Where
is he now, our Invisible Man?
He
drank the potion when all were watching,
Live
on television coast-to-coast,
Plus in specially selected foreign
markets.
He
said he knew what he was doing, to us.
One
potion and only one did he make for
That
television special which, he said,
Was
but one part of a greater plan,
Not
even an important part of his greater plan,
Which was to make some money for,
quote,
"The
ones whom I will be leaving forever behind,"
Meaning
(all supposed) his dependents‑
But
he didn't have any dependents.
(This
is all an issue for another chop-prose.)
So
where did he go, our Invisible Man?
It
was the program's climactic moment,
Besting
David Copperfield at his tv
show game,
As
he drank the potion, started to fade,
Continued
to fade, then completely faded,
All in the space of some thirty-eight
seconds.
The
live studio audience applauded wildly,
At
tvs all over people gasped‑Apollo 18!‑
And eagerly awaited the dénouement of re-appearance:
Which never came. He was gone. Invisible Man!
He'd
snuck out of the studio and vanished
(Metaphorically in addition to
physically).
So
we felt we'd been had; snubbed; discarded;
Delegitimized; mocked; and abandoned.
*
At
Two
seconds later. He is having his head attacked by aliens from another planet.
They are zapped by his psychic waves, and he continues dreaming about his dream
theory. Nightmares, on the other hand,
he dreams, awake the sleeper. There must be a place, he
dreams, for nightmares in my theory.
The aliens return, and a second epic battle takes place.
Two
minutes later. The aliens are debating. Are
we asking for annihilation? ask the blue aliens, for if we wake Herr, we will vanish. The
green aliens counter with, We will not be annihilated (Freud dreams) for we will live in him forever.
Two
hours later I think about Freud's dream's aliens' arguments and applaud either
that they have survived the general catastrophe or that they in not surviving
the general catastrophe have survived the general catastrophe. (I prefer the
transcendental latter.)
*
Just
Like Tom Thumb's Metal Machine Music
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robin swallow worm
*
Henry James at the
‑Time,
ever on the silent like a dowager's cat, had not yet caused the long giant arm
of Ben to perch entirely on the up vertical as I was walking noncommittally
along the Canon Row considering and discarding subjects like to my profession
as bon-vivant and comedian when I came across, or shall I say such an object
came across me, for I believe I was standing still at the time contemplating an
ottocento crockery with teal detail that stood,
absurdly and anciently, in the window of a dry goods store, object being a woman both exceptionally stout and matronly.
‑How
both exceptionally stout and matronly was she?
‑Why,
she was so both exceptionally stout and matronly that she had her own unique
‑[crickets]
‑To
continue: She proceeded to speak to me, and I replied, naturally enough, What? Once again she spoke to me, and I replied, What? She spoke to me a third time and I then replied frankly,
"I'm sorry, I cannot hear you. I have a banana in my ear." I'd put it
there to be humorous.
*
The Third Reich
A Ken Burns Film
Part 10
Götterdämmerung
"We all knew it was over. We
walked from room to room down there, bunker to bunker, appearing like we were
actually making plans. Checking charts and maps.
Meanwhile, all the radio broadcasts‑the ones we could get‑were all
about how we were damn near surrounded. Adolph Eichmann."
NARRATOR: Early on the morning of
PROFESSOR DANIEL WASHINGTON (BANNER
Professor Daniel Washington,
SOUND: HORST WESSEL SONG, MINOR
NARRATOR: It could not last. The
Russians, under the command of a field marshal, were heard entering
*
Here
it is, and how did it get there?
How
did it get here, and who carried it there?
Who
carried it here, and was there a purpose to the carrying?
Here
it is, having been carried there, for some purpose.
How
did I come to be here, seeing it there?
Here
I am seeing it, and there is nothing I can do about that.
Was
it ever other than here, there's the question.
When
was it not here, and was there a point when its status changed?
What
about the not-here things; do you think there's an elsewhere?
When
here's the place to be, can anything be out there?
If
here's the House of Being, is there a vacuum?
