to see what happens with the epileptics.  Science fiction writers have long been predicting that when technology takes over the body there will be a split in humanity over who goes into the matrix and who stays in the old world.  The epileptics may be the ones who decide to go.  For them, living in the virtual world with or without a body will be easier, because their brains are ready to make the leap.

This boy with the head twitch just has a brain that responds to the flashing light & surrounding sound of Dolby sixty frames per second as if thats what the body is experiencing.  When you take that away, the body bugs out begging for it.  Nintendo stopped selling the Virtual Boy virtual reality headsets because they weren’t gonna catch on and make money for the company, but perhaps also to avoid the stigma of being the technology manufacturer that leads to the first epileptics leaving earth.

At a comedy club on the North Side of Chicago, I got on stage to participate in the game, “The World’s Worst.”  The specific world’s worst to act out I don’t remember, because I would have done the same thing anyways.  I whipped off my shirt and stuck my arms out in front of me like my hands were on a keyboard and I said over & over again to the audience, “I’m the Lawnmower Man…  I’m the Lawnmower Mannn…”  The crowd booed me off stage and I was forced to leave the club, and I haven’t been to a comedy club since.  The next up was a ringer who worked at the club.  As my friends and I exited in quiet shame out the backdoor, I glanced over my shoulder to see that he had his shirt off and was mimicking me, saying, “I’m the Lawnmower Man.”  The host was booming into the microphone, “This is the World’s Worst Improv Comedian…!” and the crowd was roaring.

Thing is, I hadn’t been joking.  I was very serious, just doing my best to give people in the Midwest a heads up about whats next.  The earth will be left behind by the inhabitants of both coasts as we are raptured up into the internet, or some virtual world beyond that.

The night before my sister scampered off the North American continent to the below sea level grounds of the nether regions she regularly inhabits, the Nether Lands where she is proving herself as both a street attorney & an international doctor, she enlisted my ear canals in an experiment designed to test the validity that ear candles, the foot long ear candles sold in most health stores, are beneficial insofar as wax extraction is concerned. Do they even suck wax at all?

She had me lie down on the sofa and stuck this ear candle into my ear and it was over a foot long and I could feel the tapered tip butting up against my swollen brain through the delicate wall of my ear canal. My sister lit the thing on fire and it sprouted a five inch flame, as the pictures will show. She also lit a control candle. The candle burned and smoked and I could hear the burning very clearly in my ear.

I had swabbed both ears with Qtips before the flaming thing was stuck into my head. My ears were clean at the beginning of the experiment. At first I thought that the burning & popping noises I could hear were massive amounts of wax and yeast being sucked out of my clogged ear canal. Matter of fact, after the first candle was burned out and we dissected it and I saw all the stuff inside I felt really satisfied that my canal had finally been sucked clean of all the yeast & wax that had plagued me for so long.

After the first ear candle I noticed I could “pop” the clean ear but not the ear that had not yet been candled. But when I swabbed the “clean” ear with a Qtip after the candle had “cleaned” it I found all kinds of wax, interesting… The control candle had the same amount of yeasty waxy looking stuff in it that my dirty ear candle had had… again, whats up? After burning the second ear candle in my ear I could “pop” that one too! But the weird thing was when I swabbed my “cleaned” ears with Qtips I found all this wax and yeasty stuff.

Damn ear candles false advertising deposited all this unhealthy junk right up next to my brain wtf! Read the full experiment and buyer beware.

Okay this is me when I was sixteen & innocent. These pictures are from right around the era when I french kissed for the first time. A few months before I bought my van, which is a story for another day. This was in the interim period when my mom was between dogs. It was just me, and my chronically obnoxius bracy (sic) or just abrasive smile.

My mouth looks like Bat Boy, and all the metal hardware crammed in there, sheesh. Look at the wires & rubber bands. Surprising & deeply puzzling why I was french kissing so much in this era. I am pretty sure it was the very same month that these shots were taken that I did my first tongue kiss, because I remember the girl who do it to me (I swear, on public record, to this day I’ve never been the french kiss initiator).

Her name was pronounced exactly like the scary Supreme nominee from the 1980s. B-O-R-K. Bork. The January back in 1999 when I turned 16, she had me talking on the phone hours a night. Often it would take 14 hours or more of weeknight calling to convince me to invoke my new drivers license for a night at Showcase Cinema. Most of those phone calls involved descriptive french kissing instruction, because she made clear she was going to french kiss me hard.

And did she. I can’t even remember what movie we were at anymore, but looking back it must have been “Patch Adams.” She took me aside before we went in and french kissed me right in front of small children. I turned 16 years of age on the spot, smiled & the small children saw my grill and screamed. I called her up a couple of days later and apologized for being weird about the french kissing, then I dumped her, explaining that I was totally spent after that intense french kiss. Bork went away.

