BIO
Curt Cloninger is an artist, writer, and Associate Professor of New Media at the University of North Carolina Asheville. His art undermines language as a system of meaning in order to reveal it as an embodied force in the world. His art work has been featured in the New York Times and at festivals and galleries from Korea to Brazil. Exhibition venues include Centre Georges Pompidou (Paris), Granoff Center for The Creative Arts (Brown University), Digital Art Museum [DAM] (Berlin), Ukrainian Institute of Modern Art (Chicago), Black Mountain College Museum + Arts Center, and the internet. He is the recipient of several grants and awards, including commissions for the creation of new artwork from the National Endowment for the Arts (via Turbulence.org) and Austin Peay State University's Terminal Award.
Cloninger has written on a wide range of topics, including new media and internet art, installation and performance art, experimental graphic design, popular music, network culture, and continental philosophy. His articles have appeared in Intelligent Agent, Mute, Paste, Tekka, Rhizome Digest, A List Apart, and on ABC World News. He is also the author of eight books, most recently One Per Year (Link Editions). He maintains lab404.com, playdamage.org , and deepyoung.org in hopes of facilitating a more lively remote dialogue with the Sundry Contagions of Wonder.
Cloninger has written on a wide range of topics, including new media and internet art, installation and performance art, experimental graphic design, popular music, network culture, and continental philosophy. His articles have appeared in Intelligent Agent, Mute, Paste, Tekka, Rhizome Digest, A List Apart, and on ABC World News. He is also the author of eight books, most recently One Per Year (Link Editions). He maintains lab404.com, playdamage.org , and deepyoung.org in hopes of facilitating a more lively remote dialogue with the Sundry Contagions of Wonder.
Re: ze troll, she can still cook, ne?
petulant pseudonymous neo-gnostic extropian anarchist type seeks
frisky perturbed sparring partner for inane public mailing list bout.
must enjoy smug condescension, naughty name-calling (grrr!), and
talking to a brick wall. serious inquiries only.
"our band could be your life
real names'd be proof
me and mike watt played for years
punk rock changed our lives"
- d.
make filter >> from/contains: death@zaphod.terminal.org >> transfer to trash
real names'd be proof,
curt
At 8:01 PM -0800 11/23/02, -IID42 Kandinskij @27+ wrote:
>On Sat, 23 Nov 2002, Curt Cloninger wrote:
>
> > biliana dimitrova
> > [bulgaria, denmark, france, D.C., japan, ...]
>
> Uhm, Curt Cloniger, avoid involving other humans
> than me in the issue. You've so far listed 3
> individuals who are not I.
>
> Shall I repost your idiotic imbecile 'private' correspondence
> during which you have attempted to harrass others, and when refused
> now are feeling bitchy + stung, hence feeling justified in acting
> like an asshole?
>
> Leave my acquaintances out of this, idiot.
frisky perturbed sparring partner for inane public mailing list bout.
must enjoy smug condescension, naughty name-calling (grrr!), and
talking to a brick wall. serious inquiries only.
"our band could be your life
real names'd be proof
me and mike watt played for years
punk rock changed our lives"
- d.
make filter >> from/contains: death@zaphod.terminal.org >> transfer to trash
real names'd be proof,
curt
At 8:01 PM -0800 11/23/02, -IID42 Kandinskij @27+ wrote:
>On Sat, 23 Nov 2002, Curt Cloninger wrote:
>
> > biliana dimitrova
> > [bulgaria, denmark, france, D.C., japan, ...]
>
> Uhm, Curt Cloniger, avoid involving other humans
> than me in the issue. You've so far listed 3
> individuals who are not I.
>
> Shall I repost your idiotic imbecile 'private' correspondence
> during which you have attempted to harrass others, and when refused
> now are feeling bitchy + stung, hence feeling justified in acting
> like an asshole?
>
> Leave my acquaintances out of this, idiot.
Re: ze troll, she can still cook, ne?
Hours later the Un-man began to speak. It did not even look Ransom's
direction; slowly and cumbrously, as if by some machinery that needed
oiling, it made its mouth and lips pronounce his name.
