First time, when I had a stroke, it was in the middle of an educational program. Children were teaching me how to use a 'VCR'. I had taken one of the tapes, and had peered at the film before it was developed. A brave child then walked up to me, and snatched the tape away. It (I don't remember what sex it was) had demanded that I was ruining 'everything'.
I responded in (what I think was) a cool fashion. "Well then give me a computer where I can not have to worry about such horrible things as ruining everything of yours."
"I'm going to call my mother," said the baby.
"Go ahead," I replied, rolling my eyes. The baby went off, and I watched it, running away in its comfortable new nappy.
Then the Mother came over. I began to have my second stroke. She was saying a lot of things, showing me how a lot of instructions are usually provided. "No matter what you do, you are going to die!" she had yelled. I had my third stroke.
Next time I found out where the fuck I was, I learned I was in the kitchen at The Deli. The Deli. Not just 'a deli' but The. Somebody walked to me and said: "Sorry you weren't hired at our computer graphics company in Iowa. Small as it may be. Now wash the bloody dishes."
I concentrated on the dishes, focusing on why they may be bloody. I didn't see any blood anywhere. Just the remnants of human mastication. I had my fourth stroke at this point, focusing on the dishes. Then some asshole came in wondering why the 'chain' was not moving faster.
When I woke up, I found myself in the arms of probably the best thing since the universe exploded. From that universe, only one thing had survived -- a time capsule. Some woman named 'Kate' had left it there, with her childhood 'friend', whose name it is not my job to remember. "Everybody is going to hate you, Kate," I told the woman. She just laughed in my face and said, "What about everybody?" Frightened, I opened the capsule (standing in space itself, sans a uniform), and I read through the contents. This is when I had my fifth stroke.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
In Venus
He went into Venus, all by himself. People were allowed to come, but they chose not to.
"Women are the most beautiful things," he informed Planet Venus.
She rejected him. "Where the fuck are you going now?"
He smiled back at her. "I'm going to outer space," he said.
"Can you say you are Major Tom?"
"No," he replied.
"Yes, you can!"
"No!"
"Yes!"
"Women are the most beautiful things," he informed Planet Venus.
She rejected him. "Where the fuck are you going now?"
He smiled back at her. "I'm going to outer space," he said.
"Can you say you are Major Tom?"
"No," he replied.
"Yes, you can!"
"No!"
"Yes!"
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
S.A.E.
"They're coming," he texted her, and then he looked around at the old room, with its distant furniture, the musty dead smell of his own cigarettes for the last nine years -- everything he had been doing by himself all this time. When he had taken it all in, he looked down again at his device, and her response had arrived.
"Who the fuck is coming?"
"All of them. All four limbs, torso -- the head."
He went and read carefully through every envelope left scattered around his floors, some for almost a decade. Every single one he had chosen not to fling away into the mornings' trash. Never those which, every single morning, he'd flung away like worthless paper. Usually those were letters from corporations or governments declaring the amount of money he owed them, unaware that the checks were already on their way. But every once in a while, they were also from some real people that he no longer cared to hear from.
When he was done reading all the ones he had cared to save, he went back to the couch and picked his device up. She had responded again. This time it made him smile, just a little.
"What about the penis, and the balls?"
"You never hear me begging for your vagina," he texted back.
Her response was instantaneous. "My vagina is part of my torso, you know that. You're trying to tease me, aren't you?"
"Well, then ... your boobs."
She called him up and started yelling. "Look, are you coming with those too, or not? Otherwise it is not a complete deal. I don't want you to offer yourself to them as a damn eunuch or something just to get yourself to me."
He bit into his tongue. "No, no. I'm sending the penis and the balls too."
There was a pause in the cricket-song midnight that is international telephone gateways carefully untapped. She took a deep breath, and said, "Well, how are you coming? What airline? Where do I pick you up?"
Now it was his turn to make her listen to the silence. "I'm not coming on a commercial flight," he said. "I'm mailing myself to you, in a small box. It will arrive on your doorstep."
