I believe I will send submissions in the formal way. When
you reject them, I may put them in that other place. But I would like
permission to put them in the other place too; some of my work isn't even fit
for a swamp, intentionally. I haven't looked: have I been removed from your
Creators section? I should be removed since there may be nothing of mine that's
ever acceptable.
To move on from this point, I'll send you two things once
I've done revising them. They're linked (though rather different) but they can
be de-linked.
Sincerely yours,
JOHN
*
In the city called Quapel, the
entire population is dedicated in both sacred and profane ways to its goats.
The population has deified the four-legged creature, and don't try to talk them
out of this belief. Their belief system considers themselves to be but degraded
goats, a step down from them at the very least. All their social organization
is meant to give their goats all the pleasures goats
desire. Their currency is oat and grass solely. Their goats occupy the very
best rooms in their mansions. (Everyone has a mansion for everyone has a goat
deserving of a mansion.)
Next on our travel agenda was the ancient seaside town
known as
We came across the city of
*
What do we know?
Knowing that,
what's the ratio of
what we know
(over)
what we don't know?
K/DK?
(However,
we don't know the numerator
and we don't know the
denominator....)
How small might this number be?
How to count what we don't know?
However we con it,
the number is small
(but not quite nothing).
So
this is the place to start from.
Knowing nothing
we still work at knowing
though we cannot know
by how much our knowledge is
increasing.
In 10,000 BC we knew very little
now we know more.
How much more?
Another vanishingly
small amount.
*
An Intermittent Landscape
is what I see every six
minutes. Wherever I am, at whatever elevation or during whatever act, it
flashes for the smallest piece of time: how things used to me. It's especially
noticeable in a city. Suddenly, there's nothing: just trees and grass,
sometimes a frosty lake, an unbreathable atmosphere.
Some may call it an hysterical nostalgia, but I know
it as a grounding of knowledge. I can see the past that clearly, I swear. I
cannot verify these visions, though I would like to. I wonder if the rest of
time is actually the illusory part.
*
1735. Port-La-Joye.
The curé rushed in to our hut. Mondieu! he cried. The English are
devils and demons! Do not swear allegiance to their devil King! Mondieu! Mondieu!
What could we do? The church had spoken. We'd seen
drawings of these English, and we'd agreed they looked like demons.
We didn't sign. Of course not. Mondieu!
We got turfed out, naturally,
some time later. We were foreign nationals, loyal foreign nationals, who had no
rights having never signed the contract; and besides, the Church is eternal,
and what is the King? The King is a Thing. Not like our King.
*
Someone famous walked by me today—I could tell by his
entourage—but I didn't look up. And I thought of Cheryl Lancastle,
so many years ago.
The day after drinking with her in some bar one night, she
said, "Last night you were so cool."
"Me? How?"
"***** ******** was sitting right behind you, and you
didn't even notice!"
"Geez, I didn't even know
s/he was there!"
I didn't get it; maybe she was more normal than I thought
she was. What could I say? Famous people: they're bathed in shit and piss just
like the rest of us.
*
Their Piece of the Action
It happens every 30th of April.
Two Mafiosi come into my bar in the morning.
They lock the door and turn the sign to CLOSED.
They hustle me into the back room.
"Okay, show us da
books."
I get out the books and they ask me questions about how
much I made from all sources of income.
Then they tell me how much I'd paid for protection last
year.
I tell them my allowed deductions.
Many other questions.
They shove their balance sheets at me and force me to
sign.
Sometimes I get a refund.
*
I
read something interesting today about current day distractions. Apparently,
all of gizmos are keeping us from driving and walking safely. A
*
The Loneliness of the Sole-Use Product
Mighty Mr. Clean spotted a dirty infected stain and
pounced. In minutes the area was spic and span. No more germs!
Mr. Clean saw a volleyball game and wondered how it was
done. Then he saw some filth and pounced! All clean! Cleaned my Mr. Clean!
He went for a walk. A woman raised her skirt. "Hey fella, interested in this?"
"Is it infected?"
"Well! Cleanest snatch in town, I'll have you
know!"
