REPORT A PROBLEM
An apology to space and time is in order. Due to my current project's use of oneirical materials, I have to wait until tomorrow to complete it. That's the nature inherent in working oneirically. I'm building up a massive database of oneiricology that will rank with the studies of our foremost psycholologists. The first six parts were arrived at with a good dose of oreirocological input, and it would be negligent for the seventh to be otherwise. Thus this is coming
out of order
. This should, in fact, not have been necessary. Forget you're reading what I'm writing, please.
BOOK-COOK COOK-BOOK COOKBOOK
Preheat oven to 451.
Mix in a large bowl:
One medium onion, diced
One green pepper, diced
On a plate, mix
Roll in the mix
Your second set of books the feds are after.
Fry in a large griddle over medium heat, five minutes per side. Be careful not to let it burn yet.
Arrange on a cooking sheet and sprinkle the onion and green pepper mix on top.
Put into the oven and wait until it bursts into flames. This may take several hours.
An insurance claim.
As part of the spider's punishment he was ordered to walk to the prison and the whole journey was documented on reality TV as a warning to other eight-legged would-be fornicators.
This took sixty-one days to accomplish.
I was delighted. After all, my wife had been the primary victim of his seductive arachnid charms. We were gingerly picking up the pieces of our shattered relationship, and seeing that spider disgraced put paid to her bestial infidelity.
I am not some pencil-neck criminologist. I believe in punishment as revenge. I hope the lesson is understood worldwide. Spiders: keep to your own.
from NEW FORMS IN MUSIC COMPOSITION
"Hey man, this is what I want you to do. Okay. I want it to start out slow, kinda grim. Whaddayacallem, minor keys or whatever. Then it's gotta burst out in something happy, something real tuneful. You know the kind of thing I mean. Like Evita or something. Then get gloomy again for a couple minutes, then the happy music again. Then a big crash of an ending. Whew! That was work! Do it like that, and call it, 'Changing Moods.' No, wait. Call it, 'In the Labrynth of Changing Moods.' I'll pay you."
Everyone has a body. And all bodies deteriorate. How will your body deteriorate? Every minute of every day there's problems a-coming. Maybe your hands--so long as you've actually got hands--will start to hurt. Pills will help temporarily. But only temporarily. They'll bend into useless claws if you want long enough. No more holding a pen, no more fumbling with pencils. Maybe you'll be reduced to using crayons. Ha-ha-ha! Yes, you'll be using crayons, writing on walls and so on. Probably drooling, too. Yep, there you are, drooling and with crayons. Now, as for your legs. They're doomed, too.
When's "Pick on the Germans Day" this year? I think it's ... today!
Germans have been known to come in eight-legged versions.
German automobiles have father fixations.
I turned on
one day expecting some of their weird porn. Instead it was all about ... stadiums!
I love unconditional surrenders. Twice in under thirty years!
Of course, they do have some first-class writers. Like ... um ... hang on ...
The women you can tell on account of their deep voices.
Their beer isn't bad, sometimes.
Edward Gibbon sez their illiterate ancestors were no better than oxen.
At some point, his great idea vanished without a trace, unless you include the idea that he had a great idea a trace of the idea, which I suppose it may very well be. He knew its contours. He knew the germ if it was about eighteen words altogether, in two sentences or in a sentence with a mighty comma or semicolon. The idea arrived at two-thirty in the morning and disappeared about ten minutes later. It left only the slightest ripple. Just a circle in a circle, separated by a semicolon, or a period, or maybe just a comma....
I gave blood once, but ... they called me in the next day. There was a problem.
The nurse said, "It's certainly unusual, this problem with your blood."
"What's wrong with it?"
"As it was being stored, an errant spark got too near to it, and ... it burst into flames."
"My blood caught on fire?"
"Yes, and the fire consumed all the oxygen in it. It's a common chemical reaction."
"I know how fire works."
"Oh, okay. Well, you should be careful."
"If you cut yourself, stay away from open flames."
"I understand. I think that's good advice."
CLEARING UP THOSE PESKY RUMOURS
1. That rash under your arm isn't what you think it is.
2. That moon landing? It was real.
3. I steal from other less often than one one might think.
4. No muchkins died of auto-erotic asphyxiation during the filming of The Wizard of Oz.
5. Your wife isn't having an affair. She just likes the Internet.
6. You can catch diseases from toilet seats only so long as you lick them.
7. That woman standing over there has always been a woman.
8. You won't die if you wear white after Labour Day.
...The Marshmallow Test...
They put me in a room with just a table, a chair, and a plate. They sat me down.
"Here's the test. We're putting a marshmallow on this plate. If you can sit for five minutes without eating it, we'll give you a second marshmallow. It's a simple as that."
They put down the marshmallow
"There's no right or wrong here."
They left the room.
I ate the marshmallow.
Five minutes later they returned.
