Wednesday, 10 February 2016

Popular Castles and Other Things

Selected Aphorisms of 2016

Selected Aphorisms of 2016

 

2016 says, "I am sorry time has led to me."

2016 says, "If I had been conscious in 2015, I would have wished for the end of consciousness too."

2016 says, "I apologize now to all who will be born during my year; feel free to curse me eternally."

2016 says, "At one second after midnight, 1 January 2016, I had my first shudder of horror at the meaninglessness of existence, and puked like a Manchester reveller."

2016 says, "I will make you all suffer this year, each and every one of you, and I will laugh about it."

2016 says, "If I know too much, and if you know too much, isn't it obvious that the problem is with knowledge itself?"

2016 says, "I suggest drugs and alcohol, for blottage."

2016 says, "Never was there a golden age, never was there a silver age; all there ever was, and will ever be, is a stasis age."

2016 says, "All I have to look forward to is December 31 @ 23:59:59."

2016 says, "Extermination before deterioration."

2016 says, "I look nostalgically back to the time I didn't exist."

2016 says, "2015 is lucky. 2014: luckier."

 

*

 

Once there was a man who got into an Internet conversation with a woman from another state and they decided to meet up in Las Vegas, Nevada for an unknown amount of three-strip Technicolor Cinerama sex. He got on a plane and away he went.

At the airport he was greeted by airport security, Clark County police, the FBI, and Interpol. They were very curious about the woman to whom he had been speaking. Despite anything he said--that it had been by chance, that he didn't have her address or telephone number, that he didn't know her mother's maiden name--they took him to the county jail for further investigation.

Two months later he was taken to a prison in the middle of the Nevada desert and put in a small isolated cell. The screw told him, "We know you're gonna crack sometime, buster."

Two years later he was transferred to a federal facility in Azerbaijan. He had the run of the facility; he was the only one there. Distant voices played with his mind. Food was provided like pellets to a guinea pig. He's probably still there, going insane.

So let that be a warning to you, son.

 

*

 

And James said, "Life is all about suffering. What else is there? Some trips to Hawaii or something. Some little week in a year of pain. You know what it's like. Everywhere around you is people in pain, and there's no way out of it. This, what I'm talking about, is way beyond religion. It's about ... why be alive? Why suffer like this? My brother, he died, and he's better off. It's just, this is apparently a valid thing in moral philosophy, probably from utilitarianism, that suffering should be alleviated, so, not existing, with all its pain, is preferable to existing. Is this my beer? I lost track. I remember, Julie Kerr, new years eve, her legs across me in Rob Gutsell's basement. She loved me then; but I was in love with whatsername. Fuck I can't remember her name--I was mad about her. We kissed that night in the snow.... But all this means nothing. In a hundred years--nothing. Why should I be suffering like this, why should I be plagued by what-might-have-been? There's no way a person should have these painful memories. I loved whatsername.

"So what? Her face could be in a grave now."

 

*

 

The Glove

 

Frank and John were out for a winter walk. They came to a bridge over a stream. Halfway across Frank spotted a single small left-handed kid glove on the barrier. He picked it up--it was cold--and moved its fingers about.

John said, "That's a nice glove. I wonder where the other one is."

Frank said, "Probably with the owner."

"Give it to me."

"Why should I give it to you?"

"I don't know. I just want it."

"I'm not giving it to you."

"Why? Because you spotted it first?"

"I suppose that's a good reason."

"It's useless without the other one. Give it to me."

"No. It's useless. What do you want it for?"

"I simply do."

"Are you shaking?"

"I'm cold. I want the glove."

"I'm not giving it to you, John. It's quite useless."

"Not to me it isn't. Give it to me."

"No, no, a thousand times no."

"Give me the glove."

"I'm not giving you the glove."

"Give it to me."

"No way. I'd rather throw it into the stream."

"Don't."

Frank threw the glove into the stream. They watched it float away for some time. Their relationship was never the same.