"Then it's of no use to me," and he continued
walking.
He looked up at the moon. "But I'm not lonely."
*
RATIONALE
Years ago, Durham Cable would televise bingo games.
Players bought cards and telephoned the station to yell Bingo.
They showed on-screen 1 to 75 which would light up when
called by the bingo caller. The numbers were arranged in an array 10 by 7 with
the remaining five in a bottom row.
I'd count the number of contiguous areas of the array as
they lit up. (1 and 2 lit up was one unit; same with 14 and 24 and with 18, 19,
and 29.) The number would go up, then down.
I use 100s today instead of 75s.
*
Skinflint. A flint is a form a quartz
harder than steel. When the two are brought together with force, sparks come
forth. Since it would be almost impossible to skin (or shave) a flint, the term
means someone who is so parsimonious he would attempt the near-impossible for a
slight monetary gain.
cc. Thin paper coated with black ink bonded with wax was
used to create duplicate copies of a piece of writing. (The blackness reminded
its inventors of the chemical element carbon.) This was known as carbon paper,
and the duplicate was known as the carbon copy, or cc.
*
An eon is around half a billion years long. That is to
say, 500,000,000 years. We can expand that easily to mean one hundred and
eighty-two billion five hundred million days which is also equivalent to four trillion
three hundred and eighty billion hours. What is that in minutes? Two hundred and sixty two trillion eight hundred billion minutes.
I usually eat my daily sandwich in ten minutes. Therefore I can eat twenty-six
trillion two hundred and eighty sandwiches in an era. So we have nothing to
worry about. I mean, who could eat sandwiches continuously? The thought is
absurd.
*
Dear Abbo,
I have come into possession of four hundred thousand
dollars. However, the bills, though cleansed of blood, have probably been
marked. What is the best way to "launder" money?
Yours,
Money Man
Dear Money Man,
Alas, your dilemma is all too common. Once up a time, a
freer time, casinos or even grocery stores would be satisfactory. Today, with
the advent of closed circuit photography, neither place is safe. Anyway, you
might as well cross over as turn back. Go into the narcotics trade. With that
kind of capital, you could relocate to the
*
Same Word, Same Meaning
Rob
Ford vows to sue, stuns city with oral sex comment
Warning:
The following story contains graphic language
--
Rob
Ford apologizes for oral sex comment, says he is seeking help
Warning:
The following story contains graphic language
--
Putin may free Pussy Riot
members, oil tycoon in amnesty
--
--
Pussy
Riot to be freed despite 'disgraceful' protest, says Putin
--
*
I could have licked my bar tab, so close to my face I had
to hold it to read it.
"What's this?" I cried. Each pint costs one
dollar more than the previous one!"
Indeed: $4, $5, $6, $7, $8, $9, $10, $11!
The barmaid said, "It's progressive pricing."
"Progressive pricing? Egads!"
"It reduces over-indulgence whilst remunerating the
establishment for the unintended consequences of imbibing unto
intoxication."
"I don't believe that's fair. Tomorrow night, I'll
leave here after one drink and go over to Joe's Tavern across the street."
"The government's coming up with
a way to prevent that, too."
*
Sometimes people ask me, "How do you do twice as much
as anyone else?"
And I tell them,
"Simple.
"I sleep twelve hours a day.
"But in those twelve hours I dream an entire day.
"Well, half-day. Because for half
of that dream day, I sleep and I dream ... of an entire day.
"Simple.
"Again, half-day. Because
for half of it I sleep and dream.
"And so on and so on.
"Thus, according to the calculus, My
time awake approaches two days for every day.
"You may wonder how I escape the infinite regress
implied.
"Truth is, I don't."
*
While she was picking her son's clothes up off his bedroom
floor, June knocked his desk and his computer enlivened to his Facebook page. She looked: scantily clad women, many,
wanting to be 'friends' with him. Almost like prostitutes!
Her son came home.
"Honey," she said. "I saw your Facebook page today."
"Oh yeah?"
"And I couldn't help but notice all the women who wanted
to be friends with you."
"Yeah?"
"Are they prostitutes?"
"Yeah."