"You ate the marshmallow."
"Of course. I'm forty-five. Do I know if I'll live out the five minutes? Could have a heart attack."
I'll start with the dinosaur who puts his foot down onto another dinosaur's head. He takes up his foot; he shows something like mercy. So this merciful dinosaur, what happens to him? A meteor strikes, and he is dead.
As a character says to God later in the film, "Where were you when that boy drowned?"
So, take that! all you dinosaur haters. You all thought it was just some silliness? It's entirely on point, ya dum dums.
Sheesh, why do I have to explain everything all of the time?
Sometimes I think my head is going to literally explode!
"You see, Johnny, the process of getting rich in the health sciences, which means rich in endowments, grants, and pensions, is not in the process of making discoveries. Far from it! You'll need do nothing, really. You see, the technologists (whom we barely recognize and whom we avoid) make discoveries concerning measurement. They're always making finer measurements with their instruments, and by exploiting these technologies we can make nice livings for ourselves. All you need to do is find something--some common object, something well-nigh universal--that hasn't been studied in a couple decades. Let's take for example the carrot.
"Now, the technologists will have created instruments of finer measurement in those two decades. Use those instruments to measure all the nutritional aspects of your carrot. Check it for caloric content, pcb content, e coli content,
radiation. Odds are excellent you'll discover some aspect you can raise a fuss about. So raise a fuss! Call the papers! Get on committees! Continue your lazy exploration of the carrot, and parley it into a big Bestseller career! No-one will ever catch on that you're really not doing a thing. You're just measuring stuff. That's what the health sciences are all about."
Shuffle the tiles face down.
Place the tiles on the board, one tile on each square with an X.
Turn over the tiles. This is the Initial Position.
Play proceeds clockwise, starting with the player chosen by a draw.
Player can either 1) CULTIVATE a grain tile; 2) ATTACK an opponent's tile; 3) MOVE to an adjacent position; 4) PASS; 5) TAKE a wild card; 6) DEVELOP an industry tile; 7) ROLL for a re-positioning; 8) TRADE a tile with an opponent; 9) NUKE a tile and surrounding squares; 10) LEAP to a square four tiles away in any direction....
I'm seeing ... strange behaviour happening these days. It seems as if I'm seeing ... strangers ... with small ... devices. They're about the size of my notebook ... but they're not notebooks. I don't know what they are, or why the strangers are ...
at them all the time. I've even seen some people ...
to them! I can't find anything on the Internet about them. The search
comes up with nothing appropriate. I dreamed about them last night: I dreamed they
glowed. They lit up people's faces! I'm not kidding!
Further investigation is needed!
You have not mentioned anything about gambling. Will there be gambling in the Republic?
How could I have forgotten it? Of course there will be gambling. On every streetcorner there will be one, but one, establishment for the purposes of gambling. However, there will be an important difference between our type of gambling and their type of gambling: In the Republic, the goal will be to lose. Citizens will be such winners in my planned society, their thirst for losing will be slaked in gambling.
You've let the cat out of the bag: The authorities are right: You
Why do do this anyway? Why don't just shut up, let the good times roll.... Why do bother day after day and morning after morning thinking, "Why did dream last night?" And for what? don't think anyone even reads what wrote. should denude facebook contacts. think there may be too many. Why not become more exclusive? 've thought of eliminating half of them. 'd keep certain people, though. In the end, 'd be left with probably no more than a dozen. Of whom perhaps three might care. But what does this care mean to? It's all part of the project!
ARE YOU THERE, GOD? IT'S ME, MARGARET
In a couple of weeks we will be on the overnight train that goes from Seattle to San Francisco. It will leave Seattle a bit before ten, and at about seven-thirty a porter will come through the car to see if anyone wants to have a Superliner Bedroom at a discount. And I'll say, "What kind of a discount?" The porter will say, "It's thirty percent off." I'll say, "Can you make me a better deal?" The porter will say, "Not without authorization." "Authorization from whom?" "Authorization from ... whoever authorizes such things."
Corpse was female, and luscious. Helen thought,
there's something to be said for starlets mainlining.
Helen took pictures of the dead woman's eerily symmetrical face, and her sweep of blonde, her model hands, her average malleable breasts, feet, thighs, vulva. McLuskie drew his cigar from his mouth, a mooring of spittle temporarily there then broken, and said, "It's a goddam shame. Just a kid." Helen, her lens full of pussy, stood up. "I like it, though." "What's to like?" "Better pix than mob stuff. Better than some fat fuck with his brains busted out." "I get your point," said McLuskie.
Oh, Rick Groen, you ignorant slut. How dare you put down Jaws? I was having a good day and then I turn to the second page of the Globe and Mail and there it is: You, dissing Jaws! Have you no shame? Calling it "a pretty good scare flick"? You vulgar little toad! Jaws has been proven scientifically to be fifty kinds of awesome! But then what to expect from a troglo who only gave three stars to The Tree of Life? Shame on you! You're one sick fuck, you know that? You don't deserve to have your name's diphthong!
