REPORT A PROBLEM
I've used this argument.
Let's say the efforts to fight global warming or climate change or what-have-you turn out to be based on a false premiss, ie that it's simply not happening, that the effects humanity has on climate is laughable. Even so, so what? We'll wind up with less smog, less pollution, less plastic.
And think of the fringe benefits of it! The government will have more control over our lives and over anything even having the
of free enterprise. Who can ever bitch about that? Freedom's a small price to pay to get trains subsidized on time.
TRAILER FOR 'THE VAMPIRES'
Coming this Fall...
In an ordinary laundromat...
On an ordinary evening...
"Where can I get some quarters?"
And he said,
"How about ... a
Coming this Fall....
"I used to have this desire ... to become ... a
"Tell me more."
"... You waiting for me?"
"Yeah, let's go."
From Paramount Studios, a tale of blood....
[a knife cutting into a thumb] "See, this is what you need in your beer...."
On October 2nd, or October 3rd, see firsthand what the critics will be raving about....
I know I'm speaking for more than just myself when I say that I do not want to live in a world where it's considered criminal--criminal!--to drug and sodomize girls from grade eight.
The starlet said, "What I don't understand is why didn't the girl Polanski raped exploit the experience and parlay it into a fabulous career? Like I did? Maybe the '70s was different?"
Pope Julius II read over the artists' statements. Buonari, Amaletto, Sforza, Michelangelo ... "Where have I heard that name, Michelangelo, before?"
"Your Holiness, he's infamous for raping children."
"Oh! Then there's no contest!"
Some things I've thought about recently.
I introduced her to the joys of solitude by ignoring her most of the time.
"You're always interrupting my sentences!"
Mohamed say: Give man bullet, he kill but one man. Give man Koran, he kill whole societies.
I'm so tied with subjectivity that when someone says, "Remember the '90s?" I have to ask, "When was that again?"
Who to drink with, Freud or Jung? Freud of course. He'd know the better jokes.
I don't understand cleanliness. What's the point of sweeping all the filth into one little pile?
Just now I was outside, reading R. Crumb's new illustrated Book of Genesis. (Quite fabulous, by the way.) Two three-millimetre insects landed on the open page in a kind of an embrace. I watched as they copulated tail-to-tail. Good old Genesis!
The trope in the following joke is stolen from parts unknown.
-Say, did you hear the sublime sounds coming from Ottawa on Saturday night?
-Do you mean the sounds of Stephen Harper at the NAC playing and singing, "With a Little Help from my Friends"?
-No, I'm talking about the quaint popping sounds of little Liberal heads exploding!
Bed says, "I have to take care of the bed. I have to let it sleep peacefully."
Toothbrush says, "I have to trouble with the toothbrush. Each bristle has to be cleaned."
Streetcar says, "I have to take care of the streetcar. I have to get it safely to work."
The sandwiches say, "I have to see to it I'm made right. I can't eat carelessly."
The couch says, "I have to take care of the couch. I have to let it sit comfortably."
The computer says, "It's my job to take care of the computer. I look at it."
There are bad ideas and then there are bad ideas; and when Jack fell in love with a Japanese porn performer he saw on the internet, well.
Seeing her, he knew his life was about to become complete.
Some digging (and some traslating) later, he had the address of the producer.
He sold everything and got on a plane to Japan. He knew what to say. "Kokoro kara anata o aishite imasu."
He found the production company. It was very high-tech. He asked to see the studio. "There's no studio. All our productions are highly sophisticated CGI."
He stayed there.
I: I was laying in a pond and I had an awaitance in me.
I: I was an awaitance in the sky; awaiting the pressures' division.
I: I in the sky came to burn a below: something was awaiting.
I: I knew the sky was light'ning and I waited - in closer.
I: I cut through the sky with a crash, and hit.
I: I felt hit and hot and that's when I felt first.
I: I hit and I was hot and that's when I felt first.
I: I was pond and I was light.
I: I was.
I was stroked by the walls / I rested at the gate for a spell.
I cozied into the soft red wall / I with others swam in slipstreams.
I felt them attack my walls with enzymes / I attacked with enzymes.
There was but a wall between us and I was the wall / same here.
The tension was intense / I was getting tired, I needed satisfaction.
There was a breach! / I had broken through!
I offered my nucleus / I offered my nucleus
I twisted around him / I twisted around her
I was alive.
And I was pushed and pushing, I was making my outside expel my inside and I was the inside being expelled because though there was no other I needed air! And I fought against myself, shoving and being shoved, through red light from beyond and from the pressure on my head that was being crushed by my narrow passage.
And I split in half, a large half and a small helf, and my small half with in another place and I was crying, and my large half was... was... I couldn't tell what the large half felt. Not anymore.
I was having goo stuffed into me--my mouth.