Why
here, there?
Here
it is, and how did it get there?
We
know the king here is more than a thing, but do things operate similarly there?
Here
we have a simple test, simpler than what they have there:
Here's
the question. Do you see it there?
Where
is this here we're on about? Can where be there here too?
There's
more to say that here=near and there=far.
But
what can we here say about everything that's out there?
*
How to Train an Emotional Child
They
used to be called "colicky." Nowadays we use the more non-judgemental
term "emotional," even if the phase lasts for fourteen years or more.
What
to do when your child acts out, cries often, has sudden outbursts of anger, and
begins talking to things that simply aren't to be seen?
What
to do if your child insists there's something beyond the here and now? What if
your child insists there's something greater than this world here, even to the
point of crying for joy or fear?
Friends,
this is a tough one. Though it is the responsibility of state education to
destroy such sentiments using the latest scientific means, they may be falling
down on the job, due to budget cuts.
HOME
REMEDIES
Surely
you have a collection of suburban whips. Use them. Beat this nonsense out of
the child.
Starvation
works quite well, though this could backfire. They may choose to act as
'anorexics for [unseen things]' as a result, or some other such nonsense. Be
careful!
Finally,
college equivalency courses, specifically in the social sciences, could do the
trick: the more materialist the better!
We
hope you get the rest you deserve!
*
I
was on my way to work today when I came across a couple dinosaurs, with their dogs
in tow, stopped to have a little chat, naturally enough about their dogs. The
dinosaurs in my neighbourhood really like talking about their dogs.
One
of them was a stegosaurus and she was saying something about a new vet who was
something of a 'dog-whisperer.' "She leans in to my dog's ear, and her
lips were moving. I couldn't hear a thing!"
"Dogs
hear all sorts of things we don't," said her fellow dog-walker, a
triceratops I think. "I don't think we even know how to measure them
properly, like they're on a different scale or something."
"And
she also lets the dogs chooses their own genders."
"How
does that happen?"
"The
dogs tell her who they really are, deep inside. My dog here, I was treating her
like a John when actually she's a Joan!"
"How interesting! All from dog-whispering! Does she say
anything about diet?"
"The
dogs must be fed proper breed-food. Collies get sick when they're fed
poodle-food. Is that sensical?"
"Well,
why shouldn't it be? It's 71,283,322 B.C. after all."
"Yes,
it is 71,283,322 B.C. after all."
*
It
was a nice day for the red robe, which I put on for
Velvet
crushed, with an ermine interior, on an early May day, ready to be worn it was,
and worn it was, by me, as I headed out the door and strode down the road to
the island of the court where all my friends were red-robed too.
We
shouted loud to the skies on that the day of ritual violence and dropped our
robes then and there we stood in jockstraps and chaps and dockers.
Oyoyo! we yelled as
we ran up the road across the major intersection into enemy territory where we
split into cells of a structure within which children knew parents but not
siblings.
We
tussled and fretted, grabbing what we could of what 'prith
seemed of worth; from aloft we sought the King or His Queen, crying for succor, gnashing like beasts, cursing the hour, wishing for
death on the field for love.
The
clock struck five: Signifying: End-of-play-day. I found my robe back in the
court and walked home. I turned on the television: a nature show.
*
It's above us,
and we see it clearly. It's known as The Sword of Damocles. Everything is
coming to pieces. The Sword hangs above. The Sword is hanging by a Thread. The
Sword is made of steel. As with all swords, the Sword has a hilt and a blade.
The thread is tied to a hole in the pommel of the hilt. The balance is perfect.
Now people are always going on about the blade of the Sword, but I think this
concern is misplaced. It is the thread that counts. Suitably enough, what few
commentaries I've come across say that what counts is the weight of the thread.
This seems reasonable enough. Look up, past The Sword of Damocles, to the
thread. Can we call it The Thread of Damocles? As you can see, it's certainly
not made of iron or copper. What would be the fun in that, what could be the
thrill? Oddly enough, the thickness of a thread is irrelevant. The strength,
that's what counts. The thread is the stuff that counts. Nothing counts but the
thread. The strength of the thread, look to it. Yes, it's always the thread
that counts. Let us go forward.
