It was as a child when I first began to realize that one lifetime may not be enough. This was a threatening feeling (especially as a child), and something that would take far longer to resolve (I would find) than is nominal.
It was...pretty Ridiculous. "Seriously dood, you don't need multiple lifetimes! Look around, empathize, you're set. You can attempt anyone else's life!"
I bought a very nice pen for myself. It used my own blood as fuel. That such a contraption may be exciting to someone out there amused me, and I put my expensive pen back in my bag, and pulled out my special wireless keyboard. Special wireless and ergonomic keyboard for writing effortlessly and without worry or stutter.
"You can attempt, of course. But you can't assume your attempts, and the things being attempted at, are the same thing."
"Things?"
"People, whatever."
The Ridiculous gave me a funny stare. Kinda stare that said "But you were just talking about empathy."
It discomforted me, and I had to open my bag and reach down to my blood pen. "You still there penny?"
"Are we inside of an aeroplane?" asked penny.
"No. We in a submarine."
"Christmas this year is not red, then."
"No. Submarines are blue."
Showing posts with label the Ridiculous. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the Ridiculous. Show all posts
Saturday, December 19, 2015
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Why She Wore Her Ridiculous Spectacles to the Congressional Hearing
'Coming Soon' ...
-------
'In 3D' ...
-------
cool whooshing graphics about sound
-------
the Ridiculous is everywhere.
.
It was bad enough that Fiona, 13, had cut her off completely. Where was she going to get material for the kind of motherly banter all the other girls expect their leader to provide? But now the baby was doing it too.
"You have to eat now," she said, with actual tears. Begging, twisty tears. Please. Please. "You have to eat right now, because mommy has to go in fifteen seconds."
The baby just turned away, refusing to eat from her hand.
Then the doorbell.
.
Fucking limo. Isn't government about people? Why the hell did Congress need her to arrive in a damn limousine? Why couldn't she just drive over in her own car? If she was able to do that, at least she could try spend some time to try and talk some sense into Fiona while dropping her off at school. And she could sneak a snack into Baby's mouth as he cried out to her not to leave him 'all awone' at Playtime. Instead, she crept into the vehicle, nodding at the old crusty assholes who were going to be staring at her legs till they got there.
-------
An assistant neatly slided a crisp maroon folder sporting a pewter embossing that read 'CRISIS PLAN' onto the desk that Congress had given her. The prunes next to her were complaining about the quality of the desks and such, about the all scratches, the horror of no velvet lining or something. These seniles are going to die so soon, she laughed to herself. At least in that, there was a little pleasure. In the fact that they were going to die, and she remain. Then, in the corner of her eye their bald and balding heads drooped, flaky fingers taking the 'opening of the book' (just like their mothers taught them), and opening the Plan, to read -- and so did her head droop, her full head of hair, in unison. All of the executives in the company do everything in unison. It projects.
.
The Congressional Hearing commenced.
-------
She smiled to herself for the first time in the morning. These men around her were actually scramblin' trying to figure out what the price of oil had to do with a 'charity event for The Deaf'. According to one of the guys (the one who was going to die first) 'clearly there was some data mishap' by FedEx via Google in the delivery of this Plan. The codger was trying to tell all the Deaf People that some kind of Xeroxes or something must have been crashed into by a faulty gear in one of the Fords. "And gears, I mean," he said, standing there, "those could have been made in one of so many facilities. Mitsubishi, it coulda been them."
For the first time, she actually looked at the CRISIS PLAN in her hands. It read:
.
"Sshh. Follow the instructions to a tee. Do not do anything else. Do not say anything, do not question -- no matter how stupid We look. Just DO the following after that guy who's talking sits down:
Turn the page. NOT YET. WAIT, then do it."
-------
'In 3D' ...
-------
cool whooshing graphics about sound
-------
the Ridiculous is everywhere.
.
It was bad enough that Fiona, 13, had cut her off completely. Where was she going to get material for the kind of motherly banter all the other girls expect their leader to provide? But now the baby was doing it too.
"You have to eat now," she said, with actual tears. Begging, twisty tears. Please. Please. "You have to eat right now, because mommy has to go in fifteen seconds."
The baby just turned away, refusing to eat from her hand.
Then the doorbell.
.
