How To Disappear Completely And Never Be Found
Well then. This is my homepage. And the above is the title of a book
which became the title of a Radiohead song which became the title of
a poem I wrote last week. I wrote the poem without hearing the song,
before I knew that the title of the song was the title of a book on
faking your own death. A subject which I discussed at length with my
friend Nick, whose father is a police officer. Chief Salvato. Anyway,
according to Chief Salvato, the way you do it is that you go to a
graveyard and find the grave of someone born around the same time as
you, which makes it easier the older you get, for obvious reasons
unrelated to age discrimination, and then you go get their birth
certificate from the town hall or whatever, and you have a new identity.
Presto. Reduce, reuse, recycle...
So this is my second HTML experience. I learned HTML from a very nice
by a very nice young man named Eric at Case Western Reserve University.
My first HTML experience being the Kruller staff page, Kruller being the
literary magazine I am involved with here at
The University Formerly Known As The College of New Jersey, and
it's actual homepage being located
here and the staff page, which is my admittedly very loud creation,
Since I have just recently learned the art of the unordered list,
many thanks to the above-mentioned Eric, there are loads of really
thrilling things you can do here on my webpage. Love them and hug
them but please, please, don't call them jelly.
Speaking of Nick, he recently informed me that I am a ne'er do well.
I haven't decided yet whether I take issue with that or whether I
should just admit he's absolutely spot on.
Places to go and people to see
My old new webpage, which should not be confused with
The Agnostic Gospels, my old new webpage, or
The Wall, my original AOL webpage, which was renamed The
Carpet. You know how life is.
My friend Tristan's homepage. Tristan is one of my most favorite
cohorts. If for no other reason than that I can get hours of endless
entertainment out of the fact that this girl Courtney is totally
convinced that he is hung like an elephant. He pretends to be
embarrassed. Really it's just a confirmation of what he knew all along.
Belonging, ironically enough, to Miss Kendra L. Melrose, Esq. It's the breast
page on the net. You'll see what I mean when you get there.
A page belonging to my friend Kayte, who is my friend from summer
camp. Okay, fine, I admit it. She's my friend from a summer enrichment
program. One of those gifted deals. We wrote creatively together
for three summers. I am so not interested in shit from anyone, so
don't even go there. CTY was a great time, dammit.
Carlynn's address book, minus the above
This should be an interesting exercise. See what's there and all. Oh
yeah, Radiohead links are on
my Radiohead page. All the more reason you should go there.
I don't actually know this guy. He's on the Radiohead mailing list
(for more info on that, go to my Radiohead page, and no I am not going
to give you another hypertext link, thank you very much) and is a PhD
candidate in something intensely complicated like neurology. It
involves ferrets. Some guy brought his ferret to visit my next door
neighbor once, and then wanted me to look after it. It was the most
traumatizing thing. Her name was Thelma. When she climbed up into
the radiator I made her owner take her back cos I didn't want to deal
with the emotional trauma if she died in my care.
This is so cool I can't even deal.
Go here. Read good writing.
...which is maintained by Chris, who once saved my emotional
health. I lost my tickets to the Radiohead concert at IP last June
(along with $200 worth of Tibetan Freedom Concert tickets and my
passport) when my planner was lost/stolen (five days before I went to
London for the summer) and Chris very kindly put me on the guest list.
Which enabled me to be the first person into the venue and front row
center up against the barricade but I move on. Anyway, I am forever
grateful. Go check it out.
a game you absolutely positively should not check out unless you want
to fail out of school. I spent a large chunk of freshman year
reading period playing Slap the Spicegirl, prompting my roommate, Leah,
to come into my bedroom, sit down on the bed, and say, "Carlynn, you
have a ten to fifteen page paper on Dante's Inferno due in three days.
Don't you think you ought to read the book already?" Which logic, I
might add, was unavoidable.
Slap a Spicegirl belongs to an e-zine called Urban 75, which claims to
be hovering at the approximate cusp of British rave culture. Whether
or not this is true, they have a nifty section on drugs, with scientific,
legal, and common sense advice on pot, heroin, and everything in
between. I recommend it.
An article on La Malinche, Hernan Cortes' native interpreter and
Fucking, anyway. More sex jokes than you knew existed. There's a
mailing list, but why bother.
Music videos on demand. Very nice.
Finally, I found a decent map on the web. Why was it so hard?
Don't get me started on how bitter I am that it sold out before I
could get through to Ticketmaster.
...because the HTML Standards Committee, or whatever the fuck they
call themselves, should be shot for the insane difficulty of
figuring out the alphanumeric code for colors. This page does it for
you. Praise the fucking lord.
back to front
Murder in the Cathedral