"That is the stupidest idea I have ever heard!" she yelled. Through the receiver, he heard a vase, or something porcelain or other smash in the distance. "They will never let that box through. The dogs'll smell it."
"Cryopreservation. And lots of non-perfume deodorizers," he explained.
"Well don't you think the X-ray guys will notice there's damn limbs in the damn box?" she said. "How stupid can you be? This isn't going to work."
"It'll work. Lots of people receive authentic sex blow up dolls everyday in the mail, and they have realistic body parts. I'll make it look just like that."
There was another long silence, and then he heard a sob from her. "You've ordered sex dolls?" she asked, with concern.
Now it was her turn to hear something smashing to pieces on his side, before he responded, "Goddamit, no. But it's not hard to get the instructions online now, in an easily printable format."
"Okay, okay," she said. "Tell me, then. How -- how are you going to cut yourself? Into those ... pieces."
His voice became calm as a perfectly thrown stone, skipping across a salty still lake on the kind of foggy morning you decide to wear a hoodie when you go out jogging. "I don't have to cut myself," he told her. "I just have to imagine it, and it will happen. I'll imagine it, and imagine you, and fall to the right kinds of pieces, into the box."
"What?" she said, on the other side of the line.
"Really," he responded, voice so calm, there could be no question.
"Well, how will you get it mailed? I mean ... how will you mail ... yourself?"
"I'll do it at the doorstep -- I've already left instructions for the carrier."
She hung up on him. He went to his old kitchen, studying the memories of blood upon the elderly wood and steel, left by the corpses of fish, chickens, and various other things a normal human being may prepare for lunch and dinner. He never ate breakfast, even though both his mother and father had told him it was the perfect start to a shiny day. He smiled fondly at that one stove upon which he had made that meal for her -- the one after which she finally walked over and kissed him. Lamb. He had roasted some lamb on that stove, that night, for their dinner. She had really loved it.
His device buzzed, and there was a response from her. "Well, looks like you have everything worked out," she said, and the smell of her doubt was so thick, he could have sworn it was emanating from the speaker on the device. Of course, that is not how these devices work. "So tell me one last thing," she said.
"Yes?"
"Last time I played with a brick set was like -- well -- never. I didn't play that as a child. How the hell am I going to put you together when you finally do come here, in pieces?"
He smiled, and doubted whether this was the time for one of his stupid jokes. Then he figured, well, if it was not, then he would simply not be himself. "Well," he said, "you know how you insisted I bring my penis along?"
"Well, yes. I would want you as a whole man."
"Well ... all you would have to do is to blow on it. Then I'll inflate right back into my whole self."
His head sank beneath his shoulders as sounds of catlike shrieking carried across carefully untapped international lines, as did the crashing of various porcelain objects. My God, what had he done? This was going to take a lot of mending to be made right again.
"Who the fuck is coming?"
"All of them. All four limbs, torso -- the head."
He went and read carefully through every envelope left scattered around his floors, some for almost a decade. Every single one he had chosen not to fling away into the mornings' trash. Never those which, every single morning, he'd flung away like worthless paper. Usually those were letters from corporations or governments declaring the amount of money he owed them, unaware that the checks were already on their way. But every once in a while, they were also from some real people that he no longer cared to hear from.
When he was done reading all the ones he had cared to save, he went back to the couch and picked his device up. She had responded again. This time it made him smile, just a little.
"What about the penis, and the balls?"
"You never hear me begging for your vagina," he texted back.
Her response was instantaneous. "My vagina is part of my torso, you know that. You're trying to tease me, aren't you?"
"Well, then ... your boobs."
She called him up and started yelling. "Look, are you coming with those too, or not? Otherwise it is not a complete deal. I don't want you to offer yourself to them as a damn eunuch or something just to get yourself to me."
He bit into his tongue. "No, no. I'm sending the penis and the balls too."
There was a pause in the cricket-song midnight that is international telephone gateways carefully untapped. She took a deep breath, and said, "Well, how are you coming? What airline? Where do I pick you up?"
