Given.
The human body is a ring torus.
Thus.
It is possible to turn a human body inside out.
Results?
The inside would become the outside and the outside would
become the inside.
Unfortunately, some reflection indicates this doesn’t mean
your brains would be showing.
Rather, one would be a long, lumpy worm.
Consider.
About twenty-seven feet long you’d be, shiny and grey;
teeth would surround one end: your jaw, opened.
With your legs stuffed inside the other end, folded back
toward the centre.
Nutrition received from a nutrient pit....
Of course, I’m not advocating anyone actually performing
this experiment!
***
The People. The People Vs. Me. Well, of all the nerve. They voted, didn’t they?
They insisted on having a government, didn’t they? And now they think they can
throw their stones and everything will be all right again. They believe that. I
did their dirty, dirty work, and now they want to eliminate me. I suppose I know
too much. And now, all I have is a blanket. They should know I am just but
a manifestation of their desires. Why, I’m not even going to swat that fly. And
they’ll say: Why, government won’t even swat a fly.
***
“You can’t publish
this story. You cannot make Prince Charles and Camilla into, what are they,
vampires?”
“Not vampires. Just ghouls. There’s plenty of precedents. I’m thinking of the Bartoldy woman. She was royalty too. So,
why not?”
“Because they’re our royalty, not some mitteleuropa
creeps! You describe them so sickeningly.”
“Again, precedents aplenty. I’m only something mythical
here. And really, there’s poetic licence involved.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the term.”
“Okay, then just licence.”
“A contest. You imagine a contest.”
“I think the Aztecs considered it an honour to be
sacrificed.”
“You’ve been reading the wrong books!”
***
Writer walks into the studio producer’s office. His first time meeting a producer. The producer, who looks
twenty-five, is smoking a two-foot cigar. He says, “Okay, I’m pressed for time.
Pitch!”
The writer says, “A guy, a Prince, is pressed by his
father’s ghost to have revenge.”
“Who killed the father?”
“The Prince’s new
stepfather.”
“Mmm. Is this Prince a
superhero?”
“No. That’s the twist.”
“Ingenious! Got any other ideas?”
“Guy takes ten years getting home after a ten-year war. All
kinds of adventures, reunited with his faithful wife in the end.”
“I see. Is this guy a zombie?”
“No. That’s the twist.”
“Wow! Any more goodies in your brain?”
“A sea captain loses his leg to a whale, and for the rest
of his life he’s tracking down this whale. It’s a white whale.”
“Interesting. The whale’s a wizard from a
British boarding school, I suppose.”
“No. That’s the twist.”
“Home run! We’ve got to get you under
contract.” The producer presses a button. “Miss Jones, bring in the fattest
contract we got. And set up three shell companies pronto!” He looked back to
the writer. “And people say there’s nothing new under the sun!”
“It’s a gift!”
***
JEALOUSY
With two luggage in hand John went
through the kitchen of the rented cottage but stopped then and there and looked
at the dishes and cutlery in the sink, objects that Mary had promised to wash
two hours earlier, before her old friend Andy had shown up to drive them to Gravenhurst for one Therese’s wedding, old friend of both
Mary and Andy. John shoved his way through the screen door to drop the bags at
Andy’s car. He looked down to the lake where Mary and Andy were sitting,
actually drinking beers.
“Hey, c’mon!” John shouted. “We were
supposed to be out of here a half hour ago!”
Mary and Andy moseyed their ways up.
Mary said, “Don’t worry about it, it’s cool.”
“You didn’t do the dishes.”
“Well, fuck, the caretakers have to
wash them all anyways. Regulations.”
“Okay, fine. Look, can we get the hell
out of this place? I haven’t even paid yet.”
Andy opened the trunk and tossed the
bags in. “We set?”
“Let’s take a last look.”
John and Mary went into the cottage,
from room to room, looking for forgotten objects. Mary seemed annoyed, which
made John even more sentimental. Nothing forgotten.
