"From a million, we get a hundred
thousand; and from a hundred thousand, we get ten; from ten we get eight and
from eight we get four; from four to two to one. This is why everything is,
contrary to appearances, one, and of one dimension. Wine
steward!"
"Your highness?"
"Wine, steward!"
"Coming right up."
The
King's Secretary's quill held fast in the air. "Anything
more to add?"
"No,
simply etcetera etcetera etcetera,
Your King." The King sighed self-pityingly.
"Why do they all come to me? Can't my subjects consult with one another to
solve their problems or satisfy their idle curiosities?"
The
secretary said: "That's what you get for calling yourself King,
King."
"Yes;
perhaps having the last name Lonelyhearts doesn't
help much either. Next!"
"'Dear
King Lonelyhearts, I am a collector of tongue
twisters. What is your favorite?'"
The
King exploded. "How can I be expected to run my Kingdom when I am obliged
to respond to such inane requests?"
"Easily, your highness. Your Kingdom is nine hundred square
feet in expanse. What else have you got to do?"
"That
should have been obvious to me. 'Six sleek swans swam
swiftly southwards.'"
The
wine steward returned. Merlot.
*
We
had everything anyone could ever want stocked high on our shelves but we had no
customers. How did a company get the customers we lacked? We read all the
business management books and put out a sign reading Hot Girls Cheap Drinks but
still no-one came; so we tried the other tack and our sign we changed to Cute
Guys Cheap Drinks but that didn't work either. Did this mean our business would
go bust? We sold our goods to one another as a kind of practice but we ran out
of money and were drowning in things we didn't want. There was something we
were missing. We did a telephone survey to find out what people really wanted
but our data got corrupted a little and after a month we were worse off than
before. We tried again with various signs but no-one darkened our double doors.
I look back and ask: Where'd we get such deep pockets from? Our expenses were high,
and stock was infinite, but no-one came. We figured we were in a kind of
wormhole of space and time. We experimented with physics. We couldn't come to
any conclusion. But at least we tried.
*
He
forgot it. One day, he forgot his grandfather's words of advice: "Don't
mess with drug dealers." For only one day, he forgot it. He knew it before
that day, forgot it for a day, and remembered it again next day. That's how
accidents happen.
He
shut out the lights and told his wife to keep quiet. A drug dealer was knocking
at the front door. Husband and wife went down into the kitchen. They heard the
drug dealer trying the doorknob upstairs. Drug dealers are known to be
tenacious. They shut off the lights in the kitchen.
Of
course, the drug dealer circled the house and was at the back door. He had a
machete with him. The man-of-the-house was crouching at the door out of the
drug dealer's sight. His wife was crouching near the refrigerator. He thought
maybe she could roll some ketchup over to his so he could smear it all over the
place and then when the drug dealer came in he'd get scared because of all the
blood and simply run away.
It
didn't pan out. The man-of-the-house learned something that day about the
narrowness of the path. There was no need for ketchup.
*
EPITAPH
He was a
genuine artist's artist's artist's
baker's architect's factory worker's dressmaker's script girl's dye maker's
miner's farmer's astrologist's canner's sailor's newspaperwoman's rigger's
cook's driver's delivery boy's street vendor's pusher's bartender's
astrologist's scientist's lumberjack's architect's lover's poet's lunatic's
butcher's baker's candle stick maker's physicist's clerk's accountant's
woodworker's electrician's plater's jeweller's
miner's plaster-mixer's coder's head teacher's charitable proprietor's wise
statesman's shop girl's astrologist's astronomer's miner's artist's writer's writer's writer's actuarial's farmer's dealer's pit master's wolf's
chimpanzee's cat's horse's squid's giraffe's gorilla's prey's hunter's god's
human's druggist's actor's actress's composer's oboist's flautist's
percussionist's dye maker's cranberry picker's restaurateur's waiter's toast
master's emcee's cabaret singer's busboy's waitress's visionary's horologist's
audience member's evaluator's tester's artist's architect's cook's diviner's
prophet's boyfriend's aunt's third uncle's daughter's raconteur's bard's
singer's poet's doctor's dentist's podiatrist's paediatrician's paedophile's
pervert's beet farmer's numismatist's philatelist's dredger's pimp's artisan's
brewer's critic's actress's best friend's curmudgeon's baby's nurse's insurance
saleswoman's cattle herder's vendor's wife's cousin's poetaster's arranger's
construction worker's pig farmer's guitarist's programmer's documentary filmmaker's
projectionist's troublemaker's hairdresser's long haul trucker's charwoman's
chemist's bookie's photographer's photographer's
piano tuner's smoker's drinker's butler's niece's stewardess's castle's food
taster's queen's jack's king's fool, and woe to us all that we'll never see his
likes again.
