REPORT A PROBLEM
I saw the light and the light said, "We're giving you another try at life."
"A second try?"
"Yes. We allow such to some. About one-eighth, approximately."
"So, who will I become, who chooses?"
"You may choose, but we have to approve of your choice. It cannot be wildly different from what you were a minute ago."
"Too many Kings otherwise."
"Precisely. Anyway, you have not yet completed your journey."
"Was I something before what I was yesterday?"
"Okay. Let's go."
Yesterday I was a pair of ragged claws.
Today I am a mole in the ground.
"Close the door."
"Tory Agent 599," said the Chief, "we're sending you undercover. We think you're ready for it."
"Wow. I mean, thank you, sir. I hope for success."
"We are sending you undercover to next week's NDP convention."
"My God, I won't get out alive!"
"Hush, 599. You'll be in diguise, complete with fifteen pro-labour, pro-Palestinian, anti-American and anti-development buttons."
"But they'll know me by how I behave!"
"We've found the key, which is: Show no reason. If they sense you reasoning, they'll know immediately you're not one of them."
"Show no reason.... I'll do my best."
What person's that person? I don't know that person. I know lots of persons but I don't know that person. You say I know that person, but I'm telling you I don't know that person. What person's that person? David? Phil? Jane? Helena? Maureen? Any of those know the person you mean? That person knows that person, but I don't know that person. What person's that person? I use to know other persons. I knew persons who have since died. Persons who died tragically, stupidly, unnecessarily. Persons dead, so stupidly it's almost funny. Youth seems invincible. What person's that person?
-Here she comes now.
-Yeah, here she comes.
-Look at her strut, look at how she's shaking people's hands.
-Look at her graciously accept the flowers, then pass them to that guy.
-What a stuck-up bitch.
-Yeah. Like she's something special.
-I'm as good as any Queen of England.
-Yeah, me too.
-Just a matter of conditioning and training.
-Yeah, just constructions. Hah! Did you see how she had to adjust her tiara?
-Heh-heh. Lady Vertue she's not.
-She's got kids, she's no virgin Queen.
-Probably a shitty lay too.
-You can keep your tiara on.
So where will I most likely wind up? Odds dictate I'll die drunk. I'm sure to go to Hell, but I think that the state you're in when you die makes a difference. My drunken soul will stagger up to St. Peter and say, Sso, where do I go? What circle? Are there meta-circles depending not just on your sins but on your state at death? Here I stand, or lie, dead, drunk. A car hit me. Will I be eternally drunk, will I never sober up? That would be a good punishment. Spend eternity confused, pissing myself, embarrassed, unlovable.
This is the earliest dream I remember. I was five.
I go into a cave. It's night, but there's light. I am afraid. I go down one passage. Something's ahead, so I slip into an nearby alcove. I watch as Frankenstein's monster slowly goes by. I know there's other monsters around. There's a foamy pool in the alcove. I hear a howl. I take off my clothes and cover my body with the foam. Magical foam.
A couple decades later I discovered I'd stolen the scenario from
Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein
My unconscious was thieving as early as that!
Don't blow up on us, baby
Don't make the bad seem good
I'd give you mansions, yes, I would,
Unstrap your belt explosive
Don't detonate today
Come here and pray
A Amaj7 D E C#m F#m D A Bm
Don't blow up on us, baby
I know you've been urged on
By reading parts of your Koran
Observe me through my veiling
I love you so alive
Don't blow up on us, I know, don't you me derive
Why don't you doubt your mom's imam
No need for you to give up living
Come here and please invade my Palestine
I know this guy who has the strangest way of falling asleep. He gets in bed, of course. Says he reads a bit of something or other. Turns out the light. Starts doing the sleep aid, if you know what I mean, and I think you do. (He's never told me what he thinks of.)
So anyway, just as he's about to come, he pulls out a strobe light and flashes it in his eyes. He's an epileptic, you see. So he gives himself a seizure intentionally. Says he sleeps like a baby, no after-effects. Strange world, takes all kinds.
Squiggledy Jigsaw Piece
It's an odd shape. There's a spike sticking from outside into it. What's the spike? It could be the look in her passionate eye, it's all of fire. But wait, if we turn it this way, then it's that glint of glass back there, from that stained glass window. Tough to decide. Let's put it back, it could be the glint of his eye, it could be the glint in his eye. Turn it upside down, and it might be the cat. Or it could be the glint of the icicle she's plunging deep into his heart.
STATEMENTS INIMICAL TO A VALID REPRODUCTIVE STRATEGY
I'll talk to her tomorrow. I'll see her then.
Look at those brats!
Some of us are just born this way, I dunno.
I'll tell you later, right now I just have to be alone.
(I'll just watch a little porn.)
You know, you're
just like your mother.
Does this smell funny to you?
Get off me!
Just one more round, c'mon.
You know, polygamy is exceedingly common in other species.
Let's invite the neighbours over.
Nonononononono, juss one more drink, juzz one more.
How's your sister?
I dreamed about Adrianna Eastbourne.
All our latterly nonbeing ecutive are downstanding inlaying gentlefolk, you are disble to atinguish or kyesw or be as distltdt.