"Ransom," it said.
"Well?" said Ransom.
"Nothing," said the Un-man. He shot an inquisitive glance at it.
Was the creature mad? But it looked, as before, dead rather than
mad, sitting there with the head bowed and the mouth a little open,
and some yellow dust from the moss settled in the creases of its
cheeks, and the legs crossed tailor-wise, and the hands, with their
long metallic-looking nails, pressed flat together on the ground
before it. He dismissed the problem from his mind and returned to
his own uncomfortable thoughts.
"Ransom," it said again.
"What is it?" said Ransom sharply.
"Nothing," it answered.
Again there was silence, and again, about a minute later, the
horrible mouth said:
"Ransom!" This time he made no reply. Another minute and it uttered
his name again; and then, like a minute gun, "Ransom . . . Ransom . .
. Ransom," perhaps a hundred times.
"What the Hell do you want?" he roared at last.
"Nothing," said the voice. Next time he determined not to answer;
but when it had called on him a thousand times he found himself
answering whether he would or no, and "Nothing," came the reply. He
taught himself to keep silent in the end: not that the torture of
resisting his impulst to speak was less than the torture of response
but because something within him rose up to combat the tormentor's
assurance that he must yield in the end. If the attack had been of
some more violent kind it might have been easier to resist. What
chilled and almost cowed him was the union of malice with something
nearly childish. For temptation, for blasphemy, for a whole battery
of horrors, he was in some sort prepared: but hardly for tihs petty,
indefatigable nagging as of a nasty little boy at a preparatory
school. Indeed no imagined horror could have surpassed the sense
which grew within him as the slow hours passed, that this creature
was, by all human standards, inside out -- its heart on the surface
and its shallowness at the heart. On the surface, great designs and
an antagonism to Heaven which involved the fate of worlds: but deep
within, when every veil had been pierced, was there, after all,
nothing but a black puerility, an aimless empty spitefulness content
to sate itself with the tiniest cruelties, as love does not disdain
the smallest kindness? What kept him steady, long after all
possibility of thinking about something else had disappeared, was the
decision that if he must hear either the word Ransom or the word
Nothing a million times, he would prefer the world Ransom...
Then all at once it was night. "Ransom . . . Ransom . . . Ransom . .
. Ransom" went on the voice. And suddenly it crossed his mind that
though he would some time requre sleep, the Un-man might not."
- c.s. lewis, perelandra, 1944
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
At 3:45 PM +0000 11/24/02, joseph (yes) wrote:
>Quoting "-IID42 Kandinskij @27+" <death@zaphod.terminal.org>:
> >
> > MWA. We hope you enjoy your filter.
> >
> >
>
>The door, it closes. But I am still here to comfort you my friend. An
>appropriate place for the dead, n'est pas?
>
>joseph (cor e form art) + (porat per ance ist)
>frank + lyn - mc + El + roy
>
>go shopping -> http://www.electrichands.com/shopindex.htm
>call me 646 279 2309
>
>SUBSCRIBE TO OUR NEWSLETTER CUPCAKEKALEIDOSCOPE - send email to
>CupcakeKleidoscope-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
direction; slowly and cumbrously, as if by some machinery that needed
oiling, it made its mouth and lips pronounce his name.
"Ransom," it said.
"Well?" said Ransom.
"Nothing," said the Un-man. He shot an inquisitive glance at it.
Was the creature mad? But it looked, as before, dead rather than
mad, sitting there with the head bowed and the mouth a little open,
and some yellow dust from the moss settled in the creases of its
cheeks, and the legs crossed tailor-wise, and the hands, with their
long metallic-looking nails, pressed flat together on the ground
before it. He dismissed the problem from his mind and returned to
his own uncomfortable thoughts.
"Ransom," it said again.
"What is it?" said Ransom sharply.
"Nothing," it answered.
Again there was silence, and again, about a minute later, the
horrible mouth said:
"Ransom!" This time he made no reply. Another minute and it uttered
his name again; and then, like a minute gun, "Ransom . . . Ransom . .
. Ransom," perhaps a hundred times.
