Oliver Stone In “Piss Artist” Shocker

May 29th, 2005 | researchmaterial

Oscar-winning director Oliver Stone has been arrested for drink driving and possession of drugs.

Police said the 58-year-old film-maker was arrested on Friday night at a police checkpoint on Sunset Boulevard, in Beverly Hills, California. Sergeant John Edmundson said drugs were found during a search of Mr Stone’s Mercedes but did not specify what kind of drugs they were.

(Note for foreign types: “piss artist” is a local term for “person who enjoys a large amount of alcoholic beverage.” You are now 1.72% more English than you were a moment ago. Rejoice.)

I Wanna Hold Your Hand

May 29th, 2005 | brainjuice

The boy’s cheek had been slit open to take a car’s exhaust pipe. It had been fed through the side of his face and into his mouth, pulling it down to one side and laying on top of his tongue. It stuck out a good eight inches from his grey lips, leaking dark smoke. His eyes were dead. The boy sat naked in his wheelchair outside the bar, masturbating listlessly.

The ’70′s LCD counter on the town’s Welcome sign flickered and ticked over. Broken Wheel, pop 42. 41.

They all used to gown up when they went into the bar, but some months ago they’d had to choose between buying anti-bacterial scrub and bottled water, and water won.

Jamie was laying dead on the table. Doc Better was pouring himself the last of the whiskey, his other hand white-knuckling the bonesaw in case anyone complained. Annika was hunched over on a cracked leather stool, her tears making the blood on her white vinyl run. Her nails were convulsively scratching at her palm, where the chip was implanted.

Annika and Jamie wanted to be able to feel each other’s pulses. The chips radioed the data representation of their heartbeats, and stimulated the nerves they sat on to reproduce it.

Annika had felt Jamie’s heart stop. Right where he used to hold her hand.

(Written in under five minutes — and I’m sure it shows, but I wanted to get the idea down raw — back in March. (c) Warren Ellis 2005 all rights reserved blah blah the usual.)

The Tumor Was Eating Before He Was

May 29th, 2005 | researchmaterial

The prospect of removing a cancerous 25-pound tumor from John Frick’s liver was daunting enough, but Dr. Sherry Wren got some stunning news the night before his surgery.

Wren, the chief of general surgery at the Palo Alto Veterans Affairs hospital, had always thought she would be able to deprive the tumor’s arteries of their blood supply during surgery. But tests showed that such a strategy would make the surgery even riskier and make the 63-year-old Berkeley man’s chances of survival far lower than the 50 percent she had expected.

“His tumor had arteries in it that were bigger than his liver’s artery,” Wren said. “It looked like a 20-pound turkey sitting in there.”

Although Frick’s weight of about 180 pounds was fairly normal for a man 6 feet tall, Wren said he was malnourished. And instead of having the normal 6 pints of blood, his body had less than 4.

“The tumor was eating before he was,” she said. “It was a giant parasite…”

Something I Was Utterly Unaware Of

May 29th, 2005 | researchmaterial

Or, at best, have forgotten I knew and have been weirded out by all over again. Maddie Greene:

Self-referential marketing often backfires, though, and lately I’ve recalled Chris Gaines. Remember when country music musician Garth Brooks, at the height of his popularity, created a Trent Reznoresque persona? He renamed himself, wore wigs and costumes, and released albums of semi-grunge pop under this alter-ego. It was an embarrassing failure. In retrospect, I love that weirdness.

I don’t remember this At All. I’m going to google this up tonight, once everyone’s asleep and no-one can see me, because, you know…

Blogging About Blogging Makes Me Special And Unique Just Like All The Others

May 29th, 2005 | brainjuice

Apparently, someone somewhere added an RSS feed to their website, and someone else didn’t add a full RSS feed to their website, and someone else is adding ads to their RSS feed.

According to the handful of blogs I scanned this evening while waiting for a download to finish, the above-listed testicle-puckeringly banal non-events now constitute fascinating, enraging and desperately important news on the internet.

Tonight, I would like to be able to send bone cancer down phone lines.