John was in the back seat as they drove
to the office. “I’ll be right back.”
John went in and paid; some
pleasantries were exchanged, and promises for next
year’s rental.
John got back into the back seat. Mary
and Andy were laughing at something.
Away they drove.
The trees and rocks John loved so
zipped by; he wished he could count them all.
Mary said, “I hope Jane’s at the
party.”
John said, “What party?”
“There’s a party tonight.”
“I thought we were going to take it
easy.”
“There’s a party instead.”
John sat on his hands. “Alright then.”
***
HAIRCUT
Down in the well of the backseat of a car at the mall, the
boy is crying, clutching his head. Because his hair has been
cut. Now everyone will be looking at him. Everyone will know he has had
a haircut. Some may even comment on it. Strangers will even know, somehow. It’s
worse than a birthday. It’s worse than anything, really. The proof is that he’s
crying, you see. His mother’s at the wheel in the front seat. She’s letting it
pass. He had to get his haircut. Can’t have him looking like
an animal. She’s very patient.
***
Railroad between
Electricity and power.
Sandwiches and coffee.
There’s to be an election on June 12th. Damn, I thought
I’d have to wait till October to not vote!
Why are e-books so crummily
made? So full of typographical errors?
I can boast therefore “My books--fewer typos than the
Penguin edition of Life of Johnson (though possibly more than the
I think the best way to stop ivory poaching is to make
pachyderms pets.
You never see stately mansions from a train. I wonder why
that is.
A lot of concrete all over.
What’s more numerous: rivers that flow into lakes or lakes
that flow into rivers?
Soon I will be in
*
QUOTES
“Well, kids, I know you’ve all been having a rough time
since your mother died; I’ve had it rough too. But time moves on and I’ve
decided to re-marry. Now, here’s my reasoning: your mother was a good woman,
almost a saint. Yet she died; and I can’t help but think there’s some sort of
connection between these two facts. Therefore, my next wife--and your next
stepmother--is going to be a very wicked woman. Who probably won’t die on us so
soon.”
“Ha! My Duke of Shiverton, at
last I’ve found you! You’ve persecuted me for eighteen long years, you’ve
destroyed my wealth, my lineage, my estate, but now you’re in my clutches! It’s
been eighteen long years but let me tell you: THIS ... ENDS ... A WEEK FROM
TUESDAY!!!”
“You want to know what it feels like, this catatonia I´ve spoken of so often? Maybe I´ll stick it in a music video some day. Here´s what I´ll do. With this
kindle, I´ll shoot myself
lip-syching something, something by some depressoid muician like Nick
Drake or Chris Bell. Then I´ll take every, I dunno, third frame and trace over my face. So I´ll have an animation of my face, singing a song. To this I´ll add the pìece de resistance,
--bubbles cribbed from underwater photography, and the bubbles will come from
my mouth as I´m singing the song. For that´s what it´s like, this
catatonia: It´s like you´re
underwater, and anything you say will be just bubbles, with no chance of any
contact with the watery elements.”
-3 4
***
TRUE STORY OF MONSTERS FROM ANOTHER
DIMENSION
-Okay, we’re here with....
-Why not just call me the monster. You can’t conceive of
my name anyways.
-We’re here with the monster, to get her reaction to the
recent publicity. I must say, you do look like Scarlet Johansson.
-I chose this look just for this interview. Again, you
can’t understand.
-There must be some way.
-There’s a book you might know of, called Flatland.
Think of it this way. You’re 2D, and I’m 3D. You’re but a slice of
reality. I’m more than that.
-Okay, then. I’ll think of it that way. So, is it true you
kidnap Scottish men and suck their bodies out?
-No, I merely consume their souls. Their bodies disperse
naturally. The film-maker had to represent it somehow.... Inadequately,
in my opinion.
-Your friend in the film: who is he?