"What the Hell do you want?" he roared at last.
"Nothing," said the voice. Next time he determined not to answer;
but when it had called on him a thousand times he found himself
answering whether he would or no, and "Nothing," came the reply. He
taught himself to keep silent in the end: not that the torture of
resisting his impulst to speak was less than the torture of response
but because something within him rose up to combat the tormentor's
assurance that he must yield in the end. If the attack had been of
some more violent kind it might have been easier to resist. What
chilled and almost cowed him was the union of malice with something
nearly childish. For temptation, for blasphemy, for a whole battery
of horrors, he was in some sort prepared: but hardly for tihs petty,
indefatigable nagging as of a nasty little boy at a preparatory
school. Indeed no imagined horror could have surpassed the sense
which grew within him as the slow hours passed, that this creature
was, by all human standards, inside out -- its heart on the surface
and its shallowness at the heart. On the surface, great designs and
an antagonism to Heaven which involved the fate of worlds: but deep
within, when every veil had been pierced, was there, after all,
nothing but a black puerility, an aimless empty spitefulness content
to sate itself with the tiniest cruelties, as love does not disdain
the smallest kindness? What kept him steady, long after all
possibility of thinking about something else had disappeared, was the
decision that if he must hear either the word Ransom or the word
Nothing a million times, he would prefer the world Ransom...
Then all at once it was night. "Ransom . . . Ransom . . . Ransom . .
. Ransom" went on the voice. And suddenly it crossed his mind that
though he would some time requre sleep, the Un-man might not."
- c.s. lewis, perelandra, 1944
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
At 3:45 PM +0000 11/24/02, joseph (yes) wrote:
>Quoting "-IID42 Kandinskij @27+" <death@zaphod.terminal.org>:
> >
> > MWA. We hope you enjoy your filter.
> >
> >
>
>The door, it closes. But I am still here to comfort you my friend. An
>appropriate place for the dead, n'est pas?
>
>joseph (cor e form art) + (porat per ance ist)
>frank + lyn - mc + El + roy
>
>go shopping -> http://www.electrichands.com/shopindex.htm
>call me 646 279 2309
>
>SUBSCRIBE TO OUR NEWSLETTER CUPCAKEKALEIDOSCOPE - send email to
>CupcakeKleidoscope-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
Re: ze troll, she can still cook, ne?
http://www.ongoing-tales.com/SERIALS/oldtime/FAIRYTALES/tarbaby.html
which reminds me, we got the all you can eat at Country Vittles in
Maggie Valley the other day, and it was quite tasty.
At 9:28 PM +0000 11/24/02, joseph (yes) wrote:
>INEZ: Well, what are you waiting for? Do as you're told. What a lovely scene:
>coward Garcin holding baby-killer Estelle in his manly arms! Make your stakes,
>everyone. Will coward Garcin kiss the lady, or won't he dare? What's the
>betting? I'm watching you, everybody's watching, I'm a crowd all by myself. Do
>you hear the crowd? Do you hear them muttering, Garcin? "Coward!Coward!"
>---that's what they're saying...It's no use trying to escape, I'll never let
>you go. What do you hope to get from her silly lips? Forgetfulness? But I
>shan't forget you, not I! "It's I you must convince." So come to me. I'm
>waiting. Come along, now...Look how obedient he is, like a
>well-trained dog who
>comes when his mistress calls. You can't hold him, and you never will.
>
>GARCIN: Will night never come?
>
>INEZ: Never.
>
>GARCIN: You will always see me?
>
>INEZ: Always.
>
>GARCIN: This bronze. Yes, now's the moment; I'm looking at this thing on the
>mantelpiece, and I understand that I'm in hell. I tell you, everything's been
>thoughtout beforehand. They knew I'd stand at the fireplace stroking
>this thing
>of bronze, with all those eyes intent on me. Devouring me. What? Only two of
>you? I thought there were more; many more. So this is hell. I'd never have
>believed it. You remember all we were told about the
>torture-chambers, the fire
>and brimstone, the "burning marl." Old wives' tales! There's no need for
>red-hot pokers. HELL IS--OTHER PEOPLE!
