This probably isn't exactly a child-friendly page, but if you don't already have Net Nanny running, whadda YOU care if your kids end up being background zombies for George Romero's next juicy round of well-crafted brain-rot? Okay, just wanted to get that out of the way as politely as possible. At least I backed off from the chorus line of scantily-clad, high-kicking, animated Margaret Thatchers with enormous nay-nays. You're welcome. Its rather interesting to rotate between technical manuals, Woody Allen's "The Insanity Defense," a treatise on the Cold War, the Clive Barker biography "The Dark Fantastic" and the latest issue of "World War Hulk." Its almost like poring over the strata of my real life. Then there's the nightly pleasure of watching MSNBC's Keith Olbermann ask the obvious pointed questions, acting as a perfect foil to Jon Stewart making the obvious jokes. Its almost as if we still have some real freedom of the press, such as it is. "Balance" that out with 2 hours of beautifully-crafted head-lopping anime per week and you get... gee, what the hell DO you get? Um, mania au jous, more exotic adventures in digital recording and a sneaking suspicion that the pineapple you bought on a lark is rolling around by itself when you are asleep. Come back here, you little dickens, you're scaring the cat.

Aside from having a occasional disturbing dream about violent things I'd like to do to a few key public figures with a shoe spreader, its mostly getting down to writing amusing things to narrate and going through the usual shakedown pains of sussing new music toys. I'm on the third upgrade of Cubase, my juicy audio recording program and while I find it tres impressive, I think I've finally run afoul of a tool that's smarter than I am and a computer whose CPU is far more stable than my own. This is not a bad thing per se; its not only gratifying, but gently forces you to play your game at a higher level, once the screaming stops. Of course, its had its wretched pitfalls. If I had more hair, a few handfuls of it would be in the floor around my work space by now.

All the same, the old saws about being careful what you wish for and the most frightening thing in the world sometimes being a second chance are feeling less like philosophical warnings and more like a cross between a nice oil rubdown and suddenly grasping the core of what makes algebra tick, banishing its former fangs forever. I am impatient to reach the next level of facility with my new goodies. At present, while not a total noob, I am partially back to feeling as I did early on, like a small steam engine seeking a higher pedigree that leads to the bullet train tracks. However, I am already too far along to be that slow again, which is a golden thing. I snicker to recall a line from the sitcom "Becker:" "I'm not afraid of the dark; I'm afraid of the evil it conceals." At this point, I AM that grinning "evil," in a sense, but my goals are relatively benign and the dark has become a familar stomping ground, free of the constraints of being fried under the glare of the wretched sun. The sun is always a roundhouse punch to the gizzard, but the dark allows you to move on multiple axes and turn that snapping algebraic cur into a borderline lap dog. The dark is enticing because the breeze is cooler and the freedom to expand rather than shield more engaging. As Robert Dante said in his epic poem "The Flight of Water," "How does it feel to be at large and not merely at liberty?" There are more than a few liberating things to be had in life, but the vast potential of the musical tools and digital wizardry I now have in hand makes me feel as though I am experiencing the enjoyable high end of a powerful snootful of smoky 15-year-old Kentucky bourbon, minus the low merits of barfing in the sink at a party after slurping down 7 house brand beers and a mint julep chaser, crashing into two Great Danes & a sycamore tree or hitting on a girl half your age who was already so stupid, she still would have said "Huh?" to your approach back when you still had pecs instead of man boobs that are cryin' out for a SpongeBob sports bra. Oh, that's a great image to contemplate over dinner, eh?

How the hell did I get this way? Right, like I'm going to type all of THAT up. However, I think a good portion of it started when I was about 7. I had an inexplicable, torrid affair with a talking Cecil the Seasick Sea Serpent plushie thingie that said "I'M COMIN', BEANIE BOY!" when you pulled his string. Perhaps you've had a few similar relationships. It ended badly. He was orthodox Jewish and I was a madman in training. When you get the horn for flannel, well, what's WRONG with you, anyway? I cannot answer this, as I am wearing a big bra for a hat at the moment. You can have a .jpg of it for $5. Anyway, I'm definitely the kind of guy who goes for women, but if they put on a flannel shirt, hey, that's a big two-fer in my book. If I stumble across one like that who has an IQ above 110 and who can also play guitar synthesizer, I'm gonna buy her a ring with a stone so big, they could use it as a lighthouse beacon. More audio goodness coming in due course, inch by inch, bit by byte and with a real wowser of a coda. In theory. Well, its in my HEAD, anyway, give a dog a bone, you filthy tapir's hump. Aww, don't be upset. Would you like a balloon shaped like the President's ego? Me neither.

While I chip away at some colorful things from which I can, hopefully, one day sell the chips, have an aural gander at a 30-minute radio show I just emitted, courtesy of crusty old uncle Scooter, who does the Inner Side Radio program at KPFT. http://acksisofevil.org/audio/inner153.mp3 (More Scooterism is archived at http://acksisofevil.org/) It includes a few of my bizarre narratives, a mini-collage and a succulent synth bit called "My Bionic Monkey," which is a collaborative curio built on a colorful loop crafted by Rev. Two Beans. Really great for warping your granny, ah tell ya whut.