-He is my partner. We cannot work alone, now can we? I
pass to him every other soul I capture. And if one of us is killed, the other
can regenerate the killed one. That’s why we can’t travel together, except for
the matter of our regeneration.
-I see. So, who do you do it?
-Do what?
-...Consume souls.
-I have to survive, don’t I?
-But isn’t consuming souls a bit extreme?
-Listen. You understand so little. Since the beginning of
time this has been the way. You eat. So do we. It’s as
simple as that.
-Why are you the one who kidnaps?
-Men are easier prey. A smile is all it takes in most
cases. Your reproductive functions differ; their hunting instincts make them
easily hunted.
-It seems they have to be ... sexually aroused.
-It’s not essential. It’s just something I like to do.
-How’s that?
-I just ... like how stiff cocks look.
***
NOTHING’S SACRED,
Hobbies. Finding
the shortest distance between two points, partying, letting ABCD be a given
square, and licking ice cream off the ladies.
Idea of a good date: Movie-going, observing that certain
triangles are equal in all respects, dinner before and drinks after,
arguing that magnitudes which have the same ratio to the same magnitude are
equal to one another, threesomes.
The type of person I would like to meet using this
website: Athenian, slightly shorter than me, able to appreciate the humour of
Pythagoras, swooping breasts, and the ability to see that if A:B and B:C, jiggy-jiggy-jiggy.
***
THE WAR AGAINST THE MOUNTAINS
July 8. A great blast called through the fog-bound morning
as we blasted some seven million tons of rock off the top of Mount Fromme and down into the surrounding verdant valleys and
cool rivers and streams. We high-fived and whooped in
joy, knowing we had achieved a great victory; yet that was not all, for the
blast had triggered a small earthquake, causing many more tons of rock to
tumble from peaks to valleys, from heights to depths. This was greater than we
had imagined possible!
August 11.
September 18. Today, this morning, not eight hours ago, we
brought down
October 29,
***
Sometimes
it’s impossible—to read—because if emotions blasted out of your environment. A
related thought—nannies—what is it about their power? How sexual is it? (How
did Mary Poppins masturbate?) There must be a
sadistic sexual desire that makes one want power. To force—for example—a
restaurant to post nutritional information is not to do anything good for the
world—it gets done because it’s thrilling to bend people to your will. Some
Soviet functionary—a railroad porter—I recall from some book, slammed a train
window shut as a form of torture—“Just Because.” These
are the people who go to politics. Maybe it’s just that they’re not too
bright.... Rest assured, they’re not attractive—maybe it simply that ugly
unattractive and repulsive people have to go into it. Perhaps my Royals should
be elected....
...
flashlight, orange helmet, red helmet,
many black helmets. supervisors summoned about a fire
investigation—people start leaving one by one.
looking up tunnel from
this is balan—just
another day on earth....
...
Here
comes the known—I know it’s known or I think it’s known—is it a page, is it a leaf,
is it a folio?—Crysostom, tell me, if you will....
dropped into the world but not lacking a thing, unaware of anything preceding
it, an eternal essence, transubstantial and
undetectable but the point of it... Here comes the known, hands outstretched and
a begging bowl in them, and she’s thinking, “Give, and you shall have.” Q: What
is the atmosphere of the border between
***
WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR
The
sheets are new and smoothed
To
a gloss, for you to lay it down;
The
sun outside going down is bewearing
The
glistering tears of my ... clown;
The
greasier the skillet
The
more bacon it holds;
I’ll
buy back your soul
With
my silver and gold and I’m
Waiting
for you to come, to come,
Waiting
for you to come.
The
lights are as low as old
Dog
Blue with a chain around his neck;
I
see that you shiver with anticipation:
Will
this be heaven or will this be heck;
I’ll
soon fill it up,
Your
sweet buttery cup,
and E-gyp-ti-an
Shumba
Your
pre-fab pre-nup for I’m
Waiting
for you to come, to come,
Waiting
for you to come.