"Oh my God!"
"But it's only because Facebook
can see I don't have any friends, so they're offering me paid
companionship!"
June cried, "Thank God!"
*
I saw them doing it again and again and I didn't get it.
Over the hill went all these dogs chasing cars. The cars and the dogs would
disappear over the hill, then the dogs would come back
with their tongues hanging out.
What was it all about?
What were they doing on the other side of the hill with
the cars?
I decided to find out.
A car came along, I ran after it.
I ran over the hill.
The car stopped.
Driver leaned out.
He said, "Well?"
I just stood there.
He shook his head, and drove away.
*
I don't think this is impossible.
Let's say my neighbour is abducted by aliens some night
and travels near the speed of light for some time. Because of some paradox or
another he ages forty years while I didn't, and I age forty years while he
doesn't. It's possible.
We have our conversation the next morning. We've each had
forty years of experiences to talk about, and it was only yesterday we were the
same age. Now our ages are skewed but in agreement. What would we have to eat?
Is this a daily occurrence?
Who's going to die first?
*
She looked at the playbill and said, This
isn't right.
What's not right?
Look. Here's the names of the
actors, and here's the parts they are playing.
Yeah? And so?
They're different. Look. Here's Philip Hnadly
playing Archie Elliott.
I still don't get it.
Why didn't they hire Archie Elliott to play Archie
Elliott?
Um.
How dare the producers appropriate Archie Elliott like
this?
Um.
They're stealing from him his existential being, aren't
they?
Um.
It's just wrong!
I don't think....
Poor Archie Elliott. Maybe he doesn't even know
about it!
I think he....
I can't participate in this exploitation!
*
It's a terrible thing, isn't it? You know what I'm talking
about, don't you? The dream that everyone has once in a
while? The dream in which over a long period (dream-wise) you manage to
murder all of your siblings? And there's people, dream
bystanders, who don't react right? Sometimes they're supportive and sometimes
they're critical? How before it's all resolved, before you get a proper
resolution, your alarm goes off and the dream is over? And don't you feel
really guilty then? Isn't that the worst part of all, that guilty feeling?
Doesn't it last way too long, really?
*
Tired? Got that low down feeling? What is it you're after?
I know what you're after! It's what everyone is after!
After years of intense research I have created just
what you're looking for!
Pure Essence of Vanity!
Folks. Why go through all the
trouble of puffing and preening with the hope of finally being noticed? Why
risk humiliation?
I have discovered the secret to
distilling and purifying Vanity. Using my own Times of Attraction, my
Petty Victories, my Moments of Non-Abjection, I have perfected
this distillate!
Now it can be yours! for only
$2.99! Puff Your Petty Self Today!
*
I couldn’t believe it. Right ahead of me on the street was
that good-lookin’ guy from the office beside mine.
Even though it was a slippery winter day I recognized him from behind, that ass
and shoulders. There I was, just twenty feet behind him. I’ve been on the
elevator with him more than a couple times. Boy, what wouldn’t I give for him
to turn around. Instead he crossed the street and he
slipped and fell. A big truck ran him over, his head busted apart like a melon.
Just shows how you shouldn’t get too attached to people.
*
With a pretty smile she hopped into my truck like it was
some old corny carny ride and sighed loudly.
"I've been out there for, like, an hour" she said. I smiled.
"Well, you got your ride now.
A couple minutes passed as my dash clock kicked to
two-thirty and I looked over to see she was asleep with the steady waves of
highway lights sweeping down from her blonde forehead to her freckled arms to
her thighs. Wasn't she a peach now.
The radio reception was breaking up so reached over to
switch it to the local country station that I could find blindfolded. Every
three days I drove this route, same highway, same
schedule. Suddenly she moved and her knee pressed the back of my hand. Quite a warm knee now.
There it was, right where I knew it would be,
with my turnoff at the next
exit. I quietly rolled to the shoulder and stopped. I said, "Ma'am, wake
up." She opened her eyes and looked at me. "This is as far as I can
go." She squinted into the
My mother always taught me well. You don't need to get
something from everyone you meet. Sometimes it's best to let something simply
go. The radio station was gone, just like her. They come and go. The highway is
forever.
