March 9th, 2001


Oh, looky here ... some more of that-there poetry stuff ...

Ah, I'd really thought I'd be writing more this week ... but the "quiet" time has just not been there. Oh well. Nobody much cares about these anyway, so it's just MY obsessive-compulsive disorder that's getting itchy about the lack of output!

By the way ... look, it's now less than a month to go till the debut of the new Unicity Network ... I still don't get why folks don't see this as "the greatest thing since sliced bread", but the products, the company, the opportunity ... it's all there ... this level of preventative healthcare has NEVER been available before, and most people treat my telling them about it like I'm trying to sell them Tupperware ... I don't get it ... I mean, if the folks I were talking to were mainlining heroin and smoking five packs of Camels a day, I'd say "oh, guess they don't give a fuck about their health", but most people at least claim to, which makes it so strange when they refuse to even LOOK at what's available out there that is going to vastly improve how they feel, could significantly improve how they look, very lilely extend their lifespans, and is structured to let them make some money in the process ... did I just drop down from Mars on this? I dont' think so, but there it is ... Hey, it's coming, it's going to be HUGE, and you can see the current info at my RSI website if you have any interest at all, I'd recommend it.

Anyway, back to the psychoses...

                    THESE SIGNS UNHEEDED

                    only things received
                    are open to light
                    only things attained
                    fall victim to dark
                    we stand amid,
                    immersed in grey
                    enmeshed in shadows
                    spun down betwixt

                    every circuit
                    awaits its charge
                    every wavelength
                    seeks frequency
                    the wiring bides
                    some signal sent
                    from distant zones
                    and ancient times

                    from the core
                    the pulse expands
                    to radiate
                    across the void
                    every sector
                    is primed to shift
                    the mode of synch
                    as thresholds pass beyond

                    within the matrix
                    there is no frame
                    to set a knowing
                    only deeper echoes
                    of other planes
                    speaking whispers of a change
                    which comes in spasms
                    from seeding states

                    writ on arcane stele
                    daubed on decaying walls
                    patterned out in symbol games
                    the murmurs still surround
                    yet where are those
                    who hear and know?
                    what has become
                    of the priesthood of the stars?

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp

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I really can't believe it ...

I blew the better part of the afternoon composing things to put up in LiveJournal ... responding to things, commenting on things, passing along things, answering surveys, etc. and with ONE exception they were all ignored. Man ... that just burns me up.

In the wake of a day like this it makes me think I should just concentrate on my writing, say "fuck you" to the Live Journal community, and start focusing on getting more stuff in print. I've had a couple of offers (unfortunately, for writing columns in areas that I'm not as confident as others), but have always declined. Maybe I need to re-think this strategy.

Fuck ... what a waste of time.

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