Full Disclosure: LinkedIn

The spate of uncouth, dishonest, and downright degenerate behavior among our elected officials and other leaders (and more importantly: celebrities!) has shaken the faith of you, the common folk.

Do you dare question, as everyone’s favorite southern flim-flam man, Bill Clinton, suggested to his more inquisitive peers, “what the definition of ‘is’ is?”

Of course not, for you very well might find out….

Nevertheless, in the spirit of transparency and full disclosure, it is incumbent upon me, The Phantom of /dev/null, to share with every Tom, Dick and Harriette… the Truth.

Hence,  I present to you, the public, the most intimate, personal information it is possible for any human being — or Phantom — to relate. This data, long hidden from the purview of the common folk, is here and now officially de-classified.  I present for your inspection:  My LinkedIn profile!

 

Background:

Summary:

Ruthless, megalomaniac and paranoid psychotic.

Experience:

Phantom
dissidentvoice.com/dev/null
Infinite past – present – infinity to come

All seeing, omniscient Overlord and guardian spirit of broken dreams, lost souls and similar refuse of your dying civilization.  And no, I don’t get “over-time” or any benefits whatsoever.  /dev/null is a “right to work” chthonic pit and an equal opportunity destroyer.

Den Mother (volunteer)
The Coffin Factory
August 2010 – present) Bushwick, Brooklyn

The Coffin Factory, named after the origins of the 160-year-old abandoned factory that housed it, is really just a bunch of burned-out artists, writers and musicians with no where else to go. It used to be a multi-level, sprawling flop-house for druggies, neo-hippies, ex-cons, neo-cons,  con-men and other ne’er do-wells, but we threw da bums out and turned it into a “clean, well-lighted place.”  Drop by sometime and we’ll entertain you with our superannuated, analog art forms…

Night Watchman
Abt Associates
September 1989 – February 1990 (6 months) DE-CLASSIFIED

Abt Associates was a Harvard-associated “think tank.” They got paid lots of $$$ to think about all sorts of stuff, though a few dishonest folk tried to “beat the system” by simply day-dreaming. They were almost always caught red-handed, though it’s hard to tell what color one’s hand is when it’s buried in one’s pants. It’s not easy being a uniformed security guard at a think tank. Folks are always trying to steal concepts and abstractions when you’re not looking. Fortunately, I and my fellow uniformed drunks,  writers and artists kept our eyes fixed squarely on V. and Gravity’s Rainbow — Pynchon is a favorite among paranoid security guards — so we “didn’t see nothin’ noway, no how.”

 
Gatekeeper
Walt Disney World
January 1972 – October 1975 (3 years 10 months)

Some people, the silent minority, can be permitted entry to the Magic Kingdom. Others, the bums, the radicals, the degenerates, the blame-America-firsters, must never be permitted entry to the Magic Kingdom. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.  K, the Land-surveyor, used every ruse and subterfuge to gain entry to Cinderella’s Castle. Huh. Not on MY watch…

The Phantom knows about:

Sarcasm; Blowing vapor-rings; Chewing tobacco without swallowing; Evasion, insinuation and intrigue; Satire; Weirdness; Nastiness; G-rated pornography;  Righteous indignation;  Loneliness; Desuetude; Despair

Letter from /dev/null: Once, I could barely walk. I lived, like a vampire, off strange blood. Too much suck, my hard-drive brimmed before I’d grepped to glean, sort, sift, digest; before I could process, to make sense clean, it was gone, all of it, extinct: memory. Loves distant as stars. If data travels at electric speed (so long as servers hum like clock-work: cleaned, tuned, Enlightened) what effect on works and days, and other presumptions of this, the Sixth Extinction? One day, new beings will evolve, perhaps from flies, a thousand eyes for every buzzing brain; incessant flight from this gross pile to that, no time to dream of dreaming. We’ve only got weeks, (relativity-ly speaking: so flies time). Why waste winged words in contemplation of the clock-tick? One must DO. Something. Ideally, perhaps, possibly, nothing at all. Yours, The Phantom of /dev/null Read other articles by Phantom.