>
>ESTELLE: My darling! Please-
>
>GARCIN: No, let me be. She is between us. I cannot love you when she's
>watching.
>
>ESTELLE: Right! In that case, I'll stop her watching. (She picks up the PAPER
>knife and stabs Inez several times.)
>
>INEZ: But, you crazy creature, what do you think you're doing? You know quite
>well I'm dead.
>
>ESTELLE: Dead?
>
>INEZ: Dead! Dead! Dead! Knives, poison, ropes--useless. It has happened
>already, do you understand? Once and for all. SO here we are, forever.
>
>ESTELLE: Forever. My God, how funny! Forever.
>
>GARCIN: For ever, and ever, and ever.
>
>(A long silence.)
>
>GARCIN: Well, well, let's get on with it...
>
>Huis Clos (no exit) by JP Sartre
>
>joseph (cor e form art) + (porat per ance ist)
>frank + lyn - mc + El + roy
>
>go shopping -> http://www.electrichands.com/shopindex.htm
>call me 646 279 2309
>
>SUBSCRIBE TO OUR NEWSLETTER CUPCAKEKALEIDOSCOPE - send email to
>CupcakeKleidoscope-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
>
>
>
>
>
>Quoting Curt Cloninger <curt@lab404.com>:
>
> > Hours later the Un-man began to speak. It did not even look Ransom's
> > direction; slowly and cumbrously, as if by some machinery that needed
> > oiling, it made its mouth and lips pronounce his name.
> >
> > "Ransom," it said.
> >
> > "Well?" said Ransom.
> >
> > "Nothing," said the Un-man. He shot an inquisitive glance at it.
> > Was the creature mad? But it looked, as before, dead rather than
> > mad, sitting there with the head bowed and the mouth a little open,
> > and some yellow dust from the moss settled in the creases of its
> > cheeks, and the legs crossed tailor-wise, and the hands, with their
> > long metallic-looking nails, pressed flat together on the ground
> > before it. He dismissed the problem from his mind and returned to
> > his own uncomfortable thoughts.
> >
> > "Ransom," it said again.
> >
> > "What is it?" said Ransom sharply.
> >
> > "Nothing," it answered.
> >
> > Again there was silence, and again, about a minute later, the
> > horrible mouth said:
> >
> > "Ransom!" This time he made no reply. Another minute and it uttered
> > his name again; and then, like a minute gun, "Ransom . . . Ransom . .
> > . Ransom," perhaps a hundred times.
> >
> > "What the Hell do you want?" he roared at last.
> >
> > "Nothing," said the voice. Next time he determined not to answer;
> > but when it had called on him a thousand times he found himself
> > answering whether he would or no, and "Nothing," came the reply. He
> > taught himself to keep silent in the end: not that the torture of
> > resisting his impulst to speak was less than the torture of response
> > but because something within him rose up to combat the tormentor's
> > assurance that he must yield in the end. If the attack had been of
> > some more violent kind it might have been easier to resist. What
> > chilled and almost cowed him was the union of malice with something
> > nearly childish. For temptation, for blasphemy, for a whole battery
> > of horrors, he was in some sort prepared: but hardly for tihs petty,
> > indefatigable nagging as of a nasty little boy at a preparatory
> > school. Indeed no imagined horror could have surpassed the sense
> > which grew within him as the slow hours passed, that this creature
> > was, by all human standards, inside out -- its heart on the surface
> > and its shallowness at the heart. On the surface, great designs and
> > an antagonism to Heaven which involved the fate of worlds: but deep
> > within, when every veil had been pierced, was there, after all,
> > nothing but a black puerility, an aimless empty spitefulness content
> > to sate itself with the tiniest cruelties, as love does not disdain
> > the smallest kindness? What kept him steady, long after all
> > possibility of thinking about something else had disappeared, was the
> > decision that if he must hear either the word Ransom or the word
> > Nothing a million times, he would prefer the world Ransom...
> >
> > Then all at once it was night. "Ransom . . . Ransom . . . Ransom . .
> > . Ransom" went on the voice. And suddenly it crossed his mind that
> > though he would some time requre sleep, the Un-man might not."