Now it was his turn to make her listen to the silence. "I'm not coming on a commercial flight," he said. "I'm mailing myself to you, in a small box. It will arrive on your doorstep."
"That is the stupidest idea I have ever heard!" she yelled. Through the receiver, he heard a vase, or something porcelain or other smash in the distance. "They will never let that box through. The dogs'll smell it."
"Cryopreservation. And lots of non-perfume deodorizers," he explained.
"Well don't you think the X-ray guys will notice there's damn limbs in the damn box?" she said. "How stupid can you be? This isn't going to work."
"It'll work. Lots of people receive authentic sex blow up dolls everyday in the mail, and they have realistic body parts. I'll make it look just like that."
There was another long silence, and then he heard a sob from her. "You've ordered sex dolls?" she asked, with concern.
Now it was her turn to hear something smashing to pieces on his side, before he responded, "Goddamit, no. But it's not hard to get the instructions online now, in an easily printable format."
"Okay, okay," she said. "Tell me, then. How -- how are you going to cut yourself? Into those ... pieces."
His voice became calm as a perfectly thrown stone, skipping across a salty still lake on the kind of foggy morning you decide to wear a hoodie when you go out jogging. "I don't have to cut myself," he told her. "I just have to imagine it, and it will happen. I'll imagine it, and imagine you, and fall to the right kinds of pieces, into the box."
"What?" she said, on the other side of the line.
"Really," he responded, voice so calm, there could be no question.
"Well, how will you get it mailed? I mean ... how will you mail ... yourself?"
"I'll do it at the doorstep -- I've already left instructions for the carrier."
She hung up on him. He went to his old kitchen, studying the memories of blood upon the elderly wood and steel, left by the corpses of fish, chickens, and various other things a normal human being may prepare for lunch and dinner. He never ate breakfast, even though both his mother and father had told him it was the perfect start to a shiny day. He smiled fondly at that one stove upon which he had made that meal for her -- the one after which she finally walked over and kissed him. Lamb. He had roasted some lamb on that stove, that night, for their dinner. She had really loved it.
His device buzzed, and there was a response from her. "Well, looks like you have everything worked out," she said, and the smell of her doubt was so thick, he could have sworn it was emanating from the speaker on the device. Of course, that is not how these devices work. "So tell me one last thing," she said.
"Yes?"
"Last time I played with a brick set was like -- well -- never. I didn't play that as a child. How the hell am I going to put you together when you finally do come here, in pieces?"
He smiled, and doubted whether this was the time for one of his stupid jokes. Then he figured, well, if it was not, then he would simply not be himself. "Well," he said, "you know how you insisted I bring my penis along?"
"Well, yes. I would want you as a whole man."
"Well ... all you would have to do is to blow on it. Then I'll inflate right back into my whole self."
His head sank beneath his shoulders as sounds of catlike shrieking carried across carefully untapped international lines, as did the crashing of various porcelain objects. My God, what had he done? This was going to take a lot of mending to be made right again.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
latest new thing
My latest favorite movie is "The Illusionist" by Neil Burger. It is the only reason that I have bought a Playstation 3. I mean, for getting it in Blu-Ray.
"Why do you need to watch this movie in 1080p glorious definition?" asked somebody who is too poor to purchase such a machine. "Can't you be happy with just a DVD? Why the hell do you need all of that for?"
I studied it carefully, then released my next remark: "To be honest, I had originally bought it to experience the WHOLE Blu-Ray experience. I was expecting tons of features, and maybe a commentary where Edward Norton exposes all of the things he is trying to act. All in one disc."
They began to start laughing. "So I take it this was delivered to you, then?" they said.
"Wait," I said.
"Don't raise a finger at us," they said.
I put up both hands, a normal peace sign. "Ok, wait. Look. What I am trying to say is that I have been broken by this film."
"Wh-"
"Look, wait. Observe, carefully. I need to send my message. The whole reason I started this thread anyway."
They looked at me with impatience.
"Ok," I said. "So, when I first put the disc into the system, I instantly fell asleep."