-We have nothing in common.
-And you they think we're alike.
-Yes they do!
-Stop slobbering. It's so disgusting.
-So anyway: They've got this idea that you and me are alike. But we're not. We're different
-Yip, yip. We're just as like to them as we are to each other.
-That's the most intelligent thing you've said all day.
-You look at me, you look at one of them: all different species.
-You're more like one of them than you are like me.
-And the same goes for you.
-Don't get catty.
WRITTEN THINGS AND SPOKEN THINGS
Written things do not even come close to repeating written things. I don't even much think they can be compared. They use the same physical materials, but that's about where the similarity ends. Check out that newspaper: do you think any of the stuff in it would make sense if spoken out loud? You wouldn't remember how any sentence started by the time you got to the end. Listen to me: see? And written 'reportage' of spoken words looks really
when it's written down. Transcribe your own words sometime. You'll see ex
ly my point.
He thought it was the Mohave desert they were driving through at a hundred and twenty miles an hour. Or was it the Sahara? No, the road was there. There aren't any roads in the Sahara desert. (Are there?) The woman who was driving he'd forgotten her name. There was nothing to be seen but a horizon that never got closer. The radio was playing two stations at once: one came from behind them (AM) and one from before them (FM). The air was hot below and the air was cool above.
Then he remembered her name:
In other news, Toronto Mayor Rob Ford continues to ignore this television station's bigoted and intolerant bullying. As you'll recall, Ford plans to cottage on the long weekend rather than attend the Gay Pride Parade. Yesterday we aired comments from our usual phalanx of talkers--left-wing politicians, university sociologists, and fornicators-in-the-street--all of whom vigorously hectored and ridiculed the unhip bourgeois fatso, and yet today he still refused to cow to our vicious hypocritical badgerings. We're redoubling our efforts with persistent and abusive telephone calls, so stay tuned. Coming up: Why free speech is bad, and Why abortion is great.
She has a little bone spur about three inches from her wrist. It's there for all to see, through her flesh so thin it's as if translucent. She must be the thinnest woman in town, just bones tarped tight with epidermis. When she's naked she's quite a sight. She told me once she could touch her spine through her tummy. I would have liked to have tried that, too. Yet she eats like a pig. I don't know where it all goes! Some people think she's bulimic, but she's not. She's perfectly normal. She weighs fifty-five pounds. She's perfectly normal.
"And here's another thing about measurement: You know how there seems to be mroe hurricanes and so on these days? In fact, it's not at all true. The number of such storms has been steadily decreasing for a decade. So why does it seem there's more? Again, it's just a matter of measurement. Measurement in the form of bandwidth. Ten years ago there was vastly less information to be had. Now, with all these cellphones and stuff, we're more deeply penetrated by storms. Informational bandwidth has grown in the last ten years. It's a matter of measurement and not reality."
Things Not Falling Apart
The hands know where the feet go and the feet know when the stomach growls and the stomach feels what the mind does and the mind spies the eyes and the eyes espy the thighs and the thighs consider the liver and the liver knows the toes and the toes know the nose and the nose discerns the spleen and the spleen's keen on the brain and the brain cognates the navel and the navel kens the knees and the knees see the tongue and the tongue tastes the ears and the ears discern the hands.
He had to take his little animal with him on their holiday because no-one could care for it like he did. Twice a day he spent time with it on the holiday--though these times were allowed to be consecutive. The other travellers or locals would see him with it. No-one stopped to say, "How cute." They all ignored him after the first glance.
And after the vacation he sat down with his animal and recreated all the time they had spent together, just the two of them, in the past, in the middle of the mad parade of travel.
It's eight here; it's as if we'd arisen at 2:30 this morning. My feet hurt! We've just walked (mostly) all the way around Stanley Park. Which is a long walk.
Aeroport Limousine & Taxi's what we used in Toronto. Fifty bucks flat rate! The driver was Moslem. The operation's probably money-laundering for Al Qaeda. But hey: fifty dollars flat rate!
These mountains are the most yodelly I've ever been near. First time I've seen peaks beclouded.
This room's quite small, and pretty dingy. Northwest of here is rundown or Stanley Park. Tomorrow: southeast, and Chris Marker.
Have I mentioned this? In
, it's not that the main character is stuck on the same day; rather, it's that everyone else is. Why is it easier to think the former than the latter?
A mean quip: UBC is like the dummy row in the classroom of universities. "Put them by the window so they're distracted by the squirrels...."
Surrealism exhibition: the guide kept calling primatives "first nations." What a bald-faced anachronistic lie.
For no reason we took the Expo Skyline to Surrey, had dinner, came back. It's a very pretty journey, and it's only $10.
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