Last night it was suggested that what I'd been assuming is a backwards E in 'ceiso' - so that it appears as 'c3iso' - may indeed be a 3. The 3, then, is a clue, telling us to translate 'ceiso' from letters to numbers, e.g. A=1, B=2. Translating 'cieso' thus results in a phone number: 359-1915.


Discovered this yesterday on the corner of 13th and 5th, directly on top of a previously discussed piece involving the back pages of the Village Voice and a certain young lady. If you look closely, you can still make out an advertisement for the Grand Opening of Asian Dove Spa, 212-255-2780.

These are the words from 'Llorando,' the song being performed in Club Silencio when, in Mulholland Drive, Betty realizes it's all been a dream:

Yo estaba bien por un tiempo
volviendo a sonreir
luego anoche te vi
tu mano me toco
y el saludo de tu voz
te hable muy bien y tu
sin saber
que he estado llorando por tu amor
llorando por tu amor
llorando por tu amor
luego de tu adios
senti todo mi dolor
sola y llorando llorando llorando
no es facil de entender
que al verte otra vez
yo este llorando
Yo que pense que te olvide
pero es verdad es la verdad
que te quiero aun mas
mucho mas que ayer
dime tu que puedo hacer
no me quieres ya
y siempre estare
llorando por tu amor
llorando por tu amor
tu amor
se llevo
todo mi corazon
y quedo llorando
llorando
llorando
llorando
llorando
llorando
por tu amor

No hay banda. Everything is an illusion. Everything but the Time Travel Agency, that is.

Alright, then. I've got some phone numbers to call.

An update from Artkraft Strauss:





There appears to have been expeditionary forays.




You'll notice in the later photo the appearance of what are commonly called "infinity loops." These symbols also appeared on the piece I will call "Mutant Beef," which appeared on Johnson Ave in Bushwick. There is nothing on or around Johnson Ave in Bushwick. I'm going to level with you, folks. What began as idle curiosity has mutated into a quixotic pursuit for I don't know what. It is entirely possible I have stumbled across an underground mail delivery network. Or a time travel agency. Or aliens. This is the translational tableau I have to work with:



There may or may not be an artist going by the nom de guerre 'ceiso' - Ees reversed, of course. I may or may not be that artist. Before I get too caught up in this mystery of my own making, perhaps I should take heed of the graffiti.

Walking through the industrial zone that separates Williamsburg and Bushwick, I came across these kids all caught up in the urban jungle.



And then this kid. A bit petulant, no?



Check out these punks, courtesy of Swoon.





Veng Col Rok2. Epic.







I've read Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49. From what I recall, it told the story of Oedipa Maas as she becomes entangled in the dangerous world of mail delivery following her boyfriend's murder. See, in the story, there was the known deliverer of known mail, Thurn and Taxis, and the unknown deliverer of unknown mail, Trystero. Trystero exists and operates by communicating via signs, which appear unexpectedly in the most innocuous spaces. The Ee's on the following beauty are reversed. Just saying.