"You fell asleep?"
"Yes, yes," I nodded quickly. "Then the movie started."
They shook their head. "What do you mean? How can you just put a disc into the system, and then the movie just begins to start? Usually they put a lot of warnings, and disclaimers."
"Ok, there was one disclaimer, and then the movie started," I said.
Everybody began to frown. "I don't get it - how can it just start like that, without any introductory menus or anything?"
I then realized the huge error I had committed. I began to withdraw.
They started to advance upon me. "You didn't even watch the whole movie, did you?" they chanted as they came.
"Shuttup! Shuttup!"
They started laughing hysterically. "You ... you came here to us, to review a film, and you never even got past the selection menu? You came to us, reviewing the movie based on the damn introduction screen?"
"Why do you need to watch this movie in 1080p glorious definition?" asked somebody who is too poor to purchase such a machine. "Can't you be happy with just a DVD? Why the hell do you need all of that for?"
I studied it carefully, then released my next remark: "To be honest, I had originally bought it to experience the WHOLE Blu-Ray experience. I was expecting tons of features, and maybe a commentary where Edward Norton exposes all of the things he is trying to act. All in one disc."
They began to start laughing. "So I take it this was delivered to you, then?" they said.
"Wait," I said.
"Don't raise a finger at us," they said.
I put up both hands, a normal peace sign. "Ok, wait. Look. What I am trying to say is that I have been broken by this film."
"Wh-"
"Look, wait. Observe, carefully. I need to send my message. The whole reason I started this thread anyway."
They looked at me with impatience.
"Ok," I said. "So, when I first put the disc into the system, I instantly fell asleep."
"You fell asleep?"
"Yes, yes," I nodded quickly. "Then the movie started."
They shook their head. "What do you mean? How can you just put a disc into the system, and then the movie just begins to start? Usually they put a lot of warnings, and disclaimers."
"Ok, there was one disclaimer, and then the movie started," I said.
Everybody began to frown. "I don't get it - how can it just start like that, without any introductory menus or anything?"
I then realized the huge error I had committed. I began to withdraw.
They started to advance upon me. "You didn't even watch the whole movie, did you?" they chanted as they came.
"Shuttup! Shuttup!"
They started laughing hysterically. "You ... you came here to us, to review a film, and you never even got past the selection menu? You came to us, reviewing the movie based on the damn introduction screen?"
Best Possible Excuse for Not Going On the Job
Apple fanboys can stop becoming excited. This is not about your fearless leader.
"Well then what the hell is it about, then?" asked one of them.
"I was sitting down by myself, trying to come up with the best possible excuse to not go to jobs."
"Yes, you explained in the damn title. I'm waiting for an answer."
I nodded guiltily. "Oh. Ok. Well, one thing that I was thinking about is to just tell them that my brain is not working anymore."
He laughed in my face. "You can't just say that."
I stared back. "Why not? Why couldn't I say it?"
Like someone who has much greater knowledge, his response was very calculated. "You cannot just say that and remain employed," he explained, carefully.
I looked back at my excuse. "It is a reasonable statement," I tried. "If my brain is not working, how can I possibly work?"
He shook his head. "You don't understand," he responded. "You are no longer employed by Metacortex. You are no longer ITs employee." He took a deep breath. "You see ... once ... there was a relationship. Now there is no more relationship. Anyway, why am I explaining shit to you? I thought this was an interview where I am supposed to be the interviewer."
"Okay. Well then, I'm just going to quit," I told him.
"Look ... maybe we can come to some kind of ... arrangement," he said.
I smiled widely. "Oh, now you want to come to an .... arrangement, eh?"
"How stupid are you?"
"I am very stupid," I told him, immediately.
"Well then what the hell is it about, then?" asked one of them.
"I was sitting down by myself, trying to come up with the best possible excuse to not go to jobs."
"Yes, you explained in the damn title. I'm waiting for an answer."
I nodded guiltily. "Oh. Ok. Well, one thing that I was thinking about is to just tell them that my brain is not working anymore."