*
Now I’ve dreamed something extraordinary. I dreamed the
entire manufacturing process of a Care Bear. I cut out the patterns, dyed the
cloth, and prepared the battening for its insides. This all took about three
hours.
The next step was sewing it all together. I used a special
sewing machine, sewing from the inside of course.
Then in went the stuffing, and the final seam was on its
ass. Accessories followed, eyes and so on. It took
twenty-seven hours total.
Okay, it was actually about the manufacture of a .45 Caliber
M1911 automatic
pistol. But the principle is the same!
*
Fifty years ago, there was a guy living in my town. He
didn't go to my school; he went to
The mall back then was barely a mall. There was a Sears at
one end and a Loblaws at the other, with about twenty
stores between them. I was there with a girl named June.
We were walking back and forth, Sears to Loblaws, Loblaws to Sears, then
she said, "I know him," pointing slightly such that I didn't know
which one of the two guys heading toward us she was pointing at. She stopped us
in front of them and she said, "Hi."
I was introduced. Bill and Mike were their names. It
seemed that Bill was the one my friend knew, so I wound up with Mike, and I
didn't mind that one bit. We walked and talked for hours. He was interesting,
let's leave it at that.
So that night, as we were all going to the drive-in, we
crashed on the highway. Terrible crash. Mike and June
were killed and I broke both my legs and Bill cracked his skull. We were all
only eighteen or so.
We recuperated together in the same hospital, and talked a
lot. Before we knew it, maybe in a year, we were married.
That was all fifty years ago. We don't talk about it much
these days. It was all a matter of chance, see. Meeting in the mall, some guys
I didn't know. I've managed to forget Mike's last name; I don't recall what he
looked like.
*
Regrets. We all have regrets.
My biggest regret was, well, some time ago. I got pissed
off at all of humanity because they had all lost the way. They were worshipping
junk, really. "Graven images."
So I had to wipe them out. Well, not all of them. There
was a guy named Noah who was pretty cool with me. He was right with me, his
Lord. So I told him I was going to wipe out everyone except for him and his
family.
He was shocked, but he obeyed right-o. He was that kind of
a guy. He knew I wasn't bullshitting him.
I gave him the plans for a boat big enough for all the
animals of the world—the land creatures and the flying creatures and the
dinosaurs. Plus I designed a nice apartment for him. He had it done one day;
next day I started the rains to fall.
The boat floated up; meanwhile, all the people were
screaming and drowning. I didn't like it, but they were just so wicked, you
know? Something in the blood, I guess. I made a mistake somewhere in their
design. No, that's stinking thinking. I had to give them free will and so on,
good and evil and so on. Knowledge. Just that some
idiots ruined it, that's all. Still, wiping out thousands and
thousands at one swoop: I've never done it since. Yet.
So, that's my confession of my regret. I wish there'd been
another way of doing it. I can still hear their screams sometimes. Sometimes it
disturbs my sleep.
Regrets. One time I was smoking
while I was taking a dump. I dropped the butt down between my legs into the
toilet. The heater ignited some toilet paper and my balls got scorched. I
regret that, too.
*
PUSH POLL
Push polls are all the rage today, because they work. I've
come up with one to get a date with Felicia.
I said, "Are you aware that I would like to go out
with you on Saturday night? 1=very aware, 2=somewhat aware, 3=neither aware not
unaware, 4=somewhat unaware, 5=very unaware."
I said, "How familiar are you with the issues
involved in a decision to date me, such as a pleasant time, a paid-for meal, an
excellent film, perhaps some form of sex? 1=very familiar, 2=somewhat familiar,
3=neither familiar nor unfamiliar, 4=somewhat unfamiliar, 5=very
unfamiliar."
I said, "Would you be more likely or less likely to
go out on a date with me if you knew that a date with me would cause you to be
more popular and more envied within your social circle? 1=much more likely,
2=somewhat more likely, 3=neither likely nor unlikely, 4=somewhat less likely,
5=much less likely."
