REPORT A PROBLEM
Yes, how dare the press air something they've known about for two years or more. A certain John goes into a bawdy house for a handjob: don't mean he's not Prime Ministerial. Just ask Silvio Berlusconi.
I, too, demand proof. What exactly was on that Kleenex? Was it compassion, or was it cum? Pity our Boys in Blue didn't ask the masturbator her GST number or her visa number.
And this, I ask you, coming from a nation that honours a eugenicist with its highest accolades! It's enough to make you beat up the next whore who says no.
From a distance we could see a person lying on the park bench, hand hanging down to the snow. We got closer. Curiosity got the best of us and we went still nearer. The coat was done up over the face, but the skin looked blanched of all colour, and waxy to boot. One boot was loose as if it had begun to have been removed. Down near the pant cuff, a lot of snow as if it had accidently gone into a deep bank. There was nothing we could possibly do but register surprise seeing you in that state!
MY STUNT DOUBLE
I hired me a stunt double five weeks ago. Not so I wouldn't have to do stunts per se; rather, I get him to do things in general for me, like a factotum. For instance, sometimes I don't feel like having a cigarette; I get him to smoke it for me. It's very handy. He sleeps for me and eats for me, too, if I don't feel tired or hungry. He watches movies and listens to music for me. I think I'm going to give him a raise if he'll add urinating and defecating to his duties.
front row, left to right:
ate two oranges for breakfast, doesn't know his birth mother, has two left feet, is mentruating, will die at thirty-four, will discover he's been robbed
middle row, left to right:
will kill in a month, owns an antique automobile, is afraid of heights, owns three hats, was born in a barn, isn't wearing underwear, has a tumor
back row, left to right:
is thinking of 'Torn Between Two Lovers,' is neurotic, has an erection, failed algebra, weighs one-twenty-six, has been all over Europe, can play guitar upside down, doesn't want a picture taken
This morning I shot a dinosaur in my pyjamas. It was a small stegosaurus. I guess you figured that out--the part of the smallness, I mean; otherwise, how would the pyjamas had fit? I used a dinosaur gun. A dinosaur gun is a lot like an elephant gun. The shot comes out in like a fan. Anyway, it was surprised, all right. It charged me and I got out of the way and it fell down dead right then and there. So let this be a serious warning to all the dinosaurs out there:
Stay out of my pyjamas!
Le Nouveau Maldoror
In opposition I stake my soul against the lies of the godly and machinery of the pure; "against" is the only word worth a maggot in all the world's inferior and bowdlerized translations. Strip me naked and I'm still the same anti I always was, always full of filth, spitting green chunks into your fat-and-happy face. I'm in your closet, licking your clean underwear; I'm in your hamper, sucking your dirty underwear. I am your alimentary canal, pulled inside out and upside down. I live backwards. I am Death's stink. You have my infections, and my joy.
I came up with a nice thought-problem. Godfrey Reggio is selective with the sequences he accelerates. Why didn't he use his acceleration technique for, say, open heart surgery, or firemen putting out a fire, or a Mass celebrated with the Hopi and Mexicans in Santa Fe? (I pause while you visualize such sequences, and finish laughing.)
means that form and content are
false--a contradictory artifact. If he considers modern life to be in some way inauthentic, should he himself be inauthentic in order to get this (possibly quite valid) point across?
Here's a nifty optical il
what's written here on the
about two minutes, then look
on what your brain's symmetry
left side of the page or
should be clear about this:
green wall. If you see the
means you're a good judge
taste, and appeciate good
side of the page, it means
speaking of, deserve all
on. This is all because the
brain is the right side, and
left side. But each side
body. (This is why left-
right-handed people.) You
again, this persistence-of-
same results every time. Look
see the left side, you have
right side, you're an idiot!
Circumstances prevented me from trumpeting something I'd planned to trumpet about about a month and a half ago. It was this: I'm a fifth of the way through this project. Yes, that's right: (why am I using so many colons these days?): I've written over 2,000 of these entries, and in the longer stories, in excess of 800 pages, for a total of well over 1,600 pages. According to plan, I'll be finished this album in 2032 or thereabouts. In word count, it'll be about 2,000,000 words.
Only trouble is, I'm not sure what to put on my
"A triumph of delight and brio"
This, in its final and unexpurgated form, is the first posthumous publication of the unnamed work rumoured to have been intended to have been entitled "Earth". Composed by G_D over a span of several millenia, it has been called "the final masterwork of our finest master" (NYRB). His untimely death prevented him from composing what He, so rumour has it, had intended to have been titled the 'Modern Era'; in this edition, renowned scholars, relying on internal evidence (for there is no other), argue about the work's eschatological purpose. With seventy-five million illustrations.