We must not see frontdrop to be merely creative, but insecticreative. The incustomants of the tongueth, the huwoman reight, is great high plunging high on regressives.
We must clabour moving, contragresdancing, acting, or oapieceazirconiumg, come from a hmainstream the congressyouve proserpotive social riflehering edesignially for pleacautious or aangelwoment at all costs! Stephen Habebopiece is a badvertisement bad stay.
Yours in vapourvolume sexual or asexual anticesses by which organisms generate new indiviambushes of the same kousind oarwise known as procreation,
Why doesn't he answer the phone? He can't be out three nights in a row, that's not like him if I know him, do I? Please, honey, just one more argument even, that's all I want, just one more. Answer the phone! What have you done to me? You ingrate! I fed him an orange two weeks ago and this is it, this is it. This hurts so much, this hurts, how can it be like that? Please, baby, I just want to yell at you one more time, oh please pick up the phone, pick up the motherfucking phone!
Don't go away, baby, why you look so mad?
Hey, come back here, baby, why you make me sad?
I gotcha on the line
'Cause your east coast can is mine, oh yeah, your east coast can is mine.
I'm standing here waiting, soon you won't be mad.
I'll wait a year, soon you'll be the one that's sad.
It's my line
'Cause your east coast can is mine, oh yeah, your east coast can is mine.
When I say hit it, hit it, and when I say quit it, quit it.
Oh, I do sincerely wish I was a man, I wish I was as tall as a man, I wish I could talk like a man and walk like a man and be fed oranges like a man, I wish I felt the things men feel, I wish I could think like a man and enter a room like a man, and I wish I had a man's dreams and a man's desires and a man's genitals, I wish I could look at a woman like a man looks at a woman, I wish I was a man. Oh, wait.
"...we even went out for lunch a couple times. Then strangely he just stopped talking to me. Never asked why. So anyway, after a while, I became less nervous about myself, and I started making friends. There were some nice people around. Nice people.
"Now I realize that he also stopped talking to the people I made friends with. He started cutting them, too. I never saw that before now. One of the last times I noticed him.... No, can't seem to recall anything. He'd become kind of invisible.
"Then he quit, and pretty much disappeared. No, wait, he died."
Write what you know. What you no. Right your know. Know you're right. Like what you know and no and right. Write your wrongs. Know your wrongs. Right what you know. Don't know what I like, but I write what I. No.... I right what I know. That I know I no. You think you know? I know. Oh I know. No, I don't know. Know this: Write the right no, you know? No, you know, right? Like, you know, like, you know? I no what I write. I know I right. I write to right. And light. You know?
Coulda swore I seen a dollar store somewheres down the road
I gotta buy a nightlight light, a kettle, and a clock
I found a thing on a side-road, she said, "Buddy, you free?"
Caught the devil by the thoat, cunt stop the beats
They thought the fire would stop itself, well, they wuz wrong
Cuz the fire burns and burns forever, all for the price of a song
Said blood don't faze me, slut me, Cats me if u can
Seen it and done it and dined it
Caught that girl by the thoat, cunt stop the beats
A GAG FROM THE IRREPRESSIBLE COMIC STAGE ANTICS OF AKBAR AND FEZZIE
AKBAR: Say, Fezzie, I hear there's this hot new book out!
FEZZIE: Tell me about it!
AKBAR: It's called
The al-Rashid Code
FEZZIE: What's it all about?!
AKBAR: I understand the book says that the prophet Mohammad (PBUH) did not invade about eleven neighbouring tribes, he did not murder at least two dozen people, he did not think women made up the majority of the populace of Hell, he never believed that drinking camel urine is good for you, and he did not rape a nine-year-old!
It's a Boy!!!
He's the centre of the universe!!!
Look at his little one!!!
His first word!!!
He's going to be the best, I think!!
He runs so fast!!
He's good at it!!
It's still a good mark!
little man, so forget about them!
I give and give to you.
Do I love you?
I can't take any more of your greed.
I'll call you some time.
Well, that was years ago.
It's a boy!!!
There was somebody.
I can't remember how he looked.
I can't remember his name.
My heart, an anechoic chamber, with merely an inside, merely with walls shaped like Es, with concrete casing on the exterior (if exterior there is), holds, without getting hot, without getting warm, without even getting more than a degree above -273 celcius, all of my one-seventh degree of hope and love, everything else is in there too, and I'm in there too, the real me, the me that counts, and the bits people see are not me, the me they see isn't me, isn't looking good, isn't attractive because there's nothing there, because my heart is just an anechoic chamber.
(At dusk, JOHN SKAIFE is seen hurrying up Gladstone Avenue.)
JOHN (VO): Holy shit I have to pee, and home is so far away! Not even at Dundas yet! Jesus, why aren't there any restaurants on this stretch? So drunk! Oh God, there goes another spurt. (LOOKS DOWN.) I shouldn't just let go completely, should I? No. Everyone can see me, can see the piss all over my pants, I feel completely stripped! There goes another spurt! (HE PASSES OUT OF SIGHT.)