> >
> > - c.s. lewis, perelandra, 1944
> >
> > ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
> >
> >
> >
> > At 3:45 PM +0000 11/24/02, joseph (yes) wrote:
> > >Quoting "-IID42 Kandinskij @27+" <death@zaphod.terminal.org>:
> > > >
> > > > MWA. We hope you enjoy your filter.
> > > >
> > > >
> > >
> > >The door, it closes. But I am still here to comfort you my friend. An
> > >appropriate place for the dead, n'est pas?
> > >
> > >joseph (cor e form art) + (porat per ance ist)
> > >frank + lyn - mc + El + roy
> > >
> > >go shopping -> http://www.electrichands.com/shopindex.htm
> > >call me 646 279 2309
> > >
> > >SUBSCRIBE TO OUR NEWSLETTER CUPCAKEKALEIDOSCOPE - send email to
> > >CupcakeKleidoscope-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
which reminds me, we got the all you can eat at Country Vittles in
Maggie Valley the other day, and it was quite tasty.
At 9:28 PM +0000 11/24/02, joseph (yes) wrote:
>INEZ: Well, what are you waiting for? Do as you're told. What a lovely scene:
>coward Garcin holding baby-killer Estelle in his manly arms! Make your stakes,
>everyone. Will coward Garcin kiss the lady, or won't he dare? What's the
>betting? I'm watching you, everybody's watching, I'm a crowd all by myself. Do
>you hear the crowd? Do you hear them muttering, Garcin? "Coward!Coward!"
>---that's what they're saying...It's no use trying to escape, I'll never let
>you go. What do you hope to get from her silly lips? Forgetfulness? But I
>shan't forget you, not I! "It's I you must convince." So come to me. I'm
>waiting. Come along, now...Look how obedient he is, like a
>well-trained dog who
>comes when his mistress calls. You can't hold him, and you never will.
>
>GARCIN: Will night never come?
>
>INEZ: Never.
>
>GARCIN: You will always see me?
>
>INEZ: Always.
>
>GARCIN: This bronze. Yes, now's the moment; I'm looking at this thing on the
>mantelpiece, and I understand that I'm in hell. I tell you, everything's been
>thoughtout beforehand. They knew I'd stand at the fireplace stroking
>this thing
>of bronze, with all those eyes intent on me. Devouring me. What? Only two of
>you? I thought there were more; many more. So this is hell. I'd never have
>believed it. You remember all we were told about the
>torture-chambers, the fire
>and brimstone, the "burning marl." Old wives' tales! There's no need for
>red-hot pokers. HELL IS--OTHER PEOPLE!
>
>ESTELLE: My darling! Please-
>
>GARCIN: No, let me be. She is between us. I cannot love you when she's
>watching.
>
>ESTELLE: Right! In that case, I'll stop her watching. (She picks up the PAPER
>knife and stabs Inez several times.)
>
>INEZ: But, you crazy creature, what do you think you're doing? You know quite
>well I'm dead.
>
>ESTELLE: Dead?
>
>INEZ: Dead! Dead! Dead! Knives, poison, ropes--useless. It has happened
>already, do you understand? Once and for all. SO here we are, forever.
>
>ESTELLE: Forever. My God, how funny! Forever.
>
>GARCIN: For ever, and ever, and ever.
>
>(A long silence.)
>
>GARCIN: Well, well, let's get on with it...
>
>Huis Clos (no exit) by JP Sartre
>
>joseph (cor e form art) + (porat per ance ist)
>frank + lyn - mc + El + roy
>
>go shopping -> http://www.electrichands.com/shopindex.htm
>call me 646 279 2309
>
>SUBSCRIBE TO OUR NEWSLETTER CUPCAKEKALEIDOSCOPE - send email to
>CupcakeKleidoscope-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
>
>
>
>
>
>Quoting Curt Cloninger <curt@lab404.com>:
>
> > Hours later the Un-man began to speak. It did not even look Ransom's
> > direction; slowly and cumbrously, as if by some machinery that needed
> > oiling, it made its mouth and lips pronounce his name.