Weasel'd walls, some
Seven cubits square;
Oi, see that monkey?
She's a right cropper.
I couldn't see; I was drunk.
The mulberry2: a tree
With a round trunk, around which
Creatures may run and run.
Hear the children
Hear the children as they sing3
As they sing about Sisyphus
Look, you sluggers:
How did the weasel4 pop?
Can this be your fate, too?
The storm is coming from the east.
1. Cf. Ezekiel II, i.
2. Cf. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mulberry
3. See Iona and Peter Opie, The Lore and Language of Schoolchildren.
4. Cf. 3rd Bass, Columbia 73702.
-Hello, and welcome back to Canada Morning. Here, now, as a special guest, we have the author, or writer, really, John Skaife. He's gotten zero awards for his work, and he doesn't have any connection to anything ... connected to the Canada Council. How are you today, John?
-Um, I'm okay. How are you?
-Thanks. So, your work. Your stories or whatever. I have to confess I've read, like, none of it.
-Don't be sad. Not many have.
-Yes, I have a prompt note about that. There's no 'book', is there?
-No, there's no book here. I just write stuff.
-Okay, well, um, tell us about your writing.
-I just take stuff I think about, and I make it into stories and things that aren't quite stories. Sometimes they're just fragments of something else. Like toenail clippings.
-Sorry, I don't think our audience wants to hear about you toenails. Oh, here: you have a program.
-You're doing it all according to some program.
-Oh. Yes. It's very mechanical. I've got a minimum of 200 words a day.
-Rain or shine?
-I mean, what if you're sick?
-Then I catch up.
-So, your audience. How many people read you?
-I'm pretty sure there's two people who read my stuff.... I'm not sure. Maybe nobody at all sometimes.
-You must have a book deal.
-There's no deals.
-So. You're a nobody. How did you get on my show?
-I've got no idea.
-You're so beneath me.
-I've interviewed Salman Rushdie.
-Great. I'm not him.
-So what do you have to say for yourself? Why exactly are you doing the things you do?
-In the end, I just do it for myself.
-That's good to hear, John. Because--let's be frank about this--you're not doing it for anyone else.
I'd absentmindedly pressed an elevator button--with two fingers, no less!--and so I really, really, needed to scrum my hands clean again.
I rushed off the elevator, prepared to rush to the washroom--but there was Hank!--and he said something about the macros for the master subroutine--and I stood and told him, my fingers throbbing and glowing all the time.
I hurried down the hall and shoved the washroom door open--and it opened on its own and it was Heather!--and she was naked!--and I cried as if to God Almighty--Not now! Not now!
Monday I decided to turn over a new leaf. It was a cold morning, and the cows needed some care. A bit after seven I turned on the radio, set it to WSM. And I heard a show for Morther's Best Flour, and the singer was that Hank Williams character. He did a fine song in a fine voice--Cool Water. Just fine. Then there was a fine fiddle tune, and a hymn. I fell to pieces that night, and nights and nights after that, so I never heard the show again. He died two years later. So did I.
[An English garden. Upon a plaid blanket a naked man lies supine. A naked woman is straddling him. His penis is in her vagina. She rocks back and forth slowly.]
SHE: Maths. Did you know that x2 + y2 = 25 describes a perfect ideal circle with a radius of five units centered at 0,0? Yes it does. Ooh. Draw the circle, and it still won't be good enough. Because your line will have thickness. Maths transcend the world. They transcend the world. What you see here, why, it's just a reflection.
[She shudders and falls forward.]
It happened one day or actually it happened one night. All the cars we saw getting up in the morning had turned a hideous orange. Every one of them. All hideous orange. What a sight when they got on the move!
After a couple days folks started to see subtle differences in the oranges of the cars. Some of them weren't so hideous after all. Some were almost downright attractive. They must have changed somehow.
Soon we forgot all about other colours for cars. I myself had forgotten all about other colours for cars. Then I dreamed about them all.
87654321 I cannot believe I am the only person who has ever noticed this. 4321 At the beginning of
every single event in the history of the universe
, there is a very quiet countdown. 654321 I've been keeping track. 987654321 The countdown starts, on average, at seven, though I've documented countdowns from as high as fourteen. 7654321 I don't know what it's for, or whom it's meant to alert, but it permeates everything. 987654321 It's
the so-called 'dark matter' cosmology postulates. 54321 Pay attention people. 7654321 This may be the greatest discovery of all time. 321 Listen, people! 87654321
We were going in the wrong direction, so we got off at "Christopher Street". After confusion, we were up on the street. (I must observe two cliches. The first is that New Yorkers are attractive; the second is that New Yorkers are ugly. The former is false and the latter is true.) Through ugly and people and traffic we crossed and went down. We couldn't get on without paying again. The ticket machines we couldn't get to work. Then M. sweet-talked the attendant and we got on.
