At the POPS, 875 Third Avenue. Don’t know why I have gravitated to this one over others. The chair are relatively comfy for a public product. And the AC here is usually boss. Walked here again. Tried to make some calls from Links but almost every single attempt failed. I wonder sometimes if VOIP has trouble with certain area codes or certain older rural phone systems. Or maybe the problem is reverse, and those older systems can’t reliably hear VOIP coming in. Who knows. I could call my own phone in the 917 area code but anything to the 868 area code just did not connect. Crisis, to be sure.

I listened to some audio of mine last night. I found that I have about 10 days worth of sounds. Much of it is me talking, there is a good quantity of piano music, and then a lot of field recording and general sounds from places like bars, cemeteries, and wherever else I wandered. 10 days worth of sound is actually not as unreasonable as I thought when I contemplated that trove of audio. A good quantity of that stuff I simply do not need to play back. Last night’s sessions featured over 3 hours of me talking on a very windy day into a mic that had no wind guard. Utterly unlistenable, and from what I could hear I was not saying anything of interest. There are also many hours worth of me talking to myself after the big breakup, as a form of therapy. No way will I listen to that shit. That’s from before I saw the actual therapist, an experience the value of which I have debated in my mind since it ended.

I’ve been posting to Soundcloud with abandon again since reading that the company is probably not going to shut down. I didn’t think they would but what do I know. There are millions of those embed codes out there, somebody must be interested in investing in that exposure.

I was actually feeling motivated this week. I was working the payphone site and thinking, You should be doing this all day every day. Considering my exposure already I am in a prime position to claim ownership of the subject. I mean to many observers I already do own it but I think I could take that ownership to a new level. I guess I still labor under the cloud of suspicion that people see the subject matter and assume I am some kind of phreaker anarchist, which I am not. I guess some of the shit I’ve been doing with the Links might run contrary to that claim but really, I have no meaningful connections to the world of phreakdom.

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It looks like a dude is moving in with the woman who lives upstairs from me. I hope this does not mean there will be a doubling up of the noise that she generates. I guess I’ve gotten used to it but when I was not drinking for a couple of nights I really felt the jabs of the noise she makes at all hours. Sh has never said so much as hello to me. I suspect she has built up some kind of resentment on account o my piano music. I would think she hears it more than anyone else in the building, based on proximity. Anybody else who has said anything directly to me about it says they love hearing it. But they only encounter it in passing, as they are coming and going. One person who has never confronted me directly about it had tried to start a movement to get me evicted. He was foiled by the discovery that not only did no one else have any complaints about it, but in fact they were happy to hear it when they could.

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I keep trying to send images to the .MOBI and they keep getting rejected. No idea why but I keep forgetting to look into it. Those images are MASTERPIECES, I tell you. Every one a Pulitzer. What I don’t get is why text goes through but images do not.

My mother would laugh when she heard the words “Pulitzer Prize.” To her it sounded like “Pullet Surprise”, whatever that might mean. She also had a thing for people with the last name of Sweeney. Any time a baseball announcer mentioned the name Mike Sweeney she heard “Mike’s Weenie” and she further believed the announcers were aware of the joke and worked it. Hah, they worked Mike’s Weenie.

She also said she was well into adulthood before learning how to pronounce “MISLED”. She thought it was pronounced MY-ZULD. I thus thought she would find it hilarious when one night we were watching the TV news and a woman stepped up before reporters to deliver some kind of statement. She said something like “The American people have been MY-ZULD.” She then corrected herself and correctly pronounced “MISLED”. I laughed and looked at my mother, expecting her to appreciate the humor or at least the reality of someone else in the world who shared that little gap of knowledge. But no. Mother just sat there, stoic, apparently not recognizing the synchronicity of the situation.

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It is later than I thought. Onward to Times Square…