*
"It's
a complicated business, doc."
"Please,
tell me whatever you want to tell me. Is there something to tell me?"
"Not
only is it complicated, it's a bit embarrassing."
"Don't
try to shock me. Your problem is no doubt unique, but you wouldn't believe the
people I see."
"What
can I tell you? It all revolves around trust."
"There's
a lot to unpack there, with that issue, let me tell you."
"So
you see a lot of these problems?"
"Almost
everyone has an issue with trust. There are whole courses in childhood trust
you can take."
"But,
doesn't everyone do it differently?"
"Oh, sure. Lots to go wrong
there."
"It's
gotten me into a certain number of ... psychological problems recently."
"And
that's why you're here."
"Yeah, doc. Some problems.
With women."
"Ah, cherchez les femmes."
"I
suppose so."
"Tell
me about your mother."
"What?
No, not yet."
"Very well. Go on. You've got a trust problem, and
it concerns women. Is that right?"
"That's
correct. And there's been ... troubles."
"Care
to give me an example?"
"Can
I generalize a bit?"
"You
have a hypothesis?"
"The
problem is with women. You see ... I've trusted them."
"Gott im Himmel!"
*
I
set down the thick reeled cylinder of unexposed film on the stainless steel
countertop, beside the fluffy white bunny. It was a lovely day. The jar nearby
was neatly labelled Uranium-235, and I moved it to within hands' reach, closer
to the fluffy white bunny. I opened the jar and pulled out the metal and I
suspended it precisely over the thick reeled cylinder of unexposed film beside
the fluffy white bunny. I counted steamboats all the way to ninety, and then I
put the Uranium-235 back into its neatly-labelled jar.
I
took the reel of film over to my work desk, ignoring for a time the fluffy
white bunny. With a blade I neatly cut through the film perpendicular to its
length. Careful to keep the 'frames' in their proper order, I lay them all down
in an array that represented depth vs chirality. Worthy of examination, I examined the results of
my experiment. Success?
I
blasted the frames with ultraviolet light, thinking that might make the results
more apparent. While waiting, I put away the jar of Uranium-235 and disposed of
the dead fluffy white bunny.
And
now you have the nerve to tell me I'm cancerous?
*
When
he went into 'the office' (not 'the factory') he got jumped on by someone who
said, "There's a meeting! There's a meeting!"
He
muttered, "Oh fuck, fuck that, I'm not going to any fucking meeting. I
just got here."
He
sat down and wrote a story about radioactivity.
Everyone from the meeting camp stomping
out all at once.
They gathered at his desk (he'd finished his story) and told him, "They
fired the boss, and you're now the King!"
He
said, "What the fuck?"
They
shouted, "You're our King! Hail, King!"
They
grabbed him and pulled him up from his acceptably comfortable office chair.
"King! King!"
He
got dragged down to the courtyard, and he was objecting all the time because he
just wanted a smoke.
The
Queen of the Universe greeted him in the Courtyard, with her vulva open and
wet. "C'mon, King,"
"Where
did this courtyard come from?"
"A
King needs a Courtyard."
"I
been working here for years, and this courtyard is a new one on me."
"King! All your subjects are waiting for you
to fuck me."
He
got suspicious then. "I think this is fake."
"Fuck
her! fuck her!"
Then
he woke up dead.