I could tongue it around, I could lick my lips, I could collect the goo and bring it into myself
And I wondered: Could I bring everything into my self? Could I absorb it all?
If so, there were no limits.
Everything was potentially me, even the things that were far from me, up there, that spiderweb in the corner--and I would be the web and the spider, too.
I suckled my thumb and discovered oceans.
(Later I understood there was something called poison--and I cried for days.)
I then set out to learn, or the forces beyond me set out to teach me, the use of language. Every thing out side had a magic word which was halfways between my aspiration and the thing. However, I never discovered, in my whole life, where this barrier was. Was it closer to my aspiration or closer to the thing? His the name "tap" hover a millimetre or less beyond the tap, or did my word
lose its definitiveness once it left my lips? Senseless! Every word-object I pulled into myself bacame a part of me.
I didn't want to but I went to kindergarten. I cried because I was going from from where I knew my self to a place where I knew nothihg.
I was told to draw a horse. I traced a horse from a picture. Miss Zimmerman said,
"That's so good."
She stuck a gold star on it.
I ran home to mommy, look!
I got a dollar.
I want that money paper pieces of paper because they can become something else.
(I don't know what they should become. The horse did the praise and the star and the dollar.)
Music became something in my membrane.
Imagine it. These seven inch disks--Sonny and Cher, the Raiders, Helen Reddy--took me in and we were one. I was those songs.
Some time later I got long playing records. The vinyl I pulled into myself. And I transformed these grooves, these microscopic grooves, into character.
Everything from here on in marks that. I am the records I've heard. Listen closely, and you'll hear it. I am Klaatu, Elvis Costello, Pink Floyd, Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Naked Eyes, Captain Sensible, the Beatles, Frank Zappa, Monty Python, Fireside Theatre.
I became them.
I was getting older and I knew it was time to grow myself a house. Figuratively speaking I started by cultivating carefully a basement and furnace and yard; from then on, I borrowed myself for twenty-five years of futurity in order to have a new skin built of brick and mortar. And the air beyond the skin, too, off course. "Air rights." I sat in the basement the third night I'd made it and I felt the whole earth down to its motlen core as me. The bricks of earth, the concrete floor, the anaerobic bacteria underneath--all me.
I went to a park and sat down, the bench and me. I knew it was just a matter of time. (Time I didn't control as well as space. I've never figured out why.)
After about a half-hour my bride came and sat down beside me. I struck up a conversation even though I knew what she was going to say at all times. Nothing surprised me.
Her name was Alice. She was twenty-five. She had a cat. She lived alone. She was an accountant. She was from another province. And she wasn't doing anything Saturday night at eight.
I knew an engagement should last five months and twelve days, and thus we booked the chapel. We took the things I knew were mine and the things she thought were hers and moved in "together," as everyone pretended to understand the term (and everyone understood the term).
I'd sit in a chair and feel the floor as part of myself and see the ceiling and the cracks I must have etched there with a chisel and the cat sat on my lap, through my lap.
Alice would be elsewhere in my apartment. Should I start saying
We didn't get pregnant the first time, though. We had to try for six months, then we were pregnant. We missed a period, and we certain we knew why. Our morning sickness came about, along with strange cravings from strange foods. Our nipples got very dark, and we had to use baby lotion on them to keep them from hurting too much. Soon we were nine months, and we just sat around, waiting. Finally the contractions started. We hopped in the car and sped to the hospital. Next day, we gave birth to a boy, a bouncing baby boy.
We grew from three to six corporeal instances over the next ten years.
We called our newest parts Ellen, Stephen, and Judith.
We worked to keep the house from falling apart because the house wanted us to behave that way.
William went to university. We discovered all sorts of facts and methods in the field of engineering.
Ellen and Stephen went next. Botany and the English language turned out to be quite fascinating!
Our Judith, though, didn't seem inclined to go on to higher education. Instead, we explored drugs and prostitution, depression and suicide.
We loved each part equally.
We many--though 'numerically' two--decided to go travelling, which was something we hadn't really done much of. The Earth travelled west beneath our automobile and we found ourselves in Nova Scotia. We stayed a week on a beach. Then we got into an airplane and the Earth travelled east beneath our wings, and we were in British Columbia. We stayed a week on a beach. We were not surprised by the things we saw--we could have described them with our eyes closed. Our airplane suspended in the air as the Earth went west and we were home.
A couple years or so later, Alice died.
One morning, she simply didn't wake up in the morning. I phoned the proper authorities and waited for them to arrive. Natural causes, nothing more. The kids all came from away and away to see the burial take place. We all threw dirt on the coffin in the grave. We had coffee and tea at the funeral parlour.
I went home and sat down in my chair. She wasn't in the chair beside me. I looked all over the house. She wasn't there. I looked inside my head. There she was.
