Gardner is very close to many towns

The first time you jump, you think you’re going to die. And the thing is, you do die. First you die, and then everyone else dies, and then the sun dies, and then everything dies. It all happens so fast that you don’t even have time to remember how you died (for the record, and take it from someone who’s seen it too many times to count: it’s always in a filthy bed somewhere, and it’s always slow, and the people who are there are never the people you want to be there) before it all starts over again, in reverse: the universe is born, the sun ignites, life crawls out of the ocean, and all the stupid monkeys fuck and fight their way through the centuries until you are born, alien and screaming, and you watch yourself grow up--and then there you are, in a new world, and it all happened in less than a second. If you don’t take the time to watch it, it just looks like a light bulb turning off, and then back on. Everything goes dark, and then explodes back into light.

But you should take the time, because time is what the spinner has to give. My tenth jump, maybe, is when I finally slowed down and had a look about. All the cool apocalyptic shit, I saw, and then I saw a new world being born, the dinosaurs, the first men, Shakespeare, da Vinci, whatever. Who cares? You can get that shit in a history book, and anyway, it wasn’t the real Bill S. and Leo da V. (And yeah, I know what Winter would say to that, but fuck him: my world is the real world, and I think the physics back me up.) But what sticks in my mind is this: I saw myself, around seventeen, on a football pitch, kicking the ball around. It was raining. There was a car, an old VW, on the edge of the pitch. Over the rain I could just barely hear MacGowan singing “Fairytale of New York” on the VW’s tinny speakers. Johanna was in the car, wearing her dad’s school tie. She had her window down, and the rain got inside, misting up off the door into her face. She was waiting for me to say something. “Fuck you,” I said. “Go to Dublin, if that’s what you want. There’s more like you here, and there’s more like you there. You’ll see.”

I tell myself that wasn’t the real me. That wasn’t the real Johanna. I’m the real me. I met Winter when I was nineteen, became a Detective. That boy on the pitch was beaten and left for dead behind a Galway pub when he was nineteen. We are not the same.

But every jump, no matter what else changes, that one night in Headford is always the same. I always say the same thing. Johanna always leaves. Because it’s not the big things that make up a life. It’s not your job or where you live or how you die or who you married or who’s president or any of that shit. Those things are different in every world, and it doesn’t matter. The little things stay the same. You say the same horrible things to the people you love. You make the same wrong decisions. You get that same hollow feeling in your head at five in the morning, when Saturday’s already gone and Sunday’s not yet arrived. You give in and give up, because that’s always easier.

Winter says that what we can do, creating the spinners and making the jumps, is a gift. Sure. A gift is just the point at which your willingness to give meets my willingness to accept. When those two waves meet, they collapse, and Boom! It’s a fucking toaster. But Ma always said it was the thought that counts, and she was right: the toaster isn’t even real--what matters is the giving, and the accepting. The taking. The universe has given me something, and I’m taking it. All I can do is take it.
posted by Gardner at 3:32 PM

Stayed up to watch the sunrise, but the sun doesn't rise here. The haze in the sky just turns pale, like a film of a bruise in reverse.
posted by Gardner at 5:55 AM

Glendale, as seen from my balcony:

posted by Gardner at 3:48 AM

I am not Frankenstein.

Frankenstein's monster

Just in case you were wondering.
posted by Gardner at 8:14 PM

posted by Gardner at 1:33 AM

posted by Gardner at 1:19 AM

Marc says hello:
Marc

posted by Gardner at 1:32 PM

In response to a question about the popularity and elemental characteristics of sci-fi/fantasy trilogies and serials (research for EVERYTHING AWESOME, the next big project after ANT THING), Amy nails the appeal of the X-Men:

"as for the x-men, all they are are badasses who are only trying to make their way in a world which hates them. like manna to dorks who are trying to find their way in a society which hates them."
posted by Gardner at 1:39 AM

Go to Caitlin's show tonight:

On Saturday, May 17, the festivities proceed apace with an installation entitled "Nervous Energy" by local artist Caitlin Martell. Repetitive processes characterize Martel's creations; for this show she will work with 8000 pink and blue multi-purpose ties, which are industrial-strength cousins of the familiar twisty tie.

"I'm also a nail-biter," Martell explains, "but you can only bite your nails so far, and then you have to create art."