> >
> > "Ransom," it said.
> >
> > "Well?" said Ransom.
> >
> > "Nothing," said the Un-man. He shot an inquisitive glance at it.
> > Was the creature mad? But it looked, as before, dead rather than
> > mad, sitting there with the head bowed and the mouth a little open,
> > and some yellow dust from the moss settled in the creases of its
> > cheeks, and the legs crossed tailor-wise, and the hands, with their
> > long metallic-looking nails, pressed flat together on the ground
> > before it. He dismissed the problem from his mind and returned to
> > his own uncomfortable thoughts.
> >
> > "Ransom," it said again.
> >
> > "What is it?" said Ransom sharply.
> >
> > "Nothing," it answered.
> >
> > Again there was silence, and again, about a minute later, the
> > horrible mouth said:
> >
> > "Ransom!" This time he made no reply. Another minute and it uttered
> > his name again; and then, like a minute gun, "Ransom . . . Ransom . .
> > . Ransom," perhaps a hundred times.
> >
> > "What the Hell do you want?" he roared at last.
> >
> > "Nothing," said the voice. Next time he determined not to answer;
> > but when it had called on him a thousand times he found himself
> > answering whether he would or no, and "Nothing," came the reply. He
> > taught himself to keep silent in the end: not that the torture of
> > resisting his impulst to speak was less than the torture of response
> > but because something within him rose up to combat the tormentor's
> > assurance that he must yield in the end. If the attack had been of
> > some more violent kind it might have been easier to resist. What
> > chilled and almost cowed him was the union of malice with something
> > nearly childish. For temptation, for blasphemy, for a whole battery
> > of horrors, he was in some sort prepared: but hardly for tihs petty,
> > indefatigable nagging as of a nasty little boy at a preparatory
> > school. Indeed no imagined horror could have surpassed the sense
> > which grew within him as the slow hours passed, that this creature
> > was, by all human standards, inside out -- its heart on the surface
> > and its shallowness at the heart. On the surface, great designs and
> > an antagonism to Heaven which involved the fate of worlds: but deep
> > within, when every veil had been pierced, was there, after all,
> > nothing but a black puerility, an aimless empty spitefulness content
> > to sate itself with the tiniest cruelties, as love does not disdain
> > the smallest kindness? What kept him steady, long after all
> > possibility of thinking about something else had disappeared, was the
> > decision that if he must hear either the word Ransom or the word
> > Nothing a million times, he would prefer the world Ransom...
> >
> > Then all at once it was night. "Ransom . . . Ransom . . . Ransom . .
> > . Ransom" went on the voice. And suddenly it crossed his mind that
> > though he would some time requre sleep, the Un-man might not."
> >
> > - c.s. lewis, perelandra, 1944
> >
> > ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
> >
> >
> >
> > At 3:45 PM +0000 11/24/02, joseph (yes) wrote:
> > >Quoting "-IID42 Kandinskij @27+" <death@zaphod.terminal.org>:
> > > >
> > > > MWA. We hope you enjoy your filter.
> > > >
> > > >
> > >
> > >The door, it closes. But I am still here to comfort you my friend. An
> > >appropriate place for the dead, n'est pas?
> > >
> > >joseph (cor e form art) + (porat per ance ist)
> > >frank + lyn - mc + El + roy
> > >
> > >go shopping -> http://www.electrichands.com/shopindex.htm
> > >call me 646 279 2309
> > >
> > >SUBSCRIBE TO OUR NEWSLETTER CUPCAKEKALEIDOSCOPE - send email to
> > >CupcakeKleidoscope-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
ze troll, she can still cook, ne?
biliana dimitrova
[bulgaria, denmark, france, D.C., japan, ...]
dual42@www.god-emilk.dk
integer@www.god-emil.dk
death@zaphod.terminal.org
madmonk@pobox.com
[ http://www.freelang.com/freelang/dictionnaire/pics/pays/bulgarie1.jpg ]
++
http://www.punkassbitch.org [NN (netscape navigator) only]
http://www.eusocial.com
http://www.m9ndfukc.com
??
http://www.beastieboys.com/lyrics/index.php?album=3&song@
http://www.thefairestlady.com/audrey/mfl_lyrics.html#you
http://info.astrian.net/jargon/terms/t/troll.html
http://www.altsense.net/library/factual/i_have_a_life.html
http://www.theavenueonline.info/site3/lyrics/gameplay.htm
"ferari, le tigre, blue steel -- it's the same look!"
