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"...little lumps and ridges up there, bub, and lines, lines like spines on crests of waves of white desert movie sand each one with MGM shadow longshot of the ominous A-rab coming up over the next crest for only the sinister Saracen can see the road and you didn't know how many subplots you left up there, Plaster Man..."
—Tom Wolfe, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test

I think my homepage is now officially a behemoth. Which is a fabulous word that should be used more often. It conjures up images of huge snorting woolly mammoths with bad breath. The bad breath is crucial to the overall image. You know how it is. So here you are. Webpage number 4,176. And I am reading The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. I've actually met Tom Wolfe. His daughter goes to my high school and he's on the board of trustees. He wears spats, which in high school I thought were utterly lame but I have increased in maturity now to the point where I can recognize that Tom Wolfe's spats are only one more external manifestation of the fact that he is the man.

As I have embarked upon the process of creating my own personal—and yet, electronically, impersonal—amalgamation of neutrons, I have tried to make it a well-organized, user-friendly, aesthetically pleasing experience for you, the surfer. But frankly, I am sick of updating links. And so on this webpage I have abandoned my fruitless attempts at organization. I am neither organized nor responsible and that is part of my charm, dammit. So beware. Links to "the main page" will take you on uncharted and, very probably, unwanted journeys to new and mind-bending sections of the Behemoth. There are at least four "main pages" and none of them are any more main than any of the others, meaning that wherever you go excitement may lurk at the click of a mouse. Isn't that beautiful?

Next.

I have, however, made one concession to organization and that is this page, which is a very prettily organized index of my webpages to which, frankly, you should only go if you are a boring and intrinsically worthless person, uninterested in the soaring journeys of human perception. Go on then, be that way. And incidentally, has anyone else noticed that "intrinsic" is one of those words that no one uses except during or immediately following reading period, when it makes its biannual vocabularic resurgence to allow college students to pull poetic crap out of their respective asses about the intrinsic message of Sophocles' Antigone, the intrinsic sexuality of Gnostic perceptions of Truth, and the intrinsic worth of modern American culture.

That, too, is beautiful.

But I move on.

Because in the end, that's what you do. You move on. You live and you grow. And all of this is a learning experience. Life is a learning experience, and ti-i-i-ime, why you punish me. Why, time, why? Let me in on the secret, will you.

link.