I died. Shortly thereafter, the box in which I had been buried disintegrated. The worms crawled into my body and the worms crawled out of my body. The worms made worms, which birds ate. The birds were eaten by bears. And so on.
I nearly saw it all as an ending. I nearly saw that my death meant the end of perception. But I was wrong. My perception continued. You must know that by now.
I was completely absorbed from head to tail by the earth. Then I became parts of, oh, a MILLION other lives.
That's it. Goodbye.
It happened on a Thursday, at precisely 11:43 in the morning. Everyone was aware it was going to happen, and happen it did. The universe stopped expanding at that moment.
After several trillion years of growth, the universe was tired. It was time to start getting smaller and smaller, slowly at first.
So what was done to mark the occasion? Were there parties? Not for me. I was eating my lunch, and the moment passed without noticing it.
I went outside, and it was immediately apparent. Things had already started crowding. My car was nearer to my door. Strange, that.
Few non-chemists know that cinnamon is actually an element.
Into an eight gallon tank of water let drop eight ounces of ground cinnamon. Heat slowly, stirring.
Soon you will see some congealment. This is known as
Keep stirring as the matter stif-
(Sorry, a child is screaming outside. Ah, it's stopped.)
-fens, and ultimately the mass becomes silicon.
You can build a computer out of that silicon, you know.
It's true all over. Silicon and cinnamon are transmutable because they kind of sound alike. Things whose names sound alike are transmogrifiable.
Same goes for hydrogen and helium.
THE CHINA SYNDROME
-Yes, Mrs. Somers?
-I want you to tell me the truth.
-Did you throw garbage over the fence?
-I'm asking you again.
-Did you throw garbage over the fence?
-Yes, I threw garbage over the fence.
-It's good to tell the truth.
-Now: Why did you throw garbage over the fence?
-It was a place to put it.
-Do you know what happens to garbage thrown over fences?
-It gets hot and burns.
-All the way to China.
-All the way?
QUICK! YOU'RE ON DEALINE! TRANSLATE THE FOLLOWING WORDS AND PHRASES
lying through your teeth -
dead adolescent -
dead pre-adolescent -
an item prepared in advance for weekends or holidays -
said something you didn't agree with -
agreed with -
A disaster has occurred and we have no-one to blame. What do the survivors do? -
Just pick up the pieces
I found myself standing in a line that went down a sidewalk and turned corners both in front and behind me. I'd known what I was standing in line for, but I'd blanked out.
I said to the far woman in front of me, "Excuse me, what are we waiting for?"
She said, "Bread."
There was a guy behind me. "What are we waiting for?"
"U2 tickets, man."
The guy behind him said, "No way, man! LCD Soundsystem!"
They got into a fistfight.
I didn't know. I stayed in line. I figured there had to be a purpose to waiting.
Monday he went in to work. Stacy said, "Did you hear about Harp?"
"He got bit by a ferret Saturday."
"Is he okay?"
"The ferret's still attached to him."
Harp came in. A ferret was hanging from his ankle.
The guy from whose point of view this story's being told exclaimed, "Harp! What's with the ferret?"
Harp said, "It won't let go."
On Thursday he went in to work. Stacy said, "The ferret's died."
"So how's Harp taking it?"
Harp came in. A dead ferret was hanging from his ankle.
"I'll get used to it," he said.
As you know, I work as a curator at the Canadian War Museum. One morning I got an outside call.
"Hi. I'm calling from
in Washington. We're going to be doing an interview with General Rick Hillier in a week, and we understand you've got some good Korean War footage."
"Sooo, can we get it?"
"It's all copyright."
"C'mon, as a favour."
"Hmmm. What about a
quid pro quo?
He thought. "What would you want?"
"Whaddaya say to a couple IEDs and a Kalishnikov?"
A pause. Then: "Maybe. I'm gonna have to kick it upstairs, 'kay?"
Against my best impulses I went to a meeting of an insecurity club.
I'd seen a notice on a billboard. "Insecure? Come to a meeting. Don't worry."
So, one Wednesday night, I went to the place.
There was a crowd at the bar. Were they there for some other event?
There was no place for me to sit, no-one to speak to.
I knew one person--Kate awkward. She said, "C'mon, sit down!"
"Thanks--just let me get my bearings."
I left, trying to appear to not be leaving.
The awkward people are more capable of social situations than me!
The artists were digging in the dirt and they found scaffolding. It wasn't a building. It was just scaffolding. It looked like a building had been planned, but never built.
The artists understood. "Why go to the trouble of actually constructing a building when the construction of scaffolding can express the same thing?"
They saw it was more beautiful than a building.
The artists looked at their sandwiches, but they couldn't eat them. Something had to be done first.
They took up their shovels and buried the scaffolding. But how to forget? They couldn't. So: "We'll never talk about it."
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