Fucking limo. Isn't government about people? Why the hell did Congress need her to arrive in a damn limousine? Why couldn't she just drive over in her own car? If she was able to do that, at least she could try spend some time to try and talk some sense into Fiona while dropping her off at school. And she could sneak a snack into Baby's mouth as he cried out to her not to leave him 'all awone' at Playtime. Instead, she crept into the vehicle, nodding at the old crusty assholes who were going to be staring at her legs till they got there.
-------
An assistant neatly slided a crisp maroon folder sporting a pewter embossing that read 'CRISIS PLAN' onto the desk that Congress had given her. The prunes next to her were complaining about the quality of the desks and such, about the all scratches, the horror of no velvet lining or something. These seniles are going to die so soon, she laughed to herself. At least in that, there was a little pleasure. In the fact that they were going to die, and she remain. Then, in the corner of her eye their bald and balding heads drooped, flaky fingers taking the 'opening of the book' (just like their mothers taught them), and opening the Plan, to read -- and so did her head droop, her full head of hair, in unison. All of the executives in the company do everything in unison. It projects.
.
The Congressional Hearing commenced.
-------
She smiled to herself for the first time in the morning. These men around her were actually scramblin' trying to figure out what the price of oil had to do with a 'charity event for The Deaf'. According to one of the guys (the one who was going to die first) 'clearly there was some data mishap' by FedEx via Google in the delivery of this Plan. The codger was trying to tell all the Deaf People that some kind of Xeroxes or something must have been crashed into by a faulty gear in one of the Fords. "And gears, I mean," he said, standing there, "those could have been made in one of so many facilities. Mitsubishi, it coulda been them."
For the first time, she actually looked at the CRISIS PLAN in her hands. It read:
.
"Sshh. Follow the instructions to a tee. Do not do anything else. Do not say anything, do not question -- no matter how stupid We look. Just DO the following after that guy who's talking sits down:
Turn the page. NOT YET. WAIT, then do it."
-------
The sick old man was finally made to sit down after trying to say that it was probably 'some chinaman's precious one child' that swallowed a dangerous substance which could have been the cause of a Licensced Interpreter not being around to convey what he damn well meant to say.
.
Calmly, methodically, automatedly and with precision, she turned the page.
.
Spectacles shaped exactly like Dick Cheney's ass, reading 'DICK_CHNY' in glitter on top. Not surprisingly, the message below read: "Wear it."
So this was why she couldn't be a good mother to her children. For this.
-------
Now they called upon her to talk. Said it right there in the Plan, as they called for her: "When they call for you, you stand up and read from below."
She stood up. She looked up at Congress, wearing those ridiculous glasses, and said "Th-these things sometimes happe-" oh for fuck's sake they'd put jelly around the rims, for wobble.
"Hahaha," read the plan. "Now just pretend you've been attacked by an environmentalist, and curl over, and collapse. Don't worry, there's a cart waiting."
Her heart beat. She pleated her skirt. She cleared her throat, looking at the piece of paper.
"Fuck no," said the paper. "Do not say a fucking word! Fall."
"Ahem," she spoke into the microphone. "Ahem.
Once my lover, now on my face.
What a cruel thing to dephase.
What a stunning way to con your friend,
on a hunting trip with a bad end.
...
Oh you creep --" but her swelling breasts were quickly met by smothering and crispy hands.
"Shut yourself up," said geriatrics around her, "shut up." And then -- then there was no more song. Only darkness like a doused salmon. She didn't fall over, but she wore the spectacles.
.
It was all over the news. Even the President had seen it, and called them some Ridiculous spectacles. And it was all over.
Except for the ride back home.
The sick old man was finally made to sit down after trying to say that it was probably 'some chinaman's precious one child' that swallowed a dangerous substance which could have been the cause of a Licensced Interpreter not being around to convey what he damn well meant to say.
.
Calmly, methodically, automatedly and with precision, she turned the page.
.
Spectacles shaped exactly like Dick Cheney's ass, reading 'DICK_CHNY' in glitter on top. Not surprisingly, the message below read: "Wear it."
So this was why she couldn't be a good mother to her children. For this.
-------
Now they called upon her to talk. Said it right there in the Plan, as they called for her: "When they call for you, you stand up and read from below."