*
PORN STAR FUNNIES 5
PANEL
ONE
Bill
is in a group of people in a mid-century living room, at a party. Five bongs
are on a coffeetable. Music (signified by quarter
notes) is playing. A speech bubble says, "You only live once." Bill
is avidly pulling some bong smoke. A topless woman is dancing in the
background. Everyone looks order than they really are.
PANEL
TWO
Bill
is at an orgy. He is indistinguishable in the free-for all of organs and
orifices. It's just a dirty picture, really, drawn precisely by me. Mid-century modern. The characters bleed off the sides of
the frame. It's my impression of what Breugel might
have done. A Pollock is on the wall, thus situating when. This cartoon is ©1985, and it is taking place in
PANEL
THREE
Bill in a doctor's office. The doctor, in a speech balloon, is
saying: "I'm sorry Bill. You've got a record-breaking eighteen social
diseases." Bill is wearing groovy boxer shorts.
PANEL
FOUR
The
doctor is gone and Bill is alone in his boxer shorts. He is slamming his left
fist into his right hand. In his speech balloon he is saying: "God damn
you, Ronald Reagan!"
*
The Parable of the Coins
She
inherited a big pile of coins from her maritime bachelor uncle, who had saved
them over many years, choosing them for their unusualness, dropping them in a
plate in his bedroom. She herself kept them in a small cloth bag; she figured
there were fifty coins or so, and she sometimes thought they might turn out to
be very valuable. After five years she finally got down to checking out what
they were worth. She looked online at some reputable numismatics sites. She
found out that most of them were pretty much worthless, though two - a
It
was getting rather late in the evening and she was tired and disappointed. She
checked her email before shutting down, and there she found an email from
something called games4money. She opened it up and it informed her that five
years ago she had signed up with the site and that as a starting stake she'd
been given $25 in bitcoin gratis. The email was to
let her know that her gaming account was now worth $10,293.25.
*
It
happened.
I
found myself lying down on my side on a yoga mat in a yoga studio. On the yoga
mat beside me and facing me, also lying down, was
Daphne, yoga instructor. We seemed comfortable.
I
was saying: "Trust, and vulnerability. How do they happen? How should we
cross the divide, if at all? What are the conditions that bring about the low
tide?"
She
said: "Some people find it easy to find low tides," and move a little
closer.
I
said: "There's always that draw.
Of course it's got its instinctual roots, but the fruits of those roots have
become complicated by a sense that we should curb the appetites to get along
with third parties."
She
said: "It's tough finding that balance," and moved a little closer.
I
said: "But we have to cross the divide. There's richness on the other
side! The chance to know someone, despite what the third
parties say. What do they know anyway? They aren't here. Their opinions
are worthless."
She
said: "I know what you mean," and moved a little closer. Her breasts
touched me.
I
got up. "Oh, look at the time. I should go be with my dog."
*
Good Afternoon, Google
A
curious event has just happened to me. Into our visual cataloguing system, I
typed the words: "*// GRAPHIC photo of Syed Hussain;".
I
then, in Google Chrome, opened an article - from the New York Review of Books -
about Paul Robeson, and there on the page was an advertisement for Uber - seeking drivers.
So,
what's the connection?
Syed Hussain is
an Uber driver who has been charged with a sexual
assault that happened
So
it appears that Google invisibly recorded my keystrokes (which were not even
entered into a browser, but instead into a completely different application),
consulted its vector space, found an association between Syed
Hussain and Uber (made by a
number of newspaper articles posted in the last day), and delivered to me an
advertisement concerning Uber.
I
did not know they did such things. It had to have been through the keystrokes.
I've never even used Uber. I have no association with
them.
Oh
but hey it's not like Google is the Stasi, and it's
not like they're working on some kind of a self-driving system for the delivery
of Zyklon C++.
That's
crazy talk.
*
OLA 2018
1.
"Due to the increase in the number of titular usages of certain
non-alphabetical markings, it is incumbent upon us to
codify order. We are all about order. So the proposal is &, @, ^, $, ., #, %, /, *, |."