Saturday, May 17, 8pm-10pm, X-Ray Cafe, 261 Washington St., Athens, GA
posted by Gardner at 2:03 AM

R.I.P. June Carter Cash, 1929-2003

Love is a burning thing,
And it makes a fiery ring.
Bound by wild desire,
I fell into a ring of fire.

I fell into a burning ring of fire.
I went down, down, down
And the flames went higher.
And it burns, burn, burns,
The ring of fire, the ring of fire.

The taste of love is sweet
When hearts like ours meet.
I fell for you like a child --
Oh, but the fire ran wild.

I fell into a burning ring of fire.
I went down, down, down
And the flames went higher.
And it burns, burn, burns,
The ring of fire, the ring of fire.

I fell into a burning ring of fire.
I went down, down, down,
And the flames went higher.
And it burns, burn, burns,
The ring of fire, the ring of fire.
posted by Gardner at 1:55 AM

Caitlin's having a show:

Come see "Nervous Energy," new sculptural works and drawings by Caitlin Martell.
Opening Reception Saturday, May 17 from 8pm-10pm. Dancing to follow, in support and
celebration of XRay's Electronic Music Night. May17th-June 17th. XRay Cafe 261
Washington St. Athens, GA (Great big happy thanks to Paul Thomas and Stephanie
Anderson for their support.)

Caitlin drew the portrait of me that the GLFC logo is based on. If you're in Athens next Saturday, go see the show, because I'm stuck here in the blighted wasteland of Los Angeles.

posted by Gardner at 6:32 PM

Important GLFC Announcement:

I've consolidated my music writing for Flagpole onto one page, accessible by clicking on the letters link above. More of my profound and witty insights into the current state of rock and roll should appear there on a regular basis, and various bits of microfiction and such from the blog may migrate to that page as well.

That is all. Carry on.
posted by Gardner at 3:02 AM

Found on Cat Patrick's blog, RoboCat:

"AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHH! Today was apparently Asshole Day. Or God Makes Fun of Cat Day. first, when I woke up, the bite on my leg that i got from Jill's fucking ants was absolutely huge and purple and gross, so I couldn't wear the skirt I wanted to wear for the first day of school. But that turned out okay, because the person I would have worn it for (I'm not gonna say his name, because I swore I would never say it again, but you know who you are, Asshole!!!) turned out to be a major dick and a loser, and as Michelle says, a "Wedge, the simplest of all tools." This unnamed Asshole person wanted me to hold onto his hat for him, and I said okay because I was (Was! Was! Not anymore, because I am smarter now!) totally slutty for him, but then it turned out that there was a baggie of pot in the hat, and I got totally busted by a cop and fucking McGruff the fucking crime dog!! And so obviously I'm never speaking to this asshole again because A) he's a damn dirty hippie loser who smokes pot, when that is so totally like last year, and B) he's an ASSHOLE!!! (I think I may have mentioned that). The cop dragged me all the way home and I didn't have time to change clothes and of course my dad (who some of you may remember from "classic" albums like Pigs In Armor--ha ha, like anyone listens to the Denial anymore. Nobody gives a shit about your lame-ass seventies CBGB shit, dad! He thinks he's so cool because he knows Henry Rollins, which is so retarded because Rollins stopped being cool the moment he said "yes please I'd love to star in The Chase") found out about Hell Kitty and everything and now he thinks I smoke pot and what's worse he's COOL WITH IT and he actually said "I'm COOL WITH IT." Jesus H. Fuck. To top it all off, now Ethan has started acting all super-creepy towards me, like following me around and talking in this suave voice or whatever, and it's totally freaking me out. (Ethan, I know you're reading this, so stop coming up behind me and sniffing all the time! If I smell bad, just tell me!!) And this fucking ant bite itches like a bitch. At least maybe a good song will come out of all this. It's the kind of thing that makes you wanna kill yourself. Or at least kill other people. Starting with a certain Asshole.

"That's it for tonight. Hope you had a better day than I did.

"Mood: PISSED OFF!!
"Listening: Joy Division, Isolation"
posted by Gardner at 10:04 PM

Thanks to Chris Thorn for more ANT THING goodness:

Army ants, groups of ants that sweep along in massive, voracious groups, evolved just once -- contrary to common scientific belief -- a Cornell University researcher reports.