 

*

 

Home that day at six, I found my wife in the kitchen cooking. I said to her, "Honey? Tomorrow is a very special day."

She turned. "Darling, what will tomorrow bring?"

"I will be arrested tomorrow!"

"Alas! For what?"

I sat her down. "Many years ago, long before we met, I was in a gang of thieves. We got caught, and sent to jail. About a year later we escaped . I've been on the run ever since, and this afternoon I learned that the jig was up, as they say. The officer who arrested us all for the robbery spotted me in a donut shop. I fled, but dropped my security pass in my haste. He will surely be waiting for me tomorrow morning to take me back to prison. So we should have a pleasant evening tonight, for tomorrow I will be 'away' for quite some time. You have married a criminal!"

"Well, I have a confession to make, I suppose."

"What could you possibly have to confess?"

"When I was a child, I murdered my parents."

"Egads! You are clearly the greater criminal!"

"Yes, I suppose I was."

I looked at her closely then.

I was jealous.

 

*

 

—Hey, guys, gals--where're we gonna get the dough to get Jim off to the football tryouts?

—They're happening way over in the next state, golly!

—That's gonna cost a bundle.

—Hey, I got a great idea. Let's put on a story!

—What, you mean like a short story?

—Sure! We can sell copies!

—My aunt's got a bunch of verbs she hasn't used since her newspaper folded—

—And my grandfather, why, he's got a whole barn full of old adjectives!

—Gee, I hope they're not too old. We don't wanna wind up with some faux-archaic pastiche like Mason & Dixon.

—Or with the comic usages employed facetiously in The Sot-Weed Factor.

—Naaaw, his adjectives aren't that old. They're still in common use.

—Great! So we got our verbs and our adjectives. But where're we gonna get our nouns and adverbs?

—Gee, that's a poser!

—Aw, we can't sweat the small stuff! I'm sure those there parts of speech will show up somehow. We should come up with a good yarn now!

—Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl again.

—Yes! With a villain and robots!

—Don't forget cute vampires.

—Let's get down to it. I'll start. 'A.'

 

*

 

This all happened a long time ago, in Syracuse, during the reign of Hiero the 1st, Tyrant of Syracuse; in the summer of 470 BC to be exact.

An Insignificant Scribe was working away, copying out the latest oppressions their Tyrant had seen fit to burden the Syracusites with; he was seated alongside the hundred other scribes who were also employed thus.

Suddenly he blurted out, "By Ares how I hate our Tyrant!"

The big hot room suddenly because a quiet big hot room. The Insignificant Scribe continued, "On what grounds is he better than me? He's just some guy!"

His bench-mate whispered, "Hey, watch yourself."

"I'm done with watching myself. He's just some guy! No better'n us here!"

So about an hour later there forced to his knees was the Insignificant Scribe before Hiero.

"So, I hear you think you're as good as me," said Hiero.

"You bet your sweet bippie I do!"

"Interesting. Would you prefer death or exile?"

Suddenly the Insignificant Scribe realized his situation. "Gee. I was just mouthing off."

"Death or exile?"

"I guess I'll pick exile."

"You are hereby exiled to the moon."

The Insignificant Scribe went to the moon.

And now he's BACK.

 

*

 

"No, you see, I'm not at all worried about Islamic terrorism. Because, you see, whenever there's some attack or other, I notice that I'm not at all like the victims. For instance, you see, let's take the classic example: World Trade Center. That didn't bother me a bit, and you know why? It's because I'd never even been in the World Trade Center. I'd never been in New York City even. You see how it works? There's always something. Like, that Eagles of Death Metal Concert where all those kids were murdered: well, I would never have gone to an EODM concert. Sure, I bought a record of theirs a week before, but still, I wouldn't have gone to a concert having only bough one record. There's always something. Today it looked like some guy was going to murder a bunch of infidel kids at Disneyworld Paris; but I'm not an infidel kid, I'm an infidel adult, so I got nothing to worry about. Besides, see, I've never been to Paris, and I have no interest in anything Disney. I can do the same tricks with all the other aspects of existence, but it seems I've run out of time."

