Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Part Nain

Well, I'm a human fly, it's spelt F-L-Y. I say buzz, buzz, buzz, and it's just becuzz...I'm a human fly and I don't know why. I got ninety six tears in my ninety six eyes. I got a garbage brain, it's drivin' me insane and I don't like your ride, so push that pesticide and baby I won't care, cuz baby I don't scare cuz I'm a reborn maggot using germ warfare. Rockin'....zzzzz. I'm a human fly. It's spelt F-L-Y. I say buzz, buzz, buzz, and it's just becuzz...I'm a unzipped fly and I don't know why and I don't know, but I say buzz...ride tonight and I say buzz...rocket ride and I say buzz...I don't know why. I don't know, I just don't know why.
- The Cramps

Monday, July 10, 2006

Part Eyth

The little lions wake up early this morning.
They see a bull standing near the pool.
The bull’s call is starting to attract attention, but he has to be a formidable warrior to rally the full support of the herd.
These little hunter’s eyes take it all in as the hunt begins.

It is a dream, it is a nightmare. It is all things. It is the very display of clutching on to life.

It’s Flashbackmonday today, and I’m praying to the thunder god. I’m his avatar in this realm of existence, everywhere I go lightning strikes and rain washes away the wrinkles of long forgotten pain. This is but a sample of his divine powers, yet I wield it with such determined accuracy that many would dare to question my spiritual alliance.

Away with ‘Rebecca’, she has other duties in store for her. Away with all material things, they only slow you down. Away with the lion’s hunt, that’s not Grandfather Thunder’s concern. It crumbles all when I am near.

Only the weak glow of the moon can put me to sleep, an everlasting sleep where I join the bears in their methuselahian slumber. We will only open our eyes when girls stop crying over lost love, and boys freely talk about their feelings. Then we will laugh and cuddle (like bears do) and announce the coming of Mictlantecuthli, the playful skeleton. He will broadcast a special on the many uses of beans. ‘cause beans are great.

Have a spoonful of Astrakan caviar and look out the window. Do you see the black clouds? Can you hear the thunder roaring in the distance? I’m coming your way.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Part Sephenn

Today I am talking about a lab rat named Alfred. He lives in a cage with another lab rat named Josephine.

Alfred: Josephine?
Josephine: Yes Alfred?
Alfred: Do you often worry about black holes?
Josephine: Not often no, at least not daily. Why?
Alfred: Do you think it’s likely that our sun will transform in a red giant, subsequently into a white dwarf, fade out into a black dwarf, then become a neutron star, and thus ultimately becoming a black hole, and all this in our lifetime?
Josephine: I don’t want to sound like a doomsday prophet, but it could happen Alfred.
Alfred: I was afraid of that.

Alfred discretely makes a little poo, while Josephine respectfully looks the other way.

Josephine: Did you see last week’s issue of Vogue?
Alfred: I had the ear transplant, remember?
Josephine: How did that go?
Alfred: What?
Josephine: How-did-that-go?
Alfred: Can’t remember.
Josephine: Weren’t you in rehab?
Alfred: Rehab is for quitters. I zig when they zag.
Josephine: I still have these psychotic episodes, but running the wheel really helps me focus.
Alfred: Are you taking meds for that?
Josephine: Sure, I get drugged up every Thursday at nine.
Alfred: I get a shot every Monday, but it’s a real pain in the tail.
Josephine: I’m telling you, run the wheel Alfred. Run the wheel, uk.

Suddenly, Josephine gives birth to twenty baby rats. For no apparent reason.

Alfred: That was unexpected.
Josephine: I’d say! Anyway, I talked to Alice the other day and she says that ever since she’s sharing her cage with Rudolph she’s feeling really insecure about her personal hygiene rituals. I told her Rudolph probably swings the wrong way, so she shouldn’t worry about –wait- I think I’m sitting on one of the younguns, so she shouldn’t worry about, what was I saying again?
Alfred: Rudolph’s gay?
Josephine: He is?
Alfred: You said you told Alice Rudolph’s gay.
Josephine: My gawd, this is so David Lynch directs a Friends episode. Don’t you think Alfred?
Alfred: What?
Josephine: Oh, never mind.