He laughed in my face. "You can't just say that."
I stared back. "Why not? Why couldn't I say it?"
Like someone who has much greater knowledge, his response was very calculated. "You cannot just say that and remain employed," he explained, carefully.
I looked back at my excuse. "It is a reasonable statement," I tried. "If my brain is not working, how can I possibly work?"
He shook his head. "You don't understand," he responded. "You are no longer employed by Metacortex. You are no longer ITs employee." He took a deep breath. "You see ... once ... there was a relationship. Now there is no more relationship. Anyway, why am I explaining shit to you? I thought this was an interview where I am supposed to be the interviewer."
"Okay. Well then, I'm just going to quit," I told him.
"Look ... maybe we can come to some kind of ... arrangement," he said.
I smiled widely. "Oh, now you want to come to an .... arrangement, eh?"
"How stupid are you?"
"I am very stupid," I told him, immediately.
Start
"Commence the intercourse," instructed the voice.
She stared at it. She stared at it so, so hard. Perhaps if she stared long enough, she might change the voice's nature. Maybe change the way that it spoke. What the hell was wrong with it, anyway? Why did it always have to be like this?
"What are you looking at?" it remarked, irritation inherent in its sonorousity. "Start fucking with me!"
She wanted to tell him that you cannot just 'start fucking'. What is wrong with a little kiss, at first? A little tiny bit of exchanging saliva? What is wrong with that?
He became fidgety. Whole body started shaking. "Make love to me, otherwise I will experience epilepsy!" he warned her.
"You have to take me out, first," she said, and at this he became surprised. It was as though a whole new concept -- that she had a voice, and could speak.
The machine started to break down. It became rudderless, due to losing some fins. It began to skid. It started skidding. Skip, skip, skid.
'Skidding.
She stared at it. She stared at it so, so hard. Perhaps if she stared long enough, she might change the voice's nature. Maybe change the way that it spoke. What the hell was wrong with it, anyway? Why did it always have to be like this?
"What are you looking at?" it remarked, irritation inherent in its sonorousity. "Start fucking with me!"
She wanted to tell him that you cannot just 'start fucking'. What is wrong with a little kiss, at first? A little tiny bit of exchanging saliva? What is wrong with that?
He became fidgety. Whole body started shaking. "Make love to me, otherwise I will experience epilepsy!" he warned her.
"You have to take me out, first," she said, and at this he became surprised. It was as though a whole new concept -- that she had a voice, and could speak.
The machine started to break down. It became rudderless, due to losing some fins. It began to skid. It started skidding. Skip, skip, skid.
'Skidding.
Monday, August 3, 2009
A 8 3
People had started complaining about how there were only Se7en sins. Like, it was not enough for them -- "Lust", "Gluttony", "Greed", "Sloth", "Wrath", "Envy", and "Pride". Pride, of course being famously touted as My last greatest one. It had seemed, now, that novelty was being desired.
That had not been the original intent, of course. Wasn't trying to do it so that the stupid humans would sit around and count numbers. They already invented calculators for that. What kind of species sits around, developing new technologies, and then doesn't even use them? An inefficient one, that is what. This guy, 'God', was supposed to create something brand new with humans, something never heard of before -- so can you imagine My horror at what happened to unfold? Imagine MY horror.
It is ridiculous to the point of being offensive.
They brought me to this .. point ... this point where I had to commit a new sin. Being a very studious person (an examiner), I only drew from my observations. I noticed how they were operating on a massive scale, and I also fully understood how they were operating in the miniature. When they were being tiny, they did not enjoy being called midgets. On a large scale, they would not enjoy jokes about their obesity. I would watch them, for hours, sitting in the palm of My hand. I don't know when I actually went crazy -- I don't have total recall -- but it was probably when I started taking all of them to bed, situating them comfortably against My sleepy head like that metaphor about the princess. My head was the princess, and the humans, they were the peas.