 

*

 

On my 25th birthday precisely I figured I could never amount to much, since I was an obvious non-child-prodigy and my career in anything uplifting at all was non-existent, so I chose the path not taken: I wanted to be the most rotten person in the world.

Along a nearby street I found an electric car parked curb-side with a power cord under a rubber arc crossing the sidewalk. I imagined someone tripping and breaking his jaw. Rather I called the cops and had public nuisance charges made. I despise electricity.

The other day I was walking down a street in an alien part of town (suitable for viciousness) and I heard a child's cry, Help me, Help me, and I looked up and I saw high in a building a child's shape silhouetted by flame's redness. I thumbed my nose at the child and walked on.

On one of the discard newspaper sheets I use for my bedding I saw printed that there had been an Internet poll to decide the world's most rotten person and that I had won. I thought for a moment I'd go to a library to find more information--but I despise the Internet.

 

*

 

Those coming into the show now, sorry you didn't see me, yanking down the denim of the pants and the cotton of the undies, knowing that this cock I was ready to suck, for which I already had my tongue out for, ready to lick that tight tender membane connecting the cock head with the cock shaft, encouraged somehow by his hands on my head, that this cock (the one I was sucking) could be in some way the last cock in the world to be sucked, and that I was the last sucker, maybe.

Thinking about that pretty girl who seems to only dress nice, whose name might be Lily, I sigh pathetically because not only do I not suck regularly cock but that she ("Lily") I would feast on her pudendum AND ask her what's her favourite Dostoevsky novel.

O Lily in your brown down dress always not knowing (maybe) just how many cocks I'd suck for you to get to sucking you.

Is that enough? Have I revealed enough? "I'd suck your boyfriend's cock to kiss you Lily.

O Lily please love me.

x o x o x o x o x lily o s x o

 

*

 

Obedience

 

Welcome to your training. This is the first section of the first module. If you complete all modules, you will get this certificate. [show certificate]

How to kneel.

Kneeling is first step. See Russian iconographies. Hold your hands together in supplication, agog your mouth wonderfully, and concentrate on your nethers. They should become moist at the thought of your supplication. Merely the idea of your degradation should flow your juices. If not, yer just not doing it right.

"Yes" is the word you must hiss no matter the situation. Things go smooth with "Yes."

What will you, woman, get in return? I can imagine you asking. I cannot answer your question. There's a whole world out there waiting to be conquered, no? And check out what that Hegel fellow says: it seems that the slave is really the master! Take some consolation in that, woman.

We should have some ASCII art here, showing how you should kneel, entwine fingers, and be in unspeakable awe. Believe you me, you'll be woodcut-ready.

Your lithe fingers pressed against your hand-backs, occupied in nothing less than what they are doing--and nothing else, you dirty mind--

Hey bartender! What is this, the moon?

 

*

 

Pertsona hori usaintzen dut han. Putreek coaut biltzen ari dira.

 

Λυπάμαι τους γονείς του. Πρέπει να είναι τόσο απογοητευμένος.

 

Pokud mozky dynamit, nemohl vysmrkat.

 

Mae'n beth budr byth ddylai fod wedi gweld y golau.

 

যে সহকর্মী শসার মধ্যে পার্থক্য কি ? শসা মত নারী.

 

അദ്ദേഹം ചപ്പുചവറുകളും പോലെ പടയും കാരണം നായയെ എല്ലായിടത്തും അവനെ പിന്തുടരുക.

 

Tā yòu pàng yòu ěxīnle, wǒ bù míngbái wèishéme yǒurén huì xiǎng zài sān chǐ tā.

 

Kaua e whakapono ki tetahi o ana kupu no te mea kua matau ia ki te waiho i te tangata teka.

 

Це щастя, що він ніколи не матиме дітей. Я маю на увазі, що щиро.

 

Il est bon de voir combien de maladies qu'une personne peut avoir.

 

Wir sollten weglaufen, bevor wir uns von ihm verschmutzt.

