Paul Woodhouse would house himself in America if he could, and, bypassing the ease and luxury of applying for an illegal alien status, actually obediently got a legal visitor status instead, a work permit or temporary citizenship or whatever it's called.
He emailed me today and asked about yellow and Peoria, I knew the "bananas" remark was a vieled reference to another yellow entity, what some call big yellow, Caterpillar. I like Caterpillar. Everybody in Peoria works there or serves those who do. It's nice that way. I wrote technical literature and marketing brochures for their usability lab, but that was long time ago, in about 1996 or so.
Anyway, he asked me, "how's [he assumes I live in] Peoria?"
Here's an edited version of my email message to him of a few minutes ago, a window of surreptitious transparency and
CompuMusik "Dark Electronic Tunnel" CD finished last night.
71+ minutes of psychological mayhem, non-music static, superslowed bell guitar, and speeded up voices w/pitchshifted retinue buzz drones.
Ambient Sludge for Interplanetary Infotainment, is what I humbly call it. CompuMusik. Just me and the SourceForge Audacity audio editor, an internet mic, and way too much sleep time devoted to blurry half awake experimentation and beta testing rhythmic slop.
1938 Media/Loren Feldman just finished a New Orleans blogumentary film for Chartreuse, the blog media network channelist analyst, and it's incredibly pro and riveting in a sheet metallic sense.
[text accidentally deleted] site, but it makes me feel like a [text deleted] Fictional Character to have [no text deleted] media attention, a [text deleted] commitment, a special [i.e., avant video tutorial] "show", and orders barked at me from producers, investors, and wild teenage groupies (I suspect not all would be female, either, I'm such a handsome, charming, and [text mercifully deleted] man.)
Peoria is balmy, slowed down by autumnal notifications, ghostly, it's vampire season.
Halloween is a scary month or three in America, all the ghouls come out and there are werewolves aplenty. The tide has turned against them, of course, but they persist in more hidden and bizarre costumes now, sometimes morphing into trees, owls, or abandoned toys.
I have many projects I'm busy ruining, so I've got anticipations of a twist in the wind.
I want to be unknown, or if known, known only as "he" and "him" (I toss "him" in just for the sake of variety, not to proliferate honors and duplications of my self).
[Editor Clarification: he seems to want to abandon the whole "Vaspers the Grate" thing, and be, not his true self sans aka, but something alien to both self and non-self. Rumors are that he's planning to "disappear" in a spectacular, visually pervasive manner.]
NOT: "Vaspers the Grate said...."
RATHER: "He said....."
[END OF EMAIL]