With great sadness, then, I inform you regarding My digression. I know why you came here in the first place. Out of Lust. First however, we have to make distinctions -- it is necessary in order to continue My plot: When they say 'Gluttony', they are not talking about some fat bloke at the chippy getting a deep-fried mars bar. You need to understand this, I tell you, you need to really, really understand this. It is only by understanding the pettiness of the human concept of Gluttony that you could even imagine the extent of My next sin. Understand that, unlike others who claim some kind of 'finality' with their 'lore' (as they like to sooth their egos), I am not doing this as some kind of 'cop out'. This won't be My last. As long as we have this understanding, I will continue. If we don't have the understanding, you can stop to read on.
My next sin, the eighth sin (for those using calculators) is on a very large, unspeakable scale, yet simultaneously also on the nanoscale. It is not nanobots, as you might imagine. And it is not some kind of 'socially adapting terror' vis a vis Facebook or Twitter. That is not the sort of thing you need to be afraid of, I assure you. Number Eight is what is incomprehensible. Don't get Me started on Sun Tzu's Art of War. Sure, that guy gave some good tips here and there. "Always stand on higher ground." (check). "To truly conquer them, you must make it appear to them that your house is their house." (check). But that is only page one in the metaphorical book. (Also, right about now is where you may discharge your tripe about 'too many metaphors').
The Eighth Sin will absolutely consume you. Vegans will cry about the chlorophyll they have so carelessly consumed. Random people will begin to receive women's heads in boxes. Ovaries will refuse to exit the girls and thick sperm will gush from boys' exploding balls.
That had not been the original intent, of course. Wasn't trying to do it so that the stupid humans would sit around and count numbers. They already invented calculators for that. What kind of species sits around, developing new technologies, and then doesn't even use them? An inefficient one, that is what. This guy, 'God', was supposed to create something brand new with humans, something never heard of before -- so can you imagine My horror at what happened to unfold? Imagine MY horror.
It is ridiculous to the point of being offensive.
They brought me to this .. point ... this point where I had to commit a new sin. Being a very studious person (an examiner), I only drew from my observations. I noticed how they were operating on a massive scale, and I also fully understood how they were operating in the miniature. When they were being tiny, they did not enjoy being called midgets. On a large scale, they would not enjoy jokes about their obesity. I would watch them, for hours, sitting in the palm of My hand. I don't know when I actually went crazy -- I don't have total recall -- but it was probably when I started taking all of them to bed, situating them comfortably against My sleepy head like that metaphor about the princess. My head was the princess, and the humans, they were the peas.
With great sadness, then, I inform you regarding My digression. I know why you came here in the first place. Out of Lust. First however, we have to make distinctions -- it is necessary in order to continue My plot: When they say 'Gluttony', they are not talking about some fat bloke at the chippy getting a deep-fried mars bar. You need to understand this, I tell you, you need to really, really understand this. It is only by understanding the pettiness of the human concept of Gluttony that you could even imagine the extent of My next sin. Understand that, unlike others who claim some kind of 'finality' with their 'lore' (as they like to sooth their egos), I am not doing this as some kind of 'cop out'. This won't be My last. As long as we have this understanding, I will continue. If we don't have the understanding, you can stop to read on.
My next sin, the eighth sin (for those using calculators) is on a very large, unspeakable scale, yet simultaneously also on the nanoscale. It is not nanobots, as you might imagine. And it is not some kind of 'socially adapting terror' vis a vis Facebook or Twitter. That is not the sort of thing you need to be afraid of, I assure you. Number Eight is what is incomprehensible. Don't get Me started on Sun Tzu's Art of War. Sure, that guy gave some good tips here and there. "Always stand on higher ground." (check). "To truly conquer them, you must make it appear to them that your house is their house." (check). But that is only page one in the metaphorical book. (Also, right about now is where you may discharge your tripe about 'too many metaphors').
The Eighth Sin will absolutely consume you. Vegans will cry about the chlorophyll they have so carelessly consumed. Random people will begin to receive women's heads in boxes. Ovaries will refuse to exit the girls and thick sperm will gush from boys' exploding balls.
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