The name "Punkadyne Laboratories and Archives" came to me in a dream. I was wandering the desert, when a barefoot young woman appeared before me, dressed in gossamer and gold silk. "I am the 'I am,'" she said. "Worlds within worlds, come before me and whisper the pearls of your experiences before my nubile feet, and I shall sing that tune of the Price of Blackbirds on nigh..." Instead of eyes, her sockets held black pools of the night, dotted with tiny diamond stars. Her voice flowed like water, and the desert night sky turned gold and orange like a halo around us. Sitar music played as I kneeled before my Golden Goddess, and begged mercy for my putrid and wretched mortal existence. Then, I was as a cobra, swimming across the desert sands like a stream of golden liquid across the moon drenched dunes. I saw the births, lives, deaths, and rebirths of many people, lands, and cultures through my serpentine eyes. "The is the why, when you live in the here and now, we all sing like bird trapped in the castles of our own minds. Free yourself, Punkie. Be one with the voices of a thousand ancient statues that have seen those who have passed and became reborn." Then, a met a tall, thin man wearing a tie-dye loincloth and a leather mask drawn over his head and face, stretched tight like a gourd. His eyes were covered with aviator goggles, and feathers stuck from cracks in his mask. "Arise, Punkie," he said. "The mushrooms you ate on that Pizza Hut delivery had gone bad, and you might feel a little funny. How many fingers am I holding up?" Indeed. "How many fingers are we ALL holding up?" I asked. "Uh-huh," said the Man in the Mask, who, waving his fingers in front of my face, symbolic of the uncounted souls that wear the masks of their everyday lives. "Listen," he said, as wisdom dribbled forth from his lips and formed colors in the sky, "I am going to prescribe you some medicine to ease the stomach craps, and help you get some sleep. Your wife has come to drive you home. Please let go of the jar of tongue depressors, and give them back to me." It was a test! A test, I tell you! No, no! I was NOT going to release the magic canopic jars that contained my organs to him! I spit fire into the air, and ran to the temple, which looked a lot like the underside of a hospital gurney. "Okay," said the Man in the Mask, "you can have them..." I had passed. I had passed...
Okay, actually, I was at a con party, I am pretty sure it was an Evecon or Castlecon, and there was a discussion about what "dyne" meant in company names, like Solidyne, Betadyne, and even the fictitious Yoyodyne in "Buckaroo Banzai." I suggested they stood for "dynamic," as in moving excitedly. Someone said it came from a chemical suffix used in labs. It was around the time people started calling me "Punkie," and I was thinking about my book, "The Punk Walrus Saga," and so I thought, "Punkadyne." I registered the name, and copyrighted it in 1993. But it wasn't just the name, but I needed something that sounded like it created and stored ideas, so "Punkadyne Laboratories and Archives" came to mind.
I used it once on a resume. They gave me GREAT reviews. Best worker they had every known. It also became part of a small sting operation a friend of mine had concocted to see if a former employer was saying bad things about me (it turns out they were not). Back when we had terrible bill collectors, I used it, pretending to be my secretary (I can fake a good female voice, thanks to my friend Velvet B. who once taught me), and fielding my own calls. I had a staff of several people working for me, apparently. I still get mail to the company, and was even offered an Amex Gold Card (I declined).
For the longest time, www.punkadyne.com and www.punkwalrus.com were synonymous. They pointed to the same pages. But no longer. I can't say what's going to happen to Punkadyne yet, but I assume, something will happen.
This entry was originally posted at http://www.punkwalrus.com/blog/archives/00000357.html