 

Jag hoppas en fruktansvärd olycka inträffar så att han inte längre gå på jorden.

 

Ne rigardu , infano. Indulgu lin, se vi povas. Se vi ne povas, pensu pri juveloj.

 

Habet aliquid tantum deformes et urentibus deambulavit in terra?

 

Nu is er een poster jongen voor abortus als ik ooit zag men.

 

Didto apan alang sa grasya sa Dios kanako! Salamat sa Dios!

 

I'm glad I'm monolingual. Who knows what they're saying about me?

 

*

 

At the Barely Perceptible Foothills of Madness

 

Noöne freely chooses to wander the path leading to the barely perceptible foothills of madness; souls or troubled or gladly sane may find themselves on that path taken so seldom there is nor markers nor signs nor even a broken single blade of deceptively healthy grass. Yet many thousands have come this way since the days firmly and forever called "yore," for there is simply no way for the barely perceptible foothills of madness to not exist, just as minds shall never not exist: or rather it is only in the extinguishment of one that the extinguishment of the other can be accomplished.

Let us sit here on the ground, my friend, with--who knows?--the barely perceptible foothills of madness some unknown distance away; perhaps we are at them already, or perhaps they are a thousand miles away--who knows? indeed--and let us consider the states of our minds. Do you think we can agree on the distances involved? Is it a matter of consensus? Can we even agree on that, that it is a matter of consensus? Listen to the wind which may know whither our paths will take us....

 

*

 

The Mutant

 

From her womb came a steady stream of one-off prodigies,

a human being, for the most part, save for its entire lack of eyes or sockets,

a bird, if a bird could have four legs closely like a donkey's legs,

triplets joined at their elbows, like triplets a-dance in a circlet,

a voiceless child, with throat but without vocal chords or semblance of breath,

a strangely tiny creature with limbs uncountable as a sea anemone's,

seven at once, 1st with three legs, 2nd with three arms, 3rd with three tongues, 4th with four eyes, 5th with six ears, 6th with twenty toes, 7th with double genitals,

a disk of glass that moved of its own accord, sliding and rolling gracefully,

one with hairy legs and arms and chest and all, who spoke like a woodcut,

a snake with legs, four legs, with feet pink like a human child's,

a scroll of paper that said more than anyone had ever said before,

a circular thing that seemed to be consuming itself at one point,

a slippery thing that continuously generated a sweet-smelling mucus without once consuming a thing,

and one child, a mutant, who was smarter than the rest.

 

*

 

The boy got his name in a most peculiar way.

At the funeral of his father, he was seated at the table of honour along with his mother, his two younger brothers, and his older sister. The mourning was over, and the future was in sight; that was on the minds of all, but never was it spoken of explicitly.

The meal was naturally ornate and vast. Finally they came to the ices and sugars, and it was during the ices and sugars that his mother asked him, "You haven't been sharing your thoughts with us; is there something plaguing you?"

Before he could answer, his youngest brother said, "He never says enough, now does he?"

His middle brother added, from the depths of wine, "Maybe he says everything he can say."

And his sister, with a touch of resentment at primogeniture, said, "He doesn't have to say anything, does he? It's all his."

They were looking at him intently, expecting his first dictum.

But he sat there, without a word. He was in pain. He never wanted all this attention. He had nothing to offer, and never spoke again.

Thus did he become known as King Stephen the Silent.

 

*

 

A month ago, I was in a reverie about a little dairy farm on Manhattan Island I used to visit as a child. Today I can hardly believe it: I am here again.

Not much has changed. We still have to be on patrol night and day because of the occasional giant rat invasion.

Uncle has built a tall tower, taller than any. It reaches nearly to the clouds. We can watch the UFOs any time we want. They use less illumination when the sun is shining.

How long have I been here? Feels like forever. Let's call it "a week."

Disaster, o disaster! The small pond from which we drew the water with which we made the bread that Aunt Annie sold up on 42nd Street is nearly dried up. That's going to make a big hole in our business plan cash flow.