I’ll
shave you as dry as
Steam’s
got heat,
How
Soon Is Now
Will
sing 10cc,
And
till dancing home
Comes
the boogiïng cow,
It’s
a Do Not Disturb
On
the boat of my prow;
Tick-tock chocks the clock
As
I smell you a-nearing,
No
mountains enow
Nor
no valleys enwidened
Can
alter the time
That
this tryst is assignéd
For
I’m
Waiting
for you to come, to come,
Waiting
for you to come.
***
Happens Every Day
I met her at summer camp; day-camp, held only during days,
home nights, for two weeks. We got along. There was this other guy, shrimpy guy, scrawny, also sweet on the girl too. Saturday
afternoon, the Saturday between the two weeks, I was at her house and the other
guy called. We decided to have some fun. Her house was a couple houses from a
dead end, and she told him to come over, but she gave the address as a number
higher than the last house on the dead end: an impossible house. He headed
over, and we watched from the window as he tried to figure out where the house
was. Scratching his head....
Later he called again, and she swore the house was real.
So we got a chance to see the little jerk trying to figure out what was going
on. We laughed and laughed.
Third time he called, she said it was too late anyway;
“See you Monday.”
And on Monday morning, I told him what we did, and I had a
good laugh at him.
I felt bad about it a long time later, but that was a long
time later.
***
A lot of ink has been spilled about a certain statement
made by Charles, Prince of Wales at the Pier 21 museum in
Charles said, according to the Daily Mail, both “Putin is behaving just like Hitler,” and “And now Putin is doing just about the same as Hitler,”
simultaneously. The rumour that he also said at precisely the same time, “Putin is worse than Hitler,” became unconfirmed then
re-published but are currently considered absurd.
Charles and Putin, as we know,
are second cousins both descended from one Coburg
Saxophone. Biographers have denied the link conclusively, and we are left to
pick up the pieces. Is this the wave of the future? The Internet is full of
cranks. Newspapers have multiple layers of fact-checkers.
Back when Charles was elected Chancellor it all seemed so
unlike to transpire, and yet it didn’t. There’s still time for the situation to
reverse herself, like a cargo ship in the middle of the ocean.
Should elected people talk like this? Comparing people to
other people, for heaven’s sake? He was born a king in a miraculous fashion; Putin, on the other hand, was literally an abortion. Who is
he to complain anyway? Didn’t he call Stalin a monster? Didn’t I hear that some
time...? As the rain fills the rivers running to the sea, nobody should do the
math to see not that Hitler was dead before Putin was
born or something.
How will they be seated at the next family reunion? Maybe
they’ll sit on the table. In any case, Charles should never have been elected
monarch in the first place—I mean, what if he’s talking to Boris Yeltsin about
nuclear codes and he suddenly has her period?
-20 21 22 May 2014
***
Good Bye
He was wearing jeans; from his right hand hung two plastic
bags with some books inside. She was wearing black slacks. She was shorter than
him.
She said, “I don’t have the best balance.”
He said, “I’ll probably fall asleep on the bus.”
“Oh?”
“I always fall asleep on buses.”
“If you get to
If he was taking a bus to somewhere nearer than
Just two bags, seemingly of
books.
He didn’t say, “When will I see you again?” and she didn’t
answer, “As soon as I can get out there.”
The night before had been a
sad night; their last night in some time. Such was the nature of their quiet
voices at eight-thirty AM.
She was perhaps not thinking about how she had been left
before, and he was perhaps not thinking about all he had left behind before. Or
maybe it was the other way around?
And who would be crying with loneliness first?
She would be a little late for work, but it would be
understood.
Inwardly they got philosophical for a moment. The ending
could be at any time, couldn’t it? Couldn’t there be a bus accident? Anything
can happen, and it’s the most frightening thing in the world.
They got off the streetcar at
She was thinking about: “It was the last time I saw him.”
He was doing pretty much the same. The
very last time.
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