Welcome to my World
Fifteen-years of internet incoherence culminates in 2010 as the site you are visiting marks a decade-and-a-half of exalted pointlessness. Worse yet, many of its most broadly offensive utterances remain intact within the current configuration, er uh, conflagration.
You can literally, summarily, journey back to the mid-‘90s. Just take a load off, turn on the coffee machine get yourself some really warm bean curd and start clickin’ inside this seditious site.
First there was the internet. Then, years later, I became involved, “I” being yet another imposter from The Land of Fools. Because I functioned as a writer at the time, associates insisted I get with this auspicious “Next” technological boom, establish a web site and prepare for fame, profit, liberation and enunciation, as if that were possible.
The client whose business interests I supported back then was an internet pioneer. The computer in his home dining room was “on line” whenever he “dialed up.” Eventually I succumbed to his urgings to visit and see what it was all about. My first encounter with cyber space took place in or about 1995. As his computer screen revealed we were entering into the cyber universe I asked him where specifically we were going. He said one popular site was www.sex.com so we went there. After a few minutes of disappointing boredom he directed his screen to visit another web site he knew about, from a strip club in a small city in Florida.
There we saw some fairly deprived bar employees flaunting their anatomical assets, as they were. Soon thereafter he turned the computer off and directed me to visit his backyard swimming pool where his son and a neighbor girl were discovering the essence of gender disparity.
Next thing you knew, I had my own web site – www.troutstream.com. Currently my earnest cousin Dave Leiben is proprietor of that site. Astounding to me, much of its content exists today in the successor web site, www.sex.ola.
I adapted the current site using my weird byline name sometime in the 2000’s and currently sustain internet genius Paul Miller to organize its content and keep the snickering to himself. That you have taken time to peruse my digressions represents the zenith of exploratory art. Any ink on any page passes as profound expression among the truly anxiety-ridden common onomatopoeia, onomatopoetically squeaking. And so it is smart-asses like Paul, myself and a few other survivors of too many hot ones on a cold night endure within, committed to avoiding commitment, commenting inchoately and concluding abruptly.
This web site is dedicated to Bruce Brown, Tom Lindeman, Jim Stockmeyer, James Langbehn, Gary Lynch, John Cox and all my brothers in perpetuity.
Its existence owes to Michael Popowich, John Hill, Dave Leiben and Paul Miller who performed the heavy lifting during its first 15-years.
Its outlook derives from the input of anyone sufficiently daft to contribute along the way.
Direct your mindset to: troutpomeroy@hotmail.com
Latest Works
The Path is Wide
Trout Pomeroy
With: Billion Watts/Dan Hazlett/Garrett Pomeroy/Bill Ronstadt
TRACKS: Sort of Love Affair,
Finding the Way,
Destiny’s Dancer,
Piece for My Puzzle,
Chasing Memories,
Staid Too Long,
Sun Sweep the Sky,
Peninsula Shore,
Song for my Choir,
The Path is Wide
Swimming downstream requires zero ego and genuine disdain for anything resembling true effort, let alone valor. More deft and disciplined fish demonstrate superiority by opting for the rigors of shimmying against the natural flow of current, evolving their way up the lazy river there to lay an egg for literary posterity... <more>
If Others Remember, a highly personal yet historically evocative memoir of the late-1960s. Citing the Kent State tragedy as the key turning point of the war, the author details his own chronology within the larger story of how a certain emerging generation tap-danced its way through one of the most tumultuous periods in American history... <more>
Here I Is
By: Dr. Arno Launger
The potential of life can be expressed in an idiom stolen without remorse from the mouth of a character from the old television show, “The Little Rascals.” Americans in their 50s and 60s now argue about what character specifically gained minor fame for articulating that expression on the old programs, which many Americans spent an inordinate amount of time watching in their younger years.
This is what they tell me at least. I wasn’t there and therefore I cannot profess to understand what was on these shows. I grew up in Denmark. We didn’t have television. We had weaving. I can weave like a bad dog, to evoke another Americanism. For the record, I maintain a feverish “love-hate” relationship with The New World. I admire Yankee spunk, pizza and the 1966 Dodge Barracuda. I abhor me-first’ism, boorish behavior and the overall rudeness that non-Americans detect whenever in the presence of any alumni of the University of Southern California.
Pulseloose Speaks!
Regular readers will growl upon discovering the infrequent column, “Ask Rev. Trout,” has been resuscitated just in time for the annual sub-uterine New Year’s alcoholic consumption movement to wrap its tentacles around and prepare further for tonight’s regularly scheduled Bunny Hope & Bingo ceremony.