I said, "Would you be more likely or less likely to
go out on a date with me if you knew that a date with me would create
opportunities for such activities as trips to
I said, "Would you be more likely or less likely to
go out on a date with me if you knew that a date with me would make scarcity disappear,
electricity plentiful, education better in quality, trans-oceanic travel
possible with the energy supplied by the contents of a thimbleful of water, the
contact of friendly aliens inevitable, eternal life within reach, and the
Beatles reunite, impossible though that seems? 1=much more likely, 2=somewhat
more likely, 3=neither likely nor unlikely, 4=somewhat less likely, 5=much less
likely."
*
I read in the papers about a cleaning-woman who swept away
an art exhibit in
I was working a summer job as a painter in
Next day the boss calls me into his
office. He said, "You really fucked up, Jones."
"How? What did I do?"
"You painted over some art in
the cafeteria."
"You mean the egg painting? I
thought it was, like, graffiti."
"The monastery paid money for
it. It was of The Last Supper."
"The Last Supper? I thought it
was some kind of a joke."
"A joke."
"Yeah, some kind of a pranky
illusion."
"You destroyed it."
"Can you take it out of my
pay?"
"You'd have to work here for a
hundred years to pay for it."
"Oh. Well, look. I think I can
fix it."
"Oh really. How."
"I'll just.... I'll just do the
painting over again. I kind of remember what it looked like."
"Are you qualified for
that?"
"Sure. I'm a great painter.
Besides, it was like something a four-year-old could do."
"Well, let's give it a shot. If
you fail, you'll be executed."
"Okeydoke."
So I went back to the monastery, and
repainted it. It looked good in the end, and mostly no-one knew.
So I have sympathy for the
cleaning-woman. It was just a mistake. Anyone can make a mistake.
*
The explanation I got the first time I asked about it was,
"Things have been falling from the sky for as long as anyone can remember.
It's a natural phenomenon. Like rain."
Cold comfort for a scientist, let
me tell you. I had to know what the things that crashed to earth were, and I
could think of no better way that to use a telescope to see one as it fell,
before it busted into masses of string and shine on the ground.
I have spent my whole life trying to see one—even one—of
the objects. But nothing.
-
My teacher tried to discover the nature of the falling
things using telescopes, and failed. I knew there had to be another technique
that could be used. So I decided to examine one of the fallen things
extensively.
I catalogued one of them. It weighed ten pounds. It
appeared to have originally been something square, something cubic. Its innards
were a bundle of wires, several flat surfaces engraved in an unknown way, and a
number of wheels.
I glued it all together, but could see no function to it.
Now I am near my end, and I haven't advanced anything anyhow.
-
How many years will we continue to puzzle over this? asked the philosopher. It's as natural a phenomenon as a
phenomenon can be. Things simply fall from the sky, and there is no sign to be
taken from it. It doesn't mean anything. I have to have everyone agree with me
about this. It's just something that happens. Let them fall; let us move on to
more important subjects. There's a thousand other
subjects! You can't get hung up on this! So what, things fall from the sky!
Let's just move on! There's plenty of work!
*
He never care much about his
teeth. To him, they were just a bunch of useless extra bones whose only job was
to gnarl. There they sat, in his mouth, ready for mastication. He used them
well for eating. So it didn't really matter when they started to hurt. They
could hurt as much as they wanted to, so long as they were still chewy.
He considered the pain of his teeth their business. So
what if he caught a bit of it on his end? Certainly they hurt themselves more
than they could possibly hurt him. He pitied them sometimes, but not enough to
help them out. Of course his end of the pain: sometimes it was like
electricity, other times like needles piercing his head. But he was stoic,
knowing they were getting the worst of it.
One of them got wiggly, as if it wanted to strike out on
its own, like it had prepared a parachute for a descent to the ground. Well, he
would have none of that! He kept it in there, a prisoner. "Wiggle away,
little tooth," he'd say to it. "You ain't
going anywhere."
Eventually it took its leave, in a sense. It escaped one
night. But the man caught it in time, looked at it with a sneer, and shoved it
back in his jaw. No tooth of his was going to get away so easily! It took some
doing, some concentration, to keep it in his head where it belonged, but he did
it.