*
*
PORNSTAR FUNNIES
PANEL
Head
office of XXXAmusementsXXX theme park. Nimpha and Nine-Inch. Nine-Inch doing the books as Nimpha, on desk, legs crossed, saying (in bubble)
"....couldn't walk after that
shift. Heck, I could barely talk...."
Nine-inch counting in little letters one hundred two hundred three hundred four
hundred five hundred six hundred
PANEL TWO
Big
Doonesbury-like cop comes in. Several bubbles here: Cop saying, "You gotta start discriminatin'!"
Nimpha saying, "You can't really mean that." Copsaying, "New laws! You can't have kids around where there's all this hot sex goin'
on!" Nimpha saying, "I can't even!"
PANEL THREE
Pretty
much the same drawing.
Several bubbles again: Nine-inch saying, "Where's all this coming from?" Cop saying, "A petition,
followed by legislatin' by the legislature!" Nine-inch saying, "You'll put us out
of business!" Cop saying,
"Sez here you can have kids by day, an' hot sex by nite. Izza compromise!"
PANEL FOUR
Cop has left. Nimpha saying, "This totally changes out business plan." Nine-inch saying,
"Maybe we can get more conventions
here somehow." And extreme right there's lovable Crazy Dutch busting into
frame, with a paper hat and a wooden sword, screaming, "Man the barricades, all able-bodied!
*
As
if through the bars of a cage of a little downtown zoo you observe silently the
gurus and lamas who are sitting cross-legged silent eye-closed. As if at a
family-run petting zoo at the intersection of two highways in the woods you
wonder how full the inner lives of these beasts these gurus and lamas are and
you conclude yes they have an inner life that far exceeds the inner lives of
anyone you've ever met (who wasn't a guru or lama).
You
experience a vision three weeks after leaving the little downtown zoo and
nineteen hours after leaving the family-run petting zoo when you're staring at
what can be observed from your present place and time of the Canadian Shield
which (as you've learned from a guidebook) is about three billion years old. The
rock‑it can be considered one big rock‑is silent and calm as if in
mediation. There must be an inner life in there; what is it thinking about?; no
matter how slowly it thinks it must have thought something by now; it's a part
of the creation after all; is it in one long prayer?; can you ever know what
language it is using forever?
*
Comments Policy
Comments
are moderated. We may arbitrarily censor you, but it's not our fault. We won't
ever give you a reason for giving you the status of pariah, but that's not our
fault. See, there are some very bizarre atavistic supernatural ideas still
afloat in the world that modernity and the enlightenment never managed (and
possibly never will manage) to eradicate, one of which is the magical power of
words. (The other one to come to mind is the labour theory of value, but that's
another matter.) Look: the gangster leviathan that calls itself the state
(sometimes even, I kid you not, The Crown) is terrified of you, and if you
question their legitimacy of plunder they will stop at nothing to destroy you.
The easiest way to do this is to make sure you can't question their power. They
have decided to make certain words illegitimate in order to let you, their
subject, realize that they can kill you at any time, any reason. (For them, the
Magna Carta was something that only happened to other
people.) We are protecting you by not making it easy for them to track you
down.
You
should be thanking us, peasant.
*
The Neo-Vitruvians
We'd
spent a long time waiting for aliens and it took us some years to realize they
were here already. Heads got much bigger and everything changed at one point
and there we were, among the aliens.
The
computer drawings were the things that answered the questions. What were these
new proportions in humanity? The math had to hold the answer, and the answer
came about that their heads (chin to pate) weren't one-eighth but rather
one-sixth compared to the height of the body, an increase of some 25%. Or
conversely it could be said that the bodies were shrunken by some 25%; only
these new men knew the math for certain.
We
complained and tried to eradicate them but they were too smart for us. As sure
as Broca noted that the only people who object to
cranial size as a measure of intelligence are people with small heads, so did
these new men prove that we were the primitive ones.