She stood up. She looked up at Congress, wearing those ridiculous glasses, and said "Th-these things sometimes happe-" oh for fuck's sake they'd put jelly around the rims, for wobble.
"Hahaha," read the plan. "Now just pretend you've been attacked by an environmentalist, and curl over, and collapse. Don't worry, there's a cart waiting."
Her heart beat. She pleated her skirt. She cleared her throat, looking at the piece of paper.
"Fuck no," said the paper. "Do not say a fucking word! Fall."
"Ahem," she spoke into the microphone. "Ahem.
Once my lover, now on my face.
What a cruel thing to dephase.
What a stunning way to con your friend,
on a hunting trip with a bad end.
...
Oh you creep --" but her swelling breasts were quickly met by smothering and crispy hands.
"Shut yourself up," said geriatrics around her, "shut up." And then -- then there was no more song. Only darkness like a doused salmon. She didn't fall over, but she wore the spectacles.
.
It was all over the news. Even the President had seen it, and called them some Ridiculous spectacles. And it was all over.
Except for the ride back home.
-------
[work in progress]
Saturday, September 26, 2009
the Ridiculous and the Handyman (Part 2)
(Part 2)
the Ridiculous is everywhere.
Let me tell you something about Bosnia. In Bosnia, some guy who felt bad that his name rhymes with 'bitch' started slaughtering the peepulls. Too bad he didn't think hard about his first name. This is why when a dude says to you "I got a Bosnian gf", it's kind of hot, cos there's only a few left. Now, as I had been trying to explain, there was a need to get a handyman from the building to come and unclog the sink. The reasons for this are irrelevant. Maybe my mother was coming over to visit. Maybe my employer was conducting some kind of illegal search to verify its employees. Maybe I woke up and had a whim about starting to date again. The reason to unclog it is not of import. What is important is that when you try to get it unclogged, they send you a guy from Bosnia. I had a relationship with this guy; one time when the summers were getting too humid in Manhattan, I decided I would buy an air-conditioning machine. I was told to go and speak to this Bosnian guy who is the handyman of the building. After going through a bunch of crap about how he had a family back there, and how used to be a nuclear scientist or something, the down-low was that I have to buy a 5000 BTU machine. I wondered, at the time, how that particular number was reached. Who was this guy, this Bosnian? What, did he have the whole electricity consumption of the entire building mapped into his head, or something? I bought an 8000 BTU machine instead. Just to spite him.
the Ridiculous is everywhere.
Let me tell you something about Bosnia. In Bosnia, some guy who felt bad that his name rhymes with 'bitch' started slaughtering the peepulls. Too bad he didn't think hard about his first name. This is why when a dude says to you "I got a Bosnian gf", it's kind of hot, cos there's only a few left. Now, as I had been trying to explain, there was a need to get a handyman from the building to come and unclog the sink. The reasons for this are irrelevant. Maybe my mother was coming over to visit. Maybe my employer was conducting some kind of illegal search to verify its employees. Maybe I woke up and had a whim about starting to date again. The reason to unclog it is not of import. What is important is that when you try to get it unclogged, they send you a guy from Bosnia. I had a relationship with this guy; one time when the summers were getting too humid in Manhattan, I decided I would buy an air-conditioning machine. I was told to go and speak to this Bosnian guy who is the handyman of the building. After going through a bunch of crap about how he had a family back there, and how used to be a nuclear scientist or something, the down-low was that I have to buy a 5000 BTU machine. I wondered, at the time, how that particular number was reached. Who was this guy, this Bosnian? What, did he have the whole electricity consumption of the entire building mapped into his head, or something? I bought an 8000 BTU machine instead. Just to spite him.
the Ridiculous and the Handyman (Part 1)
(Part 1)
the Ridiculous is everywhere.
And now, it has been acknowledged. I had been writing my series of poems and prose for some time, and while the pieces brought some cheer and, perhaps, humorous enjoyment to some, the Ridiculous had never been fully acknowledged in real life, in person.
All this changed on the day I called the building handyman to come over and unclog my bathroom sink. The sink had been left uncleaned for about six months, as I had been immersed in other endeavours, and so a patina about two or three inches high -- of mold, fungus, etc. -- had built up around the sinkhole. The variety of colors and textures was really quite remarkable in this progress. After an amount of build up, I had taken to purchasing cheap little plastic figures of spacemen and such, sticking them into the sink. They were brave explorers in this strange 'alienesque' world, boldly going where no man has gone before upon the fractal terrain. I had begun taking pictures of them and posting them on flickr and such.
the Ridiculous is everywhere.
