crazy fuckers at telefund

my sister Diana - the baby of the family - is living the best period of her life (and I think that she's only slightly aware of it).

she's 24 years old and slowly whittling away at college in Denver. being 24 is the shit. I had a great time that year (I was still in school at that time as well).

on the side she works for a telephone fundraiser. she talked people into donating $40,000 to the democratic party this year. I like to mention that when I listen to democrats bitch - like "what have you done for the cause? she's a better democrat than you are." I must admit that I donated $0.00 to the democrats this year (instead I spit a lot of hot air). there you have it.

anyways, I got to see her place of work when I visited in november. it was awesome. if I were 24 again and not tied to anything (really), that is the exact place that I'd like to work. everyone there is fucking insane.

the first two characters I met were these two twenty-something guys (each from wealthy families) who were open communists. they had all the props: the hammer and sickle buttons, the CCCP pins, the worn dog ear copy of the Communist Manifesto... all of it. my sister told me that recently one of them took off for Mexico to join a communist cell. good luck, my young white American friend...

--

another guy, Mike P., was my favorite. In his mid-50's, he's a member of MENSA, frequent contributor to the Letters to the Editor page of several New York City newspapers, a member of ASCAP (American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers), a member - advanced to the level "senior fellow" level of the ISPE (International Society for Philosophical Enquiry) - and greatest of all, he scores original soundtracks for B-grade horror films.

Mike P. designed his own logo (of himself) and went out and purchased a lot of marketing items with the logo (T-shirts, hats, headbands)... to market... himself.

his best marketing piece was this small teddy bear wearing a small t-shirt with his logo on it. what was great about it, was that examining the design and the material of the bear easily showed that he'd placed a lot of time and thought and care into his decision... this wasn't a piece of shit bear. this bear rocked.

I liked Mike P. right away because he eagerly shaked my hand and told me that he liked the different writing pieces I'd written that my sister had given him (I encourage praise from MENSA members), and that he thought that my sister was "an incredible human." He's also wanted to hire my sister to be his personal assistant/part time employee. To order his marketing materials, I guess.

In his personal press release he lists hobbies and talents as: "can dance backwards in a completely darkened room whilst humming the melody to various television shows from the '50s and '60s."

--

one crazy fucker - Jamie P. - that I didn't get to meet, but has become my sister's secret admirer, is a scary bastard.

She describes him as a "forty-something, one one-legged, schizophrenic, alcoholic, junkie" who writes her poems, hands them to her and then runs away.

she showed me a poem that he wrote for her on the back of a 7/11 receipt:

DIAN... you are
my dream anything, anytime
anywhere
all i have with a ribbon
buy a telescope
because on a
very, very, very
high peddlestool
i will alight
from all this
madness i will
deliver you
-jamie

from all of this madness... indeed.

Jamie P's most recent work was this character plot/build-up/whatever the fuck for this book he's writing:

Solange knelt at the garden edge, a dusted promise opened as her hand poured dirt into the morning sun, preparing the wedding. Casually, whispering something, the air before her stirred. suddenly wind from above, icy sea fingers, seeking weakness mocking her concentration for a moment and dirupted atoms melded back into shapes and reality. but she stood and faced her glorious burning, squinting she said the first word, again. like so many before her she started her day in this greeting of the mother union.

over solange's shoulder she peered at the rememberance, then she looked between them to the south finding only purity there she turned north to call wisdom. sure enough, there she found today's bride, the lovely wisdom in rememberance. solange turns within; there at the mirror she searched the murk for a reflection until she places the map of thirteen (other words the compass or directions) upon her belly.

staying within the mechanics of each reflection, while under the influence of it she felt tedious, but nontheless mastered. solange raised her arms slowly reaching for the celestial angle crossing them before her face then lowering them spread before her face one again thus tearing the veil and consummating the act by entering the world now with her chosen bride. she pulled her finger and stepped into the day with a small hop, as always solange... and the needle was thread...

is this genius? madness? it's beyond me.

I gave my sister pepper spray for chirstmas. I showed her how to use it too.