At my aunt’s house I found some diskettes. In between epic hours of C-SPAN observing & mentally recording many secrets (Arlen Specter recently dyed his hair brown, for example), I rummaged through the old computer equipment. This is highly satisfying because it feels so good to find ancient personal things like these diskettes. Based on the philosophy that for 3rdarm.biz to be on the edge of it’s peak it will have to take on the role of a C-SPAN of me, I wish to act as filter over these diskettes that I now lord over, and parse the good & bad cherries to hand out really the highest quality cherries, on the mountain bottom.

The machines are the skeletons in my closets, and they hold the highest count of data on my life. The Virtual Boy that I have along with almost all of the games manufactured for the system that I keep in a tradeshow case which is black and has the red VB logo & the dark grey foam inside is specifically fitted for the headgear & it’s tripod… when the inventor of Virtual & Game Boys, Gumpei Yokoi, was struck and killed on a highway outside Tokyo, I changed my last name from Mullen to Yokoi. It would be possible to extract my full DNA data from that Virtual Boy, so the best shot I have at immortality would be to one day encapsule this Virtual Reality headset in it’s tradeshow case in a cube of amber, because unlike diamonds, amber encapsules virtual boys f-o-r-e-v-e-r.

Okay what I set out to say is that I found these diskettes (& other times have re-examined other interesting technological puzzle pieces from my past including Virtual Boy, my original IBM PS-2 laptop, & now these diskettes). These are diskettes manufactured by Mystic Photo Lab from between the beginning of 1997 until the end of 1999, at which point approximately they began to store the digital copies on the internet, instead of distributing diskettes. The diskettes I now have were each individually distributed with a set of prints.

This is a very interesting collection of data that includes pictures from my Sweet 16th birthday party as well as photos from when my aunt & mom and I went to visit my sister in Costa Rica. I also have dug up some diskettes from the laptop bag I have stolen from the toothless IBM Ps/2 laptop & have now given to the baby bizamp, who adores the new bag, even though it has a Nintendo Power catalogue in it’s sidepocket. On these diskettes I have found some truly amusing pornographic material which I will have up in a flash. This data I have decided to put in the green box and also use a Word Press header for, so that people who watch my C-SPAN can simply adjust the dial & watch it.

Keep your eyes on the green box for way back biz.

Aight first of all, I was watching this smart little Ethiopan girl with one leg & one arm on tv today. She was on the Oprah show which I was watching with my grandmother, but thats irrelevant. When her foot got stuck under the muddy rail and the train ran over her arm and her leg, American Southerners adopted her. The miracle of the South helped her learn perfect Southern English, which she proved by miraculously using “Ya’ll” after everything spoken, just like a real Southerner.

And she could swim too! With one arm and one leg, like a dolphin. But she didn’t remember too much about the minutes before the train sliced her up., In the story she told Oprah she was going to get juice for her grandmother. Her white & wholesome Southern parents got a bouyant round of applause ignited by Jay Leno. The last thing Oprah said to her was, “Do you realize you’re amazing?” The girl plainly nodded her head.

Much later in the night I was watching BBC WORLD News on CPTV. The BBC logo is a black & cordial 3D Earth in orbit, ringed like Saturn with angled rings & slices. The blackground is red. It is something one skilled in three dee rendering could probably pull off over a couple Domino’s pizzas, or even one Double Decker from the Pizza Ring! But then while I was watching the megalogo gyrate, a ticker tape of words snaked across the screen around the megasystem. The words repeated in this word worm were “STEM CELLS.”

The report went to a very severe looking Irash lad, some reporter celebrating his Grunt skin talking about the South Korean exposed fake scientist. How he supposedly used stem cells to clone human beings, which could then be used to help tailor cures to all kinds of diseases, supposedly at the time, or even just clones for the deep mines. The cloning claims were canned, after it turned out that he had no actual evidence of any of the human cloning, whatsoever. This Korean guy was as just another String Theorist somehow escaped from his basement.

“Quite a lot of chickens beginning to die… The chicken houses are eight times the size of an airplane hangar,” was the disease, report later.
But here is where Big 3rdarm.biz steps in and says, wait! Don’t call this Korean man a fake, just because he claimed to have cloned humans when he actually hasn’t! Did Michael Jordan not claim to be a baseball player? Did Shaq not claim to be both a rapper at one point and a shaolin at another and a genie named Kazaam! at still a third? Yes, but are Shaq & Michael Jordan not the dopest in the game, at least in ya’ll two decades of life?

Yes, yes yes & the South Korean. He was originally known as a dog cloner, and that part was true. How many people do you know that could clone a dog? I bet if the South really lashes the scientist for being a fake there will be a backlash. That would be the Scientist fleeing to the North and unleashing an army of killer dogs or worse. How worse? How about an invincible army of one hundred million hucanin chimera 3000s?! (brutally wolfish/barbarous human/canine chimeras cloned using these brainstellcem methods)

The glorius truth in all this belongs to Snuppy of course. In the Indian language of the Koreas previous inhabitants, the name Snuppy means true one with wise eyebrows. Clearly as the evidence below proves, the Scientist Hwang Woo-suk has taken the dog with him, even though it may or maynot be a human brainstem canine chimera that begins the Clone Wars. But the fate of humankind really rests in Snuppy paw’s, not Hwang Woo-suk.