Or was it a request for mercy? I couldn't sweet-talk a cherry pie.
I don't know if I like the twisty streets and roads of the Connecticut side of Long Island Sound. Streets and roads should be ideally and straight and sublime, like arrows to Borgesian lands. Lord Simcoe is my spoiler--my zone is not built from a bunch of Indian trails trod for millenia; my zone is plotted into mile-by-mile squares.
And yet these poor New Englanders know naught of reason; they are benighted by their cultures and traditions. O mortality! Byron is no more; and your lemons are out of zest....
Taller and straighter buildings no longer startle the hicks.
Lying in bed one morning about three, she reached for me and touched me. I responded, the deed was done, hot and beasts and bacon, and back to sleep we went.
Then into the room someone crept; it was a man dark in hue and burly of body. They leapt together in the air like cymbals crashing; and orifices filled, emptied, filled and emptied.
Then he was gone. The room was silent, like it had been a dream (which it had not been). The clock got to seven. She reached for me. I turned to the wall, and
Khan asks Marco to describe the city called New York City
All cities, made up of people as they are, are much like all other cities. No matter the scale you choose to examine through, or decades or centuries, they are alike. There's no magic here. The buildings are buildings, and the businesses are businesses. But all the ills look as if magnified. The bums are super-bums, the cripples are super-cripples. I've heard their models are super-models, but I saw no evidence of that. With density comes sickness, though. They are mostly ugly there, for lack of vitamins. Don't go.
I know you've been waiting for this. It's inevitable. I can't do French well, so just pretend the English bits are French.
"Esteemed Nobility. You are no longer in France. You are in the United States. Please be advised you must obey their laws."
"Make note of this: In America, rape is illegal."
"Servants are equal under the law."
"Où est la liberté?"
"Therefore, please refrain from raping the servants."
"J'ai obtine une license en francais diplomatique!"
"We apologize for any inconvenience."
-more on the sociocidal impulse
-eschew the eschatology!
-21 May 2011: world ends; 22 May 2011: happiness
-coorection, it's was the Rapture that happened on Saturday, EOW not till Oct
-sociocide, my coinage, destruc. of world as well as self, cf. murdering whole family then self, etc.
-EOW stuff similar
-Q: shame culture? What the #s for these phenoms in Japan, USA?
-self of pride too, lefty Jim Jones's commune, shame of failure
-7th day advs
-the Rapture happened on Saturday, sez Harold Camping, only it happened "in our hearts"
-I'm writing from the future
-love this sweet old world
He was a mostly calm guy, which was strange. Strange in that sometimes I'd find a chair in a strange place--halfway up the stairs or suchlike. Why was it there, I'd ask him. Why is it in the middle of the bathroom? What were you thinking? He'd act like it was God's work or something. He made a joke of it. Said it was the
Now why are gremlins so interested in moving our chairs around? The stories would never stop. It was God. It was the gremlins. Santa Claus. Lohengrin. Hitler. A neighbour. Moved on its own.
Why was I born a King? What did I do to deserve this? Whoever wrote the rules for Kingship? And where, along the cardinal points, was it decided that I should be the one to do these Kingly things? How did I get up this morning--on the left side, or the right? And where exactly is it written what side means what? Why the King? Why am I the King? Who are these peasants who come to me for stuff? Why can't they be Kings themselves? Who made things this difficult? Why can't I be just an ordinary peasant?
Today is just the worst day ever. I went out to a restaurant for lunch and when I returned I found I had been burglarized. Burglarized in a very specific way. Both my computers and also my iPod were gone. Now, I know I can recreate most of what I've done here, but the last week is gone. Sorry, friend. No story about the Werewolf Guild, nothing about The Executioner's Song, no poem about stalking. Who stole my stuff? My whole life has probably been reformatted by now. There's a new soul doing this. I don't know who I am.
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I don't know why you don't know me. I've watched you on the bus a hundred times. You must have seen me at least once. If twice, well then. You know exactly who I am. Did you see me those times I got off the bus behind you, and followed you from a safe distance? If you did, you probably thought I was a neighbour. I'm no neighbour. When I looked in your window after midnight to watch you watching television. I know you didn't see me then. I'm always careful. I'm very discreet. I pride myself on my intellect.
And he was a model student.
And he was the star of the basketball team.
And he had a high school sweetheart and her name was Mandy.
And he got into a good college and he studied the actuarial sciences.
And he was hired four days after graduation.
And he married Mandy and all their high school friends came.
And Mandy got pregnant on the wedding night.
And it was a boy.
And the boy was named Harry.
And his father got promotions and promotions.
And then came Cindy.
And her father got moody.
And on Thursday he killed himself.
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