I
see you outside my jar. I see you're writing this down. You're studying
primitive men, aren't you? This is not the future I envisioned.
I'm
the ideas you get when you have a small head.
*
But solely
hurting not 'that fly' is not
The way that's
chosen; in a way the way
Is more like
not disturbing silly strings
Of dust and
cob that hang down from the ceiling.
They sway and
swing like angel breeze and are
Observed, say,
every other day, and yet
Are never
swept away, and why? because
The effort,
try, or motivation to
Remove them broomly is a stitch beyond
The time;
Once there was a future time
In which
there'd be biographies of me;
That future
now is past, or, say, our now
No more has boundless possibilities
Pertaining to
the future as it once
Had just a
quarter century ago or so;
That future
time is gone and only cob
Remains epoxied to the ceiling of
My mind with
no-one free enough to sweep
Away the
wisps;
The house is falling down,
With cobs and
webs and time and ceilings all,
With speech
enunciating less and thought
Less clear and
more confused, and sans the skill
To see from
under-roof who bad the sick
Appears to
those who wander through the 'hood:
This comes to
all, we mortals, comes to all.
Decay contains
till brooms become too short.
*
27.
Extermination of the French languages departments
We literally
required medical attention the day we learned about the French language in our
Methods of Masculinist Colonialism class. The class
was about
*
I
walked into the Primates and Related room of the Museum of Natural History
twelve seconds ago where I stopped, fascinated, to look upon the bones of some
such Early Man. He was posed as slightly stooped and walking on, as if on a
hunt for woolly mammoth or fang-toothed tiger. Why someone without muscle or
skin or guts would be hunting was apparently a question that eluded the dioramists.
Once
I felt sure I mostly understood what I could naturally observe, I turned to the
explanatory plaque beside the exhibit. As the recorded chirps and squawks of
spider monkeys and macaws whistled past my ears I read about this Early Man
whilst with each full stop I peeped to the display to expand my knowledge
accordingly. The third part of my inquiry consisted, after fully appreciating
the written text, in returning my full attention to Mr. Early Man Bones.
It
was then that I noticed a detail in the space of Early Man's cranium. The
detail was a thought in the frontal lobe. The thought read, "I, too, once
saw the world as a preyful museum for my curiosity;
I, too, sought, and died, as immortally as you today."
*
Apologies
to Mike of Mike's Music, a great record store in Toronto on Danforth
east of Broadview, and a great guy who might understand me ripping into him
like I am about to do. (He should recognize that the person who is writing this
doesn't know if it's 2015 or 2016.)
You
are stuck in the idea that the
But‑what
do YOU do? You're just a record store merchant. I bought this evening Dr. Dre's
My
brother was in the record biz, in
So
stop it, Mike. You're totally a part of the record industry; you've made money tonite off Dr. Dre.
I
wanna fuckin' return this
record anyway, because the best bits are just fuckin'
parodies of Eminem an' dancehall shit.
I'm
just kiddin' ya.
*
"What
if she's pregnant now? I came in her, so she could be.... how long does it
take? There could be a whole life in her now, four hours later. A whole new person, and I'm its dad. I want to get out of this some how
because I'm not ready for it. She could be pregnant, and I could be a father,
already. I'm responsible. Four hours later, after flirting at work, meeting in
a stairwell at work, kissing, then I put it in her and I came. My sperm was all
in her. A lot of come because I was randy. So it's all
in her, all my come now. I came like nothing before. Blast! Blast, because,
how, I love her. I wanted to blast because she'd already blasted three times
and she wanted me to give a good blast. So I blasted, oh how I blasted. Now I'm
on a streetcar thinking about it all. So much come how
could she not be impregnated? So I am with child. I can't get out of this.
There's a new person in my life that wasn't anywhere six hours ago. I hope I
can live up to this."
*
Linguists,
lexicographers, and cruciverbalists worldwide are
uniformly shocked by the news currently coming out of the Massachusetts
Institute of Technology's Language Lab which says, essentially, that all the
dictionaries worldwide are officially full and no new words will ever be added
to any of them.
