Here at Lewd Cognoscenti we like to consider ourselves writers. Everyone on the staff has long harbored dreams of some sort of literary accolades, or at the very least putting a novel into print.

Well, there’s this idea that talking plant and I have been batting about for awhile, and the other day the concept of putting it into a novel came up and quickly became a necessary evil for us to attempt; truthfully I think it’s just another damn good excuse to engage in a little friendly competition and in the process spur each other into actually writing a book.

Having not heard from finite jester for a number of days, I took it upon myself to go and see what that weird creature was up to. The sight that greeted me when I finally forced in the door to his apartment was one so shocking, so depraved, that I had no choice but to write this post about it.

I can say without hesitation that Paul Auster is one of the finest novelists writing today. I had the pleasure of being introduced to his works about ten years ago and have faithfully read every word I could find that came from his pen. He weaves such elaborately beautiful plots, and his characters live in ways that belie their status as mere words; but the true beauty of Paul Auster’s writing is his tone. Opening a book by this man is more like settling into a comfortable chair and having an incredibly charismatic story-teller sitting just inside the range of your hearing.

If you will; picture the scene, tell me what it means.

The snow was falling so heavily that she was almost even with me before it became clear that she was wearing a hospital gown, and that the slippers matched.

It had come out of nowhere, this snowstorm. Didn’t last but a couple of minutes, half-hour tops; it seemed the perfect opportunity to take that walk to the library and retrieve the new book by Paul Auster that they had on hold for me.

humanity has stared at the stars for countless years
wandered around and explored what we would on the ground
bumped into each other, gotten into fights, learned how to hate

all these years striving, and reaching and pulling
and we’ve put ourselves places that would amaze almost every soul
who’s experienced this earth

we’ve seen the bottom of the ocean
been all manner of places
we’ve even sent men to the moon

New Scientist Breaking News - ‘Sleeping on it’ best for complex decisions

Complex decisions are best left to your unconscious mind to work out, according to a new study, and over-thinking a problem could lead to expensive mistakes.

The research suggests the conscious mind should be trusted only with simple decisions, such as selecting a brand of oven glove. Sleeping on a big decision, such as buying a car or house, is more likely to produce a result people remain happy with than consciously weighing up the pros and cons of the problem, the researchers say.

today a man in a wheel-chair…
i suppose the term would be…
jay-rolled
across a busy street
met me halfway
cigarette clenched
between his teeth
small puffs of smoke
blooming from his cheeks,
from his wide and easy grin
as he exerted himself
to beat the traffic

there was a wildness in his eyes
and in that moment
when he was at
the proper distance
for me to see every line
on his worn face clearly
he looked completely free

It is going to be one of those instants, not fully accurate; but as accurate as the minds behind keeping tabs on such things can be.

At 7:16 pm EST Saturday, the great experiment known as humanity will have 6.5 billion participants. The mind reels.

I still have a sticker on one of my notebooks from the year 1999, commemorating the day that we hit the 6 billion mark. I remember celebrating the day with a few friends, a serious foray into intoxication and sobering conversation.

Just came across this fascinating, and very well written op-ed piece in the New York Times about the surge in popularity of memoirs. In many ways it’s a response to the controversy stirred up by James Frey and his ‘autobiography’ that The Smoking Gun discovered was mostly made up.

I’ve also recently had the joy of a number of intelligent discussions about this topic, and I think the New York Times piece does an exceptional job of cutting through the circus surrounding this instance of someone masquerading fiction as fact.

I’ve always been a fan of quotes, the good ones are either small nuggets of wisdom expressed from an angle you had yet to consider, or simply function as an affirmation that others feel the same way you do.

It is time to upgrade my camera. I have been shooting with a Sony Cybershot for a few years now, and while I love the camera for its versatility it doesn’t have the firepower for the photography that I really want to do.

On top of that, it was recently lost somewhere. Either my son has put it in some secret hiding spot or someone took it out of my car. Oh, the life.

I heard about a guy in San Fransisco some time ago who tied a bunch of helium balloons to a lawn chair, and with the aid of a bb-gun ended up getting himself into trouble.

There are a few variations of this story (worth the read in chuckles), but it has always held a certain fascination for me.

Looks like recently a group made a weak attempt at reenacting this stunt. At least the video evidence shows that it is possible.

Salt Lake Tribune - Search

I think that this serves as a great example of the discomfort that we must all bear in our political system. We are supposed to be tolerant, and because of that we have to put up with a lot that we find offensive. Everyone has a right to their own point of view. Even if it is wrong.

Fighting ignorance is one of the most virtuous pursuits in my humble opinion.

So the other day, (yesterday for those of you all wrapped up in the whole chronology thing) I called a good friend of mine who I hadn’t talked to in awhile. When he heard it was me he started laughing, (never a great sign, but you get used to these things) and asked if I had a tape player. I don’t, but he brought one over when he stopped by later and, having explained nothing of what was going to occur, proceeded to play a relic of the appalling past.

I love art. My favorite definition would have to be the idea that it’s very uselessness defines it. Even more than that I love stumbling across examples of how others have used this concept of art (however you should choose to define it) to live their lives.

I’m not really a huge fan of Valentine’s Day, but thought that this was interesting enough to warrant a post.

The subject would be the ubiquitous heart shape that we all see from birth forward. Anyone who has taken a biology class knows that the picture here has little resemblance to the actual organ. So I ask, what the hell is it supposed to be then? Turns out that the answer is as lewd as I could hope.

Usually I don’t like to write poetry that needs an introduction to explain it, but in this case one might be needed. I was reading over an autopsy report at work and found it rather poignant. I have been contemplating all the ways a person is measured in life, and now here I come across how people are weighed (quite literally) in death.

One might wonder why I would be reading over a coroner’s report at work. I’m not going to tell you…

Today the church-bells chimed as I stepped across the street, the hourglass turned as I passed underneath, and the crisp wind helped solidify the smile I wore.

I heard a female voice say ” . . . don’t worry about it, we’re getting our nails done.”

Sadly the first part of that statement was lost, shame too, I imagine it would have been even more humorous.

Douglas Adams; undoubtedly a member of the cognoscenti, and taken from us far too soon. If you haven’t yet read the body of work that he left to us, then by all means rush out and do so. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and all the books that followed are wonders of how philosophy can be disseminated through humor. Damn good reads too.