2.
"What are you basing this upon? What are the grounds for your reasoning?"
1.
"It's the names of the marks, in common alphabetical order."
2.
"Shouldn't it be &, *, @, ^, $, %, ., #, |,
/?"
1.
"You're called the / a /?"
2.
"And you're calling the * a *!"
3.
"Okay you two, tone it down. I have it on good Authority that # should be
called # and / should be called /. Therefore, the proper order is &, @, ^,
$, #, %, ., /, *, |."
1.
"You're not basing your reasoning on either of our proposals. You're
agreeing with me that * is * but not that . is .."
3.
"I'm compromising."
2.
"At least we're agreed we start with &, regardless of what you call
it. Where's Pete?"
3.
"He's on the subcommittee for (, ), {, }, [, and
]."
1.
"Such a keener!"
*
I thirsted
like a thirsting everything
When there
before my drying eyes I spied
A tavern lit
with August's Christmas lights
All built of
blackened wood and thick bronzed rails
So in I went
to feast my soul with everything.
The place was
dark and jazzy music played
From whence I
never learned but still it came
While in the
corner table circular
Eight men were
sitting quiet playing cards
Apparently a
poker game they played
I reached into
my pocket and produced
Two buttons
from my tattered denim shirt
I set them
down upon the bar and searched
Again my
pocket finding there a chit
To mark the
iron ore that I'd produced
So worthlessly
I laughed insane
Remembering
the labours I'd been through
To earn the
chit that had no value there
Or anywhere
I'd go around the world
And then the
barkeep turned to me insane
And asked me What's your pleasure of the house
I said I want
the things I want without
A cost to me
and he replied You bet
We've got your
order ready now you see
Desire is the
cheapest thing in house
Your ship's
come in, it's all upon the house
*
Biography of X
The
boy lived up north and he took to writing. He wrote a radio play when he was
fifteen and he won a writing contest. He wrote another play and it was
produced. And so he went south, to where the radio stations, and the newfangled
television stations, were.
He
wrote. He met a girl from a known family and married her.
Her
writing got more attention than his.
He
decided he needed a spark, so he got into high school theatre. For fifteen
years he directed high school plays.
He
drank too much and got into trouble. He lied to his wife about a pile of money
he had actually stolen from her. And so they divorced.
He
found an apartment and later a rooming house in which to live. No was persona non grata.
Finally,
he couldn't come up with the rent. He was evicted, and now he's lost to
everyone and everything.
Some
nights, some person he'd taught at that high school thinks about him, wonders:
"Whatever happened to him? Is he still involved? That was long ago."
Once
upon a time he'd been a boy, of no concern to anyone except the fates.
*
"It is
meaningful that the only character in the hundred pages of the Mahabharata to
be presented as a little kid is ... the god Lord Krishna."
"The
signifier of old age: The pains that used to go away don't."
"Government
government government good,
liberty liberty liberty bad. Government government government good,
liberty liberty liberty
bad."
"A
17th-century French priest said: 'Consider the moments of genuine happiness in
your life as tailor's pins, and you wouldn't have enough to fill your
fist.'"
"Q: 'The
buck stops here.' 'Pass the buck.' What is this 'buck'?
"A:
Apparently, bouc émissaire,
the fall guy, the scapegoat, the blame-taker, the outcaste."
"I don't
know what to say."
"We're so
far away from everyone. Mary was surprised to find
"Dramarama.
Good band. Recommended. Something to say! But: a bit pessimistic.
"Next!"
"Sometimes
I wish my name was D.N. Resuscitate."
"It is
meaningful that the last volume of the 'Penguin Monarchs' series‑being
about Elizabeth II‑is a personal history written by a courtier."
"If
you're interested, like Casaubon, in the structure of history, check out
Zoroastrianism."
"John,
what are you doing down there?"
"Just feeding the fan. Be up soon."
*
The
King was dying, in all his majesty. His rotten brat kids were rubbing their
hands in expectation. They all had big plans, and who cared if they conflicted
each with the other? Everything would sort itself out after a war or two.