- mugatu
"i can understand it, but i don't recommend it."
- sonic youth
_
_
_
[bulgaria, denmark, france, D.C., japan, ...]
dual42@www.god-emilk.dk
integer@www.god-emil.dk
death@zaphod.terminal.org
madmonk@pobox.com
[ http://www.freelang.com/freelang/dictionnaire/pics/pays/bulgarie1.jpg ]
++
http://www.punkassbitch.org [NN (netscape navigator) only]
http://www.eusocial.com
http://www.m9ndfukc.com
??
http://www.beastieboys.com/lyrics/index.php?album=3&song@
http://www.thefairestlady.com/audrey/mfl_lyrics.html#you
http://info.astrian.net/jargon/terms/t/troll.html
http://www.altsense.net/library/factual/i_have_a_life.html
http://www.theavenueonline.info/site3/lyrics/gameplay.htm
"ferari, le tigre, blue steel -- it's the same look!"
- mugatu
"i can understand it, but i don't recommend it."
- sonic youth
_
_
_
RHIZOME_RAW: ze troll, she can still cook, ne?
biliana dimitrova
[bulgaria, denmark, france, D.C., japan, ...]
dual42@www.god-emilk.dk
integer@www.god-emil.dk
death@zaphod.terminal.org
madmonk@pobox.com
[ http://www.freelang.com/freelang/dictionnaire/pics/pays/bulgarie1.jpg ]
++
http://www.punkassbitch.org [NN (netscape navigator) only]
http://www.eusocial.com
http://www.m9ndfukc.com
??
http://www.beastieboys.com/lyrics/index.php?album=3&song@
http://www.thefairestlady.com/audrey/mfl_lyrics.html#you
http://info.astrian.net/jargon/terms/t/troll.html
http://www.altsense.net/library/factual/i_have_a_life.html
http://www.theavenueonline.info/site3/lyrics/gameplay.htm
"ferari, le tigre, blue steel -- it's the same look!"
- mugatu
"i can understand it, but i don't recommend it."
- sonic youth
_
_
_
+ hey don't use my white background
-> post: list@rhizome.org
-> questions: info@rhizome.org
-> subscribe/unsubscribe: http://rhizome.org/preferences/subscribe.rhiz
-> give: http://rhizome.org/support
+
Subscribers to Rhizome are subject to the terms set out in the
Membership Agreement available online at http://rhizome.org/info/29.php
[bulgaria, denmark, france, D.C., japan, ...]
dual42@www.god-emilk.dk
integer@www.god-emil.dk
death@zaphod.terminal.org
madmonk@pobox.com
[ http://www.freelang.com/freelang/dictionnaire/pics/pays/bulgarie1.jpg ]
++
http://www.punkassbitch.org [NN (netscape navigator) only]
http://www.eusocial.com
http://www.m9ndfukc.com
??
http://www.beastieboys.com/lyrics/index.php?album=3&song@
http://www.thefairestlady.com/audrey/mfl_lyrics.html#you
http://info.astrian.net/jargon/terms/t/troll.html
http://www.altsense.net/library/factual/i_have_a_life.html
http://www.theavenueonline.info/site3/lyrics/gameplay.htm
"ferari, le tigre, blue steel -- it's the same look!"
- mugatu
"i can understand it, but i don't recommend it."
- sonic youth
_
_
_
+ hey don't use my white background
-> post: list@rhizome.org
-> questions: info@rhizome.org
-> subscribe/unsubscribe: http://rhizome.org/preferences/subscribe.rhiz
-> give: http://rhizome.org/support
+
Subscribers to Rhizome are subject to the terms set out in the
Membership Agreement available online at http://rhizome.org/info/29.php