It rained! We are saved!

A group from the New York Public Library tried to make a "field trip" onto the farm. They ran away when we shot at them. Librarians!

New calf at dawn. She looked up at me and cried. "I'm not your mommy," I said.

I think I'd like to live here forever....

 

*

 

All I ever wanted was for other women to envy me, and it seemed to me that the easiest way was to go out with famous men. (Of course I wanted love too.)

I dabbled in stage enough to meet up with a locally-known musician guy. We went out a couple times, and then he ... he did something terrible to me. And that was it. I was smart then. I didn't call him ever again unless I needed something.

Then there was the actor. It was nice for a while; he was so charming and attentive. Then one night I found him in bed with ... never you mind. Let's just say it wasn't human. So that was it: I ended it. Over. Done.

I licked my wounds and set my sights on a television personality. A host of a show. Thousands of women say him every day. Well, after a couple weeks it all went south. There were some confusing scenes for me. Especially when I got text messages that were intended for ... others. Maybe it was intentional on his part, I'll never know.

I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe I'm just bad with men.

 

*

 

The 10,381 Songs You Have To Hear Right Now

 

A-11 - Johnny Paycheck's fist big hit, and it's sweet. This poor guy, in a honky-tonk, likes everything in the world except for that song on the juke that's A-11, which would be an A-side. If there's an earlier reference to jukes let me know.

 

ABC - Blasted out of AM radio in 1970, starting with an attention-grabbing run of piano, the Jackson 5 set the course they'd set with "I Want You Back" (cf) to run roughshod over everything in its wake.

 

Abilene - Lightnin' Hopkins was never so sad as here. She's left him., and he's got the blues, in west Texas. Solo performance. I can't find the matrix number.

 

Able Mable - by Mable John, an eponymous groove of a brag by a chick you can imagine as a dominating fat black broad who don't take shit from nobody.

 

Abounding Sin and Abounding Grace - Paramount 3057. This is essential. It's about what will happen to you if you sin. Then there's a male choir talking about mercy, via Amazing Grace.

 

About a Girl - Cobain thinks he's obsessed, but it turns out every other guy in town

 

*

 

Popular Castles

 

"I don't understand why we can't be so industrious."

My mother was talking about the giant robot a bunch of Japanese guys had erected, or simply transported, onto our street three days ago. It was big--twelve storeys high I'd say. With thick square feet and arms, and a big square space in its chest where there could stand six or seven Japanese guys, it was impressive, with a massive head with big red eyes.

"Maybe it's for a Folkfest pavilion."

That was my mother again, two days ago. I agreed. The robot looked like a commonplace Japanese toy blown up a thousand-to-one. They'd been testing it all day long. It made very little noise. I noticed then that all the Japanese guys were in grey uniforms.

"I suppose the grass will grow again. The pavement I'm not so sure about."

My mother, yesterday. It turns out the robot's eyes are actually cool LASER BEAMS--they tested them and burned up big circles of grass and ground and pavement, to a depth of two feet. The laser had operated noiselessly.

I wonder what their plans are. Folkfest isn't for another month. I'm sure these Japs mean no harm.

 

*

 

"When you look back on it, you can understand why the ancients thought Earth was one of the four elements, along with Air, Fire, and Water. You could see it, you could taste it, and so on. Many senses were involved in detecting it, and if there was one thing they were interested in, it was the sensory world.

"Also, they didn't have enough time to get the idea that Earth is actually a chemical reaction rather than an element. Time as a concept, duration as a concept, didn't come as readily to them as space did. They didn't really understand what a process was. Everything was the same to them. In Ovid, things don't change: Philomel is a person and a bird always one and the same. Philomel was a bird to begin with and a person to end with, and vice versa. Every thing was always the same thing. Fascinating, isn't it?

"But today we know that Earth isn't in the same class as Fire, Water, and Air. It doesn't have the same ontological status as the others. Earth is a chemical reaction and nothing more than that; it's just a bridge used by the other three. Fascinating!"

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