Le roi est mort

Yes, it's true. Tim Barrus is dead. I know it 'cause Prairie Mary said so.

Of course, it's not really true - not any more true than that there is a band of questing, transgressive, fatally ill but very, very sexy teens wandering somewhere around a tourist's fantasy of Europe. Or that Tim Barrus once interviewed Mao. Or that he's somehow managed to reconnect with the child he once adopted.

It's getting harder and harder to slog through the nonsense that roars out of NasTimWorld, and so I don't often bother. I sometimes wonder if he hasn't programmed an autotext generator, a program that randomly spits out prose based on a limited vocabulary, all of it focused on hating publishing, craving publicity, and terribly, terribly wanting to be "dangerous". Oh, and, of course, every once in a while randomly inserting the phrases "and I am Marie of Rumania" and "My eyes to the sky" into the proceedings.

So who knows what's going to happen next? And does anyone really care?

A sidenote: I happy to be very well educated, all allegations to the contrary not withstanding. I can hold my own discussing existentialism or dialectical materialism; I can talk about the causes of the Franco-Prussian war; I can even wax eloquent, if need be, on Tennessee Williams, Ernest Hemingway, Robert Mapplethorpe, or Mao Tse Tung, even though I never met a one of them. So there. Hell, at least I know that catacombs don't have windows...

And to a previous commentor: the prounciation of "Nasdijj" has been discussed here.