Fade out. So now we leave Alfred and Josephine because my shift ended, and I still have to go to the gym, do my laundry and yell at my cat. Goodnight. If you see a bedbug, tell him to return my calls. The prick never called me back.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Part Siks

I started working for my summer job. It’s hell. It’s Dante’s Inferno come true. It’s life without sunshine and eternal damnation in a freshly air-cooled office space. Time does not exist in this place, every second is expanded and separated into neat little groups of sub-seconds, you have to file these sub-seconds in alphabetical order, then forget where you put the file, file them again, wait for approval of filing, and pray you can advance to the next second. In most cases, you’ll have to do your sub-seconds all over again.

I have been working two days, and I feel like I’ve aged twenty years. Imagine me sitting in my veal-fattening pen staring at a computer screen with tiny tiny little numbers on them so I have to squint the entire time, and drinking coffee non-stop just to keep myself from falling in a permanent comatose condition. Occasionally, there’s a mindless and brief conversation with a plastic.

Good morning.’
‘Sleep well?’
‘Are you kidding me?’
‘You should try herbal tea.’

And that’s it. I so often feel like stabbing a pencil in my eye that I actually see myself doing just that. Early this morning, I posted an anonymous message on the company’s forum. ‘You have a choice. Live or die. Every breath is a choice. Every minute is a choice. To be or not to be.’ So far, I’ve had no reactions. I saw my neighbouring cow look suspiciously at her screen though. Who am I kidding, she always looks suspiciously at her screen. She must be suffering from chryptotechnophobia. I read about it. It’s the upcoming trendy neurotic syndrome. Must have!

Actually, I’m getting pretty good at conversational slumming. At lunchtime I had a satisfying encounter with barbie nr. 7.

‘See Lyn today?’
‘Yeah, she looks perky this early in the morning.’
‘She even smiled.’
‘She must be on coke.’
‘Yes please.’

Twenty-six days to go.

Before I cast this into the blogosphere, I’ll tell you what I have seen written on the bathroom wall in the office: ‘I’m dead. Really dead. I’ve been literally dead for six days and nobody noticed.’ Scary stuff, isn’t it?

Monday, July 03, 2006

Part Faif

Perhaps you are a naturally slothful person, sluggish and indolent, a dawdling flaneur, content to waste his life spread eagled on pillows forever indulging himself in the pleasures of the palm. Maybe if you spent a little less time cavorting with Madam Palm and her five daughters, you'd be a little more alert. You know what I mean, just as Mr. Denton, I’m talking about onanism.

You know, dating Palmela Handerson, attacking the one-eyed purple warrior, bashing the bishop, bopping the bologna, burping the worm, cleaning the cheese off the George Foreman grill, consulting Professor Hans Jerkov, doing the jedi hand trick, driving the skin bus, firing off knuckle children, going to Bell-gium, keeping your sausage hostage, killing Tony Danza, let poor Willy know he’s still wanted, marshalling the man meat, playing the hairy banjo, shaking white coconuts from the veiny love tree, slapping the purple-headed yoghurt pistol, spanking the monkey, squeezing the eclair, stroking Gandalf’s beard, taking captain Picard up to warp speed, taming the beef weasel, waxing the dolphin, choking the smurf.....masturbating.

Do you even know what you’re doing? The very word ‘masturbation’ is derived from the Greek word mezea meaning penises and the Latin turbare, meaning ‘to disturb’. The little-used synonym for masturbation, manustupration, is derived from manus stuprare, which means ‘to defile with the hand.’ Come on, have a pull at it. I know you want to.

Done already? Welly welly well well.