SUPER: John Skaife is not supported by the Ontario Arts Council.
PROOF THAT SEX WITH ME IS A KAFKAESQUE EXPERIENCE
A while ago, Mary went to visit her sister Helen in Mahone Bay, Nova Scotia. The night before Mary arrived, Helen had seen Steven Soderbergh's movie
, with Jeremy Irons and Theresa Russell. Helen said, "My God, what a movie! I've never seen such a, such a torture scene before! I couldn't believe what I was seeing! I mean, that
: it's certainly
a date movie!" She poured the steeped tea.
For some reason, Mary didn't tell Helen that
was the movie we'd seen on our very first date.
I hear the room. Recording, I see the frequencies, any exception. Hear you: the room. Activity is a sound, something to have embalmed, enshrouded, entombed. I ear he room. Recoding, I see he sequences, an ecceptio. Ear yo: he roo. Acti-ity is a soun, somethin' to ave embame, enshoude, entome. I ea e roo. Recoin', I ee e seences, a 'cept. Ar o: e oo. Atty i a sou, thin' o ve bame, shoue, tome. I e e oo. Eco, I e e see, a ept. A o: e oo. Ay i a ou, in o e am, she, tome.
PROOF THAT JOHN RALSTON SAUL IS AN ASSHOLE
Some time ago, when I worked at the bookstore, I was in the back room, peacefully pricing books. There was an ambient buzz and hum coming from the cash register and its environs. I noticed a loud voice, a voice that was unmistakably the voice of an asshole. What the asshole was going on about I don't recall. (Assholes, as a rule, talk without saying anything.) I had to see who the asshole was. I went out into the store. It was John Ralston Saul. I'd forgotten he was back in Toronto.
I don't like almonds because as a boy I was attacked by a marzipan goat.
My only dietary law is, "If it's fallen on the floor, I can choose not to eat it."
I'd like to read Anthony Trollope's books as quickly as he wrote them, but I know that's not possible.
I'm so cheap I ghost-wrote my own autobiography.
I'm like Marcel Marceau opposed by real wind.
After fish have sex, how do they decide who sleeps in the dry spot?
A woman is reading a book. One of its sub-chapter headings is, "Psychology of the Dog."
Hey, didja see this? In the Globe Saturday? "Straight men eager to polish their image." All about men painting their toenails, using eyeliner, foundation, bronzing. "Hard-core heterosexual." "Men who are straight." "I'm not gay."
I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay.
Yes you are!
-Hey man, look at the boots that girl is wearing!
-Boy, I'm weak at the knees!
-Never seen the likes of 'em before!
-What are they?
-More than that. They're saucy!
-Um, what are they? Nasty!
-You got it, dude. Those are nasty boots!
-More than that, they're dramatic, theatrical!
-Theatrical boots! Wait, let's get closer. They're arrogant!
-They're, they're imagistic!
-They're what boots want to be! The
-They say what? They're, what, are they sarcastic?
-Yes! The boots are sarcastic!
Oh that Roy Schultze! Such a gas! Check out his punky pic at http://www.thbthttt.com/roy/! Played poker with him tonight, man, is he killin'! Don't mess with him, that's all I can say. One cruel motherfucker, if he's so inclined.
We're both married to Marys.
Something neat to that.
But Roy: he's a
good poker player.
Told us a tale 'bout alligators, we busted our guts. He's funny too!
We went outside, he jumped over the house! Amazing!
An' then he juggled haggis! Those bitches be heavy! (Juggled only four, didn't break the world's record, sadly.)
Nonetheless, Hats off to Roy!
I just can't stop there.
I sing the praises of Roy,
No he hobbledehoy,
What a man, what a boy,
By bushels sells he joy.
Whew! My first ode!
But enough about me, shutup John, we're here to say more about Roy.
I seen him eat four full dinners. First he had spaghetti then he had a pizza then he had a burger with fries and ketchup then he had an Italian meatball sandwich with fries and mayonnaise. He only weighs 97 pounds!
So much to say, so little space! Is now the time to mention he has extra fingers?
Oh, not done yet. I've seen Roy fuck a hundred women in a row! On high-definition videotape! All of them he impregnated, so much honey has he to drip!
I was there at the births. They all looked like Roy! His sperm was so powerful it completely overwhelmed any female genetic contribution!
They grew to be strong and tall, Roy's hundred sons. One day, each one fucked a hundred women, resulting in 10,101 duplicate Roys. I kid you not!
In twenty years, I'm sure of it, there will be 1,010,101 Roys in the world. That's more than Halifax!
On TVOntario weekday nights, in the ten or fifteen minutes between the end of the nine o'clock British mystery show and ten o'clock, they show two- or three-minute films called SHORTS. Each one features some writer standing or sitting somewhere--in a cafÃƒÆ'Ã‚Â©, a field, or some such place--with a voice-over written by the writer. At the end, the screen is supered with, like, "Fitzbodily Wonderpluntz is supported by the Ontario Arts Council." These
are notable for their twee middlebrow preciousness. In any case, where have I seen this schema before? Jeff Koyen should sue!
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