One by one, the rest of his teeth tried for greener
pastures, but every time he'd catch them and shove them back in. Inevitably
they were all free agents, and it was work to keep them corralled.
He couldn't let go what his parents had made.
*
APOLOGY FOR PLAGIARISM
I try not to steal ideas or lines from another place
unless I'm doing it for an obvious reason. (Obvious to me,
anyway.) However, the idea of the preceding story's ending was taken
straight from another source. I was writing away happily, only to find myself
without a satisfactory ending, when there came into my head a particular
passage that simply fit.
The situation is rather different, but the sentiment is
the same. It's this passage, from the 18th chapter of Luo
Guanzhong's Three Kingdoms. Here it is, via
translator Moss Roberts.
"From a point of vantage, Cao
Xing drew his bow and, sighting true, shot Xiahou Dun
in his left eye. Bellowing in pain, Xiahou Dun
plucked out the arrow; the eyeball had stuck fast to the point. 'The essence of
my parents cannot be thrown away,' he cried, and swallowed the eye. Then he
went for Cao Xing and speared him in the face before
he could defend himself. Cao Xing fell dead from his
horse. The spectacle left both sides aghast."
As you can see, the idea is blatantly stolen from a
Chinese novel of the Ming era.
I try not to steal stuff.
*
The Defence Attorney said, "I'd like to call Harriet
and Stanley Jones to the stand."
The Judge looked over his glasses and said, "That is
highly irregular."
"May I approach the bench?"
"Proceed."
"You see, they were both witnesses to the crime. And
they can only communicate by finishing one another's sentences,
they've been married so long. Thus, having them both on the stand is the only
way to get any sensible testimony."
"Very well. What ever."
"You're both sworn in and so on and so forth, and
we've got your names and everything, so let's get to the testimony. Can you
describe for us exactly what you heard and saw on the night of the 14th?"
Harriet said, "We were just settling down to
watch—"
"Were not qualified to use such a class of
semi—"
"About
"Painted green because of the hummingbirds—"
"A scream, and so I cried, 'Harriet,'—"
"Plates on the wrong sides of the table—"
"Quietly so the Inspector General couldn't—"
"Twenty seven of them, I'm sure of it, because
that's—"
"Taxation was something my grandfather could
never—"
"'Remember,' I told Julie, 'you can't
just take all of—'"
"I smelled something burning."
"So complicated because
"Without a word of a lie—"
"Sensitive she was about her secretions, that
was—"
"Back the next day to find every flower gone—"
/"And that's everything."
\"And that's
everything."
"Thank you for your testimony. Please be
seated."
The judge rapped his gavel. "I see no need to
continue with this trial. The defendant is found not guilty. Let's call it a
day."
*
Cottage Framed Photographs
“That’s Jim’s father. It’s dated on the back,
“This one’s my parents on their wedding day. Don’t they
look happy? So what if it didn’t stay like that? But that’s another topic. Kids in rapid succession, Pete, me, Doris, Blake. The fire,
as you know: funny us kids were all out at the time, isn’t it? Things sometimes
just aren’t destined to work out.
“Now that’s Jim and me, here, with this cottage almost
finished in the background. We got the land for a song. This was Wahta territory, and the government sold it quickly to
avoid complications. It’s almost as if all the Wahtas
were on holiday, came back to find their homes burned to the ground. Of course
it wasn’t really like that, just things didn’t work
out for them.
“This is Jim in his cast. Took the
picture in the city. Honestly, I didn’t know he was trotting down the
stairs when I turned off the lights. I wasn’t listening. He healed, mostly.
Nothing ever works out.
“I don’t know why we put this one here; it’s from that
mushroom hunt we had with the kids. I guess it’s because it’s the last picture
we have of them. I always had the idea that if you cooked
them long enough they were always okay to eat. Me, I don’t like them.
They’re fungus or something, aren’t they?
“I took this picture a month ago. Just
the cottage, in the morning, looking out on the water. It’s got a soul,
you know. Things have worked out for it. I think it’s
content.”
No comments:
Post a Comment