The
King died, and his majesty vanished. His kids bundled up his body and dragged
it to the morgue. They were very do-it-yourself.
Next
day the funeral was held. It was a shabby affair. No-one had bothered to
contract horses, so they made do with six old nags that just happened to be
hanging around. The catafalque had been constructed by Kindergarten kids from
recycled newsprint papier-mâché. Everyone coöperatively joined in
to dig the grave in a last-minute attempt to cover up the fact that noöne
had planned very much far ahead.
So
the King was dead, and buried. No longer would his rotten brat kids have to
suffer under his paternalistic paternalism. To celebrate, they invited jazz
musicians to the palace for a party. The jazz musicians brought lots of drugs
and were very liberal with them.
The
King's ghost wandered around. His kids didn't care in the least. They didn't
believe in ghosts or anything.
*
You've
changed.
Why is that
thing hanging from that wall?
The wall
appears to be a different colour.
Did you change
the wall itself?
Those
stairs.
Weren't they
on the other side of the room?
Upstairs. There's more stairs?
You know why
you changed all this.
It's personal.
No-one can
prevent you from doing any of this.
Maybe the
house will be gone, this time next year.
Your wardrobe
isn't the same.
The physical wardrobe, and its contents.
Everything is
approaching a new ideal.
Newspaper says
more sunshine days this year.
I wonder how
you managed that.
You've brought
your aunt's paintings from the cellar.
That one is
recognizable. Oak tree with swing.
This
redecorating must've cost a pretty penny.
Funny what
accidents can do.
No matter what
you change, you haven't lost it.
I, on the
other hand, am like a rock.
I haven't
grown. Not a millimetre.
If you
remember the dog, he's still named Floyd.
Bed the same,
sheets the same, frame the same.
It's
miraculous, really.
I haven't
bought a single blessed thing since then.
If you came
with me, you'd be surprised.
You'd find
your own museum.
*
He
thought he was being followed, or following someone. It was night. He was
walking somewhere. Someone was walking ahead of him. I suppose I'm following that person, he figured, if I have to be following someone or being
followed by someone.
Then
he thought: Both could be true. Perhaps
there's someone following me, while I am following the person ahead of me, in a
triad.
Then
he thought: There's two relationships here, and as all
relationships occur, they could be hostile, benign, or friendly. Which of these
is the person following me? And what are my intentions as to the person I am
apparently following?
Then
he thought: That makes nine possible
situations.
And
he thought: On top of that, what are my
intentions as to the person who is following me? And what are the intentions of
the person I am following, assuming that person knows I am following her? Three
and three again, which makes ... eighty-one possible situations.
Incapable
of standing the pressure, he chose to stop and adjust his shoe. The person who
was following passed him and caught up to the person ahead. A tap on the
shoulder: a laugh: a kiss.
I'm cold.
*
The Adventures of Anne and Maddie,
currently incarnated as cats
"Hey, Maddie! I figured something out!"
"What
is it, Anne?"
"You
know this mouse we've been chasing around up and down stairs in one room out
the other for two months?"
"And how!"
"It's
not a mouse! It's a foamy blue rubber ball!"
"By
"Yes!
It's just a ball!"
"And
we've been chasing it around, like elephants in musst!
But wait: how come it moves like it's a mouse?"
"The floor! It's all about the floor! It's uneven,
and the ball rolls hither and yon!"
"Well,
by the god with the thousand arms, we must be pretty stupid."
"Look:
I touch it with my paw, and it's rolling around like a crazy snake!"
"I
really want to catch it‑"
"No,
control your desires. Watch."
"Must
... catch‑"
"Look!
It stopped! It's not alive at all!"
"What's
wrong with us? Two months of wasted
effort."
"I
believe it is Brahma's will that we fruitlessly chase the ball."
"Because we are now cats. Oh, I hope our next lives are on a
superior plane."
"Fruitlessly
chase balls according to Brahma's will and perhaps we will."
"Yes.
As squids."
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