"We
knew the day was coming but we didn't know it was going to be today," said
Dr. Murray Gleick of M.I.T. "I appears that the
Internet has so accelerated the diffusion of neologisms both intentional (e.g. nerdcore) and unintentional (e.g. pwned)."
At
Stanford in
The
crossword world is likewise scandalized. "What this means," said Will
Shortz, "is that any combination of letters can
be in the grid, completely at random. Every combination now has a meaning, and
that meaning can be the clue. I think I'll go back to dishwashing."
The
team at MIT, however, promise there is a silver lining. "Humans can now
develop entirely new sounds, with wacky new characters to represent the sounds.
Think of the new thoughts!"
*
17 May. Frank
tells me he is trying to use only half his brain. He said that most people use
only one-tenth, and he wants to use only one-twentieth.
19 May. I came
upon a difficult problem in limits (i.e. calculus). Frank stopped by and solved
the problem instantly. This must be a co-incidence.
22 May. I
called Frank two times today and both times he was able to solve my problems.
The first involved gastronomies and the second involved love.
24 May. I
asked Frank how exactly he managed to cut his brain-power to fifty percent of
normal. He said all it took was to ignore half of every problem, namely, the
first half.
25 May. I am
having trouble understanding what Frank said yesterday. How can I ignore half
of his problem if I don't know what the problem is?
28 May. I
asked Frank for more information about how he cuts off his problems. What if
the problem is a syntactic inversion? He said language is 50% redundancy.
31 May. I have
deleted the second half of all my diary entries since May 17. They suddenly
appear to have a solution. I didn't know they were problems.
*
If the world was a song, analogously,
what song would it be? In the Bush_
If _In the Bush_ was a motion
picture, analogously, what motion picture would it be? _Sweet Sweetback's Badasssss Song_
If _Sweet Sweetback's
Badasssss Song_ was a food item, analogously,
what food item would it be? _Mulligan Stew_
If _Mulligan Stew_ was a
country, analogously, what country would it be? _The
If _The
If _dungarees from Levi Strauss_
was a piece of electronics, analogously, what piece of electronics would it be?
_The Minimoog Synthesizer_
If _The Minimoog
Synthesizer_ was a colour, analogously, what colour would it be? _deep
purple_
If _deep purple_ was an opera,
analogously, what opera would it be? _La
fanciulla del West_
If _La
fanciulla del West_
was an animal, analogously, what kind of animal would it be? _the timber
wolf_
If _the timber wolf_ was a time
of day, analogously, what time of day would it be? _midnight or noon_
If _midnight or noon_ was a
heavenly body, analogously, what heavenly body would it be? _the world_
*
The Bad Hombre
"That
man's one bad hombre," whispered Stinky Pete to Ramblin'
Jimbo as the jingle-jangle of the stranger's spurs
passed their saloon table.
The
bartender, that day Rosie Rivett, nervously smiled at
the stranger. "What'll it be, stranger?"
The
stranger tipped up his Stetson and said, "How 'bout a beer?"
Rosie
pulled a glass and set it down alongside two bits. "There ya go."
He
picked up the coin skeptically. "What's this
for?"
"It's
your subsidy, pal."
Controversially,
the stranger said, "And how does that work exactly?"
"Keeps
the money moving around. Always winds up
someplace."
"But,
how do you get paid?"
"Subsidies."
"Where from?"
Rosie
was getting annoyed. Were these questions even allowed? "From
the countryside, stranger. From the plantations."
"How
do the people on the plantations get paid? Subsidies?"
"No-no-no, course not. They don't get paid."
"You
got a slave economy?"
"It's
our culture."
"D'ye know you could be wealthier
without slavery? With free trade instead?"
"I
can't even!"
The
stranger gave the two bits back. "I think I'll find a better place to
drink, thank you very much."
Stinky
Pete stopped him on his way out. "Didn't catch your
name, stranger."
"Name's Smith. Adam Smith."
