“Danger” says the sign I read near the bottom of the bridge. There is no good reason for the sign, I couldn’t see any danger. I was looking, just drifting, looking for a cure or a pick me up. I didn’t see the angels in the sky, the pixies in the grass, the man on the bridge, or the thoughts “why?’, rumbling in the water. I only saw the wave, as it swept me up from my feet, onto my bed, as I woke up.
I only felt the same, still unsettled in my bed. But it wasn’t my bed, it was too big and comfy like clouds. So I knew I was still dreaming. If I went back to sleep where would I be? And if I got up, Where would I be? I wasn’t having anything to do with this, I was going to dream again. I was and I saw the man I knew somewhere, from before. He was moaning in my ear, calling for patterns, for a plan, a new reminder. But I didn’t care. When did he ever become like this? I knew him as the man who had never cared or said a word, he used to slink about and grumble inwardly about every detail. He used to eat lobsters alive, his only biting feature. He never called out for help or a response or anything at all, He always used to make all his own life crawly and wrapt in cellophane, which used to crackle, even when there was no wind. I blew him a kiss, it had bits of orange and cyan in it, and a dash of humorous folly. The kiss followed him about and made his cellophane all taught and smooth, near to exploding. So I left while he examines all the things he wrapt up and kept safe, about to become shocked and free. He looks worried, but curious as he awaits new endings to an old story of his.
So after that second, I make a plan. Not to use windows or flyers in my next expose. It will all be congratulatory and self conscious, like a buffalo on heat. But his only female has a calf. So he stays put. Priding, but still a little annoyed. Imagine what it would be to be a buffalo, it would be like sticking pillows on yourself, huffing up and walking stiff legged. Being careful not to knock your balls against your leg. But I think I’d get stuck in being a buffalo, there’s too much meat and hair and excess puff for anything worthwhile in a buffalo. I wouldn’t want to be an animal at all. I’d like to be the theory of relativity or a new wave of building excitement or the car that crosses the line on the first lap, but only at the moment it crosses. It would be like zoooom..... nothing ..........zoooooom. Maybe not, maybe it would be fun to be a processor in a computer. Every buzz of electricity like an orgasm, every action one of supreme speed and certainty, unless.... Your’e one of those first tube computers I guess.
These are the Fate to Fate Textures created by Julian Palmer. 20 textures that will have their say without having to say anything. Textures that your desktop will relish and sigh contetedly whenever you have them on. Textures that bring celestial vibrations from generators in the far infinities. Textures that show the way to the door and beyond. Texures that make ordinary textures look like they were made by losers with too much free time on their hands. Textures that evoke 200% greater productivity than the compition. Textures that are guaranteed to cure apathy, listlessness and static overload. Textures that appear and disappear like sub-atomic atoms. Textures that are the choice of 9 out of every 10 Pre-raphaelite, pill popping, paranormal, propositional presidents with Power PC's in third world countries. Texture that say no means yes, and say yes means I don't know.
These textures were created with Fractal design painer and Photoshop on a Powermac. They were all made in early Febuary when I had a bit of spare time in between writing. These textures may be freely distributed in any way without permission from their maker, as long as this Readme is sittin' there nice an pretty next to the texure file.
The "Julian Palmer Web Page" should be up soon, so check Lycos or Infoseek under Nisargata Maharj, St*Johnny, Wilhelm Reich or just Julian Palmer in mid 1996 or even before then. Until we meet again here are my brothers personal details through which I could theorhetikilly be contacted.