And now, it has been acknowledged. I had been writing my series of poems and prose for some time, and while the pieces brought some cheer and, perhaps, humorous enjoyment to some, the Ridiculous had never been fully acknowledged in real life, in person.
All this changed on the day I called the building handyman to come over and unclog my bathroom sink. The sink had been left uncleaned for about six months, as I had been immersed in other endeavours, and so a patina about two or three inches high -- of mold, fungus, etc. -- had built up around the sinkhole. The variety of colors and textures was really quite remarkable in this progress. After an amount of build up, I had taken to purchasing cheap little plastic figures of spacemen and such, sticking them into the sink. They were brave explorers in this strange 'alienesque' world, boldly going where no man has gone before upon the fractal terrain. I had begun taking pictures of them and posting them on flickr and such.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Wasted Passengers
the Ridiculous is everywhere.
When I was a child, too young for many fears, yet old enough to identify the failing points of fear bearers:
I was on an airplane. I was shaking my head as a loud drunkard hassled stewardesses for more drink. There were supposed to be video games on this flight, but there weren't. So, I was stuck unable to read my comics in peace because an unshaven chimpanzee somehow got through security.
Idiots.
The Ridiculous sat down, next to me. "You don't want that window seat, kid," he said.
"I do. I like it," I replied, as indignantly as only a child may. "This is the only place where you can escape this mundane reality."
"Worth a try, worth a try."
My eyes became beady. "This isn't your seat. What happened to the old lady?" I asked. Who was this man? I tried to rise and yank my head back to see the line for the restrooms, to see if the old lady with red hair was there.
He laughed. "I am the old lady, pal," said the Ridiculous.
"No." Thoughts came into my head about evil kidnappers.
Whistling, he fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out a mess of orange strands. "Aged spinster red," he smiled. "Does the trick, most of the time." He stuffed it back in his coat. "Least when you don't want to be bothered by irritating little babies they bloody seated you with." He settled back and closed his eyes, napping.
"I'm not a baby," I said.
"Pffft."
"I'm not! You - you wanna see a real baby?"
"Sure," said the Ridiculous, eyes still closed.
I waited till a stewardess passed us, and then nodded very slightly, like a spy. "There. That guy there - wailing bloody murder just to get another little shot of ... whatever."
The Ridiculous opened his eyes and looked. "That guy?"
"Yeah," I said. "He's such a pathetic little baby, he won't shut up! I can't even read!"
"You think that guy is a fool?" said the Ridiculous.
"He is," I replied, angry.
He shook his head, and though he was already smiling, I could see an *additional* smile settle into his face. "No, little guy, no."
I didn't say anything, and just looked at him. This was one of my child tricks.
"You think that guy is a dumb little chimpanzee? Doesn't know what he's doing?" said the Ridiculous, daring my child stare.
"Well, what would you say?"
"I know him," said the Ridiculous.
"What? You do? Well ..." I said, uncertain, "so what is his problem?"
"He is operating on a principle."
"Pfft," I laughed. "Yeah, right."
"He," said the Ridiculous, turning and facing me for the first time, "knows his place."
"No he doesn't."
"He does. And he knows he'll need to be really, really wasted before he feels alright," he smiled at me.
"That's dumb - he's making too much noise," I told the Ridiculous.
"No. See - he knows that they won't give him more drinks, unless the condition goes overboard. It's airline policy."
"That can not be airline policy," I told him. "They wouldn't have a stupid policy like that."
"It is," said the Ridiculous. "That's why you have to be loud and obnoxious, to really get through to these guys."
"But - but why does he need to get so drunk?"
"Because he's terrified of the flight," said the Ridiculous, beaming.
I looked around myself, around the cabin. "Of this?"
"The fear of the flight, to him, is so much greater, that he will surpass the boundaries of the norm simply to escape it!"
I looked at the drunkard. He was getting quieter now. They were coming in and serving him the drinks, and I watched his head gulp them down. Slowly, slowly I watched ... his neck get looser, his head roll back. I turned to my window, and I saw the layered clouds.