Entomologist Sean Brady studied the DNA of 30 army ant species from across the world and concluded that they all had the same point of origin.
posted by Gardner at 9:41 PM

Generated by Rob's Amazing Poem Generator:

The smell of Tunbridge Wells, southeast of the
endless cycles found yourself in. a
bill that other artists to
enable them to be previewed on
Tuesday moved one step
closer to spend your plight,
and form own copyright
agreement.Each license is May 01, 2003 Listen, listen,
listen, to spend your aching heart,
calm your aching muscles, soothe your glossy
magazines, and rain
is lean and cape
scare off hooligans and
return a bold;:
posts {: Verdana, Arial, ;color: 999999;:11px;} A.
world where everything works out
just
started working on, the area of Travel
by US Defense Advanced Research for
the Iwate Prefectural Assembly seat he
has more fun appears
wherever he
was
still drinking Guinness from human operators. posted
by Gardner The Great
The organised
behaviour of anticipation,
does exist.
posted by Gardner at 7:41 PM

Monk 237, the other me, he sprints across the brown grass on legs stronger than mine. Even from here I can see the soles of his feet are nearly black with callous. He runs hard and strong, his hair waving behind him like a flag. I wonder if he knows who is chasing him.

My horse is stronger and faster than me, even this other me, the one who runs. He's lived in the wild for two years, since I made Detective. This one has survived. Perhaps he's killed a lion. An elephant. Maybe he's met Monk 117 or 943; maybe he has killed them. Someday one of them will stop running and turn around and fight. Then I will get off my horse and put down my gun. I look forward to that.

But Monk 237 runs, like all the others have run. My horse brings us closer, brings the other me into range. I raise my rifle. I line up the other me in the scope. He is lean and wild, his skin brown and tough. He has lived a good life, here on the plain. He hears the crack of the rifle, but he doesn't look back.
posted by Gardner at 5:24 PM

This was posted by Warren Ellis at Die Puny Humans, but I thought I'd put it here too because it directly relates to something I just started working on. It's wonderful when things come together like this:

A masked and caped do-gooder has been sweeping through an English town, performing good deeds and scattering terrified bad guys, a local newspaper reported on Friday.

The Kent and Sussex Courier said it had received letters from "stunned residents" of the town of Tunbridge Wells, southeast of London, who saw the man in a brown mask and cape scare off hooligans and return a woman's dropped purse.

And here's a bit of the thing I'm working on that it relates to:

DETECTIVE WINTER: But that other party, that perfect night that you created out of anticipation, does exist. There's a world where you did meet that red-haired girl who plays bass, who reads Blake, who understands you like no one else could. There's a world where everything works out just as you plan. These worlds are infinite, Mr. Clarke. Every choice you make creates a new one. You've never seen them, but I have.

I know why you're in this cell, Mr. Clarke. You're in here because of that ache at the back of your skull. The one that says this isn't all there is--that you weren't meant to spend your life in the endless cycles you've found yourself in. That you were meant to be a hero.

There's a world where you are a hero, Mr. Clarke. That is why I am here.
posted by Gardner at 4:58 PM

Listen, listen, listen to the words of Gardner. The words will save you. The words will massage your aching muscles, soothe your aching heart, calm your aching nerves. Gardner has stories to tell. Stories of nights spent on the street, face down in asphalt, the smell of bourbon and rain filling his nostrils, the smell rising from the street. The rain comes down and it is May and it is Los Angeles and it is all wrong, this rain, this rain that should not be here in Los Angeles when it is May. It is the springtime and almost the summer and rain is not welcome. Not welcome at all.

Who has more fun than Gardner? No one, that is who. You may read your glossy magazines, and you may think chain-smoking hard-drinking starlet-banging Irish Hollywood Hunk Colin Farrell has more fun than Gardner, but you would be wrong. Because a) magazines are liars. And b) Gardner never starred in The Recruit. So c) Gardner wins, as always. Colin Farrell can kiss Gardner's ass, because Gardner doesn't go to the fun--the fun comes to Gardner. The fun appears wherever he goes, blooming in his wake like so many beautiful, beautiful flowers. Gardner was snorting coke off Winona Ryder's ass when Colin Farrell was still drinking Guinness from a plastic nipple. Gardner is the once and future King of Hollywood. Do not forget.

You have a yearning in your heart, an emptiness where your soul should be. You are missing something vital and important and real. You want to be like Gardner, yet you do not know how. Gardner knows of your plight, and he sympathizes. He knows of your secret desire. He says to you: Be patient. One day we will all be like Gardner. One glorious day.

--Jezebel Thrombosis McJeffers, Director of Public Relations, The Gardner Linn Fan Club

posted by Gardner at 12:22 PM