When I woke up, the pilot was saying we were about to land. I looked up at the Ridiculous, but there was just an old woman sitting there, with crusty fake red hair, giggling into her old womens' magazine.
When I was a child, too young for many fears, yet old enough to identify the failing points of fear bearers:
I was on an airplane. I was shaking my head as a loud drunkard hassled stewardesses for more drink. There were supposed to be video games on this flight, but there weren't. So, I was stuck unable to read my comics in peace because an unshaven chimpanzee somehow got through security.
Idiots.
The Ridiculous sat down, next to me. "You don't want that window seat, kid," he said.
"I do. I like it," I replied, as indignantly as only a child may. "This is the only place where you can escape this mundane reality."
"Worth a try, worth a try."
My eyes became beady. "This isn't your seat. What happened to the old lady?" I asked. Who was this man? I tried to rise and yank my head back to see the line for the restrooms, to see if the old lady with red hair was there.
He laughed. "I am the old lady, pal," said the Ridiculous.
"No." Thoughts came into my head about evil kidnappers.
Whistling, he fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out a mess of orange strands. "Aged spinster red," he smiled. "Does the trick, most of the time." He stuffed it back in his coat. "Least when you don't want to be bothered by irritating little babies they bloody seated you with." He settled back and closed his eyes, napping.
"I'm not a baby," I said.
"Pffft."
"I'm not! You - you wanna see a real baby?"
"Sure," said the Ridiculous, eyes still closed.
I waited till a stewardess passed us, and then nodded very slightly, like a spy. "There. That guy there - wailing bloody murder just to get another little shot of ... whatever."
The Ridiculous opened his eyes and looked. "That guy?"
"Yeah," I said. "He's such a pathetic little baby, he won't shut up! I can't even read!"
"You think that guy is a fool?" said the Ridiculous.
"He is," I replied, angry.
He shook his head, and though he was already smiling, I could see an *additional* smile settle into his face. "No, little guy, no."
I didn't say anything, and just looked at him. This was one of my child tricks.
"You think that guy is a dumb little chimpanzee? Doesn't know what he's doing?" said the Ridiculous, daring my child stare.
"Well, what would you say?"
"I know him," said the Ridiculous.
"What? You do? Well ..." I said, uncertain, "so what is his problem?"
"He is operating on a principle."
"Pfft," I laughed. "Yeah, right."
"He," said the Ridiculous, turning and facing me for the first time, "knows his place."
"No he doesn't."
"He does. And he knows he'll need to be really, really wasted before he feels alright," he smiled at me.
"That's dumb - he's making too much noise," I told the Ridiculous.
"No. See - he knows that they won't give him more drinks, unless the condition goes overboard. It's airline policy."
"That can not be airline policy," I told him. "They wouldn't have a stupid policy like that."
"It is," said the Ridiculous. "That's why you have to be loud and obnoxious, to really get through to these guys."
"But - but why does he need to get so drunk?"
"Because he's terrified of the flight," said the Ridiculous, beaming.
I looked around myself, around the cabin. "Of this?"
"The fear of the flight, to him, is so much greater, that he will surpass the boundaries of the norm simply to escape it!"
I looked at the drunkard. He was getting quieter now. They were coming in and serving him the drinks, and I watched his head gulp them down. Slowly, slowly I watched ... his neck get looser, his head roll back. I turned to my window, and I saw the layered clouds.
When I woke up, the pilot was saying we were about to land. I looked up at the Ridiculous, but there was just an old woman sitting there, with crusty fake red hair, giggling into her old womens' magazine.
The Baby Steps Man
When I was young, I'd be sitting there,
under that tree at the whateverpalooza.
Mocking the idiots in the place.
I would laugh at people's tattoos
right after they got them.
Tell old people the corndogs'll kill 'em.
Now I find I'm much older.
Cannot just stand around at Whateverpalooza,
mocking away from my admittedly Ridiculous beard.
I have to move on to a new Plane.
Go 'Beyond'. I have to find a whole new set
of people to mock.
Contemporary (2009) yuppies is too broad.
Because everyone these days is basically a damn yuppy.
So I find the people who go 'niche'.
This progression, however,
is also not just about changing the subjects.
It is also about changing The Predicate. Me.
My modus operandi (doesn't it feel just so much better written out in whole?)
must evolve from the mere sideshow at that carnival,
where my true love once broke up with me,
and Soar to new Heights.
under that tree at the whateverpalooza.
Mocking the idiots in the place.
I would laugh at people's tattoos
right after they got them.
Tell old people the corndogs'll kill 'em.
Now I find I'm much older.
Cannot just stand around at Whateverpalooza,
mocking away from my admittedly Ridiculous beard.
I have to move on to a new Plane.
Go 'Beyond'. I have to find a whole new set
of people to mock.
Contemporary (2009) yuppies is too broad.
Because everyone these days is basically a damn yuppy.
So I find the people who go 'niche'.
This progression, however,
is also not just about changing the subjects.
It is also about changing The Predicate. Me.
My modus operandi (doesn't it feel just so much better written out in whole?)
must evolve from the mere sideshow at that carnival,
where my true love once broke up with me,
and Soar to new Heights.
Friday, May 8, 2009
GIT
She was rosy, and blushing as she did
an evocation of everything any man
holds dear.
"My words travel at too fast a pace,"
he confessed, adding how it was necessary
therefore, to control the flow.
This is Ridiculous, she laughed internally.
Even if your words go that fast,
they never actually kill anyone.
It is only if you use your *hand* that you will kill anyone."
"And we don't really want to kill anyone, do we?"
No, we have already found the best sushi in (midtown) Manhattan.
"Shall I put on the video about the Jeffersons?" she said, releasing one button on her blouse.
I receded into my personal cave. "Yes, please."
an evocation of everything any man
holds dear.
"My words travel at too fast a pace,"
he confessed, adding how it was necessary
therefore, to control the flow.
This is Ridiculous, she laughed internally.
Even if your words go that fast,
they never actually kill anyone.
It is only if you use your *hand* that you will kill anyone."
"And we don't really want to kill anyone, do we?"
No, we have already found the best sushi in (midtown) Manhattan.
"Shall I put on the video about the Jeffersons?" she said, releasing one button on her blouse.
I receded into my personal cave. "Yes, please."
Friday, January 16, 2009
cosmic surgery
--
the Ridiculous is everywhere.
"With only the chanting of my hands and a nary flick of the end of my nose,
I can transform that penis on your forehead
into a third eye ..." he declared, mysteriously,
seductively,
unto the employees of the 'common firm'.
Common firms are everywhere,
each of them branding themselves unique,
claiming they're part of some or other niche,
some 'newfound disruptive force'.
One of the employees,
who prided herself on her subversiveness,
exclaimed:
"But what if it's a vagina? What if it's not a dick, on the forehead?"
The Ridiculous considered for a nanosecond, then supplied:
"Then you shall be the mouth on the forehead.
Bitching eternally and ethereally like the cunt does.
Ha ha ha."
"Don't gloat you sexist pig," said a new challenger, "what about me?"
It was wearing a deep velvet coat of azure,
stance defiant in this torrid flaming wind.
"You gonna put both a dick and a cunt on this forehead here?"
The Ridiculous laughed. "Oh no, oh no. You see ... the ear, is a very complicated apparatus ... evolving, over time ..."
the Ridiculous is everywhere.
"With only the chanting of my hands and a nary flick of the end of my nose,
I can transform that penis on your forehead
into a third eye ..." he declared, mysteriously,
seductively,
unto the employees of the 'common firm'.
Common firms are everywhere,
each of them branding themselves unique,
claiming they're part of some or other niche,
some 'newfound disruptive force'.
One of the employees,
who prided herself on her subversiveness,
exclaimed:
"But what if it's a vagina? What if it's not a dick, on the forehead?"
The Ridiculous considered for a nanosecond, then supplied:
"Then you shall be the mouth on the forehead.
Bitching eternally and ethereally like the cunt does.
Ha ha ha."
"Don't gloat you sexist pig," said a new challenger, "what about me?"
It was wearing a deep velvet coat of azure,
stance defiant in this torrid flaming wind.
"You gonna put both a dick and a cunt on this forehead here?"
The Ridiculous laughed. "Oh no, oh no. You see ... the ear, is a very complicated apparatus ... evolving, over time ..."
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