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I went home today and I was greeted by a truly gruesome scene. My son Mike had had a fight with his girlfriend that morning, and he had stabbed her to death. But that wasn't the worst of it. He had put her naked body in the bathtub and he'd started to saw her to pieces, then it seems he'd gotten distracted and he'd taken her head and hollowed it out, brains all over the bathroom, and he'd turned it into a kind of a candle holder. I could come to but one conclusion: The system had failed my son.
Epistle to Dr Bubblebutt
In hidden spaces let the muses hide
Their gems and lockets even opened wide;
Discerning eyes will spy the gold within
And everlasting life therewith will win;
So see so clear I there to here your wares
And you from here to there my sometime airs;
A single pair is better far than more,
Regardless of the labour and the chore;
The fire within that burns with heat and light
Will pull the dark and cold out of the night;
So fill the bottles with whate'er thou wilt,
And let the critics ponder it once built.
I couldn't sleep last night, so I tried a trick. I imagined myself in a pleasant place, and the place I chose was Bala.
I imagined the rocks, the porch, the moss. I imagined going out in the canoe.
I imagined canoeing with Mary to the bridge for lunch. I remembered going onto the middle of the bridge for Mary to take a picture from down below.
I remembered getting off the bridge and remembered the long freight train that zoomed past a minute after I was off. I imagined still being on the bridge, trapped, or killed.
Farewell to the crummy air circulation
Goodbye to my formica work station
Adieu to the terminal with my login appearing
Bonsoir to the arguments with phone companies from others I'm always hearing
Arrivaderci this television screen
Later (gator!) all the documents I've entered and I've seen
Goodspeed to the building's floors I've never been
Hasta la vista you the steely coffee in my company cup
Ciao you there the boy I see whenever I stand up
Shalom and I promise not to say where the bodies are buried
Bye, bye, bye, I'm off to St. Catharines to be blissfully married
I've got a little painful spot on my body, never mind where. (Here's a hint: It hurts most when I stand up.) So I'm spending a lot of time wondering if it'll ever go away. Could this be the big one? the final illness? I wonder and wonder and the days go by, sitting down,
Maybe I'll wind up having some parts falling off or getting amputated. Or dying. (We know that's going to happen, but will this be the cause?) I've read
The Death of Ivan Ilyich.
Is this the end of me?
To escape from these university offices was my only choice.
Fleeing the robots and bounce-mines, I exited the elevator. A door was ajar to my left. I shimmied sideways to see what was what. I saw a shadow of movement. I burst in, firing my shotgun.
The middle-aged woman dropped to the ground. She shouted, "I'm a bystander!" I pulled out my knife, sawed off her hands.
As I looked for ammo she cried, "Please, take my thesis. It's on the desk. See that the Dean gets it!"
It was entitled, "Freedom and Necessity: The Systemic Violence of Academic Architecture."
It's pissing me off, I can't avoid writing about it.
This guy--my nemesis--calls up, I give the call to (as X wants) Jeff....
Jeff tells me D-- wants pix 'evoking 18th century music' ... an I have to fund that....\\
Shit, that;s back, that's vivslde, eaasty;
Then I talk to the enditor semms he wants ninenteen trh centiruty mousci!
Gof who the fuck wqe hirinn git ehre ? dont know thre diffejence betwewn tht eh righthinneon and the nine tehnne cnetirucises? AN this little shit hamanene odeme ir so ding fing criunmmt I something dint don theyato the!
There is a town called Oshawa, and in this town--Oshawa--there is a high school, and in this high school in Oshawa there is an auditorium with 748 seats, and above this high school auditorium there is a catwalk from which one can adjust the lighting, and at the back of this catwalk there's a metal heating duct you can crawl through and you'll wind up in a boiler room, and from that room you can get into the home-ec room. And you can steal all the stale marshmallows you want. I've been stealing them for 25 years now.
The King died and then the Queen died of grief.
Died the King, and then died the Queen, of grief.
The King died; and then of grief died the Queen.
Died the Queen and then the King died of grief.
Of grief died the King, and then the Queen died.
Died the Queen, and then died of grief the King.
Died the Queen, of grief; and then the King died.
Of grief, the Queen died then--and died the King.
The King then died, and of grief died the Queen.
Then King died, and then the Queen died of grief.
I hear there's another planet on the far side of the sun. It's called Htrae. (There was a movie about it once, but it was mostly a made-up story.) So, it's about 186,000,000 miles away from us, give or take, and on this planet there are people mostly like us down here. They've the same seasons, the same size moon, etcetera. Not much difference between us and them at all, except for one thing. People there tell the truth as often as we lie--that is, about 90 per cent of the time. However, they're no happier than we are.
Do you hear there's gonna be an Afrocentric school in Toronto? With luck they'll be accepting bribes as early as June.
So I hear NASA's beamed 'Across the Universe' into deep space. Do they really expect the aliens to understand the DRM EULA?
"Seems the hit political bit is a video called, 'Yes We Can,' by a fella called Will-I-Am. Seems just as the Reps had their Dr. Rove, the Dems now have Dr. Seuss."
PLOT SYNOPSIS: Death of a Salesman: A man and his family defraud an insurance company.
"You expect me to give you a ten-word
Morning, not light, Mary's up....
Must be almost 7:30....
What? 6:13, :15, :18??
Turn on light....
"Is it really 6:18?"
Turn off light....
There's time, flowing, flowing past....
Must be, must be 7:20, by now....
Must be almost....
How much has passed now?....
Don't look at the....
Heart's beating heavy, shift....
Am I asleep....
And there! Finally! The music of my alarm clock! 7:30!
This morning's selection:
"I Love How You Love Me," by the Paris Sisters.
A lot of people say to me, they say, John.... why aren't you selling your goods on the open market? Why are you selling them subversively for free? Why do you charge nothing at all for your genius?
And I say, Have you ever heard that bad money forces out good? That's to say, on the market I would have to counterfeit the coin in order to profit. I would have to obey the rules of the market. I would be forced to write vulgar, stupid material. I would need to paradoxically cheapen myself to obey the marketplace.
"He's coming up here, all the way from Texas. I met him online. He writes poems, and he sent me some, he even wrote one to me, maybe I can show it to you later. We're really into this talking to each other, I can't wait to meet him! Last time we were chatting, he was talking about his father, and how he never got much guidance from him (He's so sweet!) and I talked about my father, how I didn't know him til he died. And then we both jerked off, and we signed off."
I said, "You
"She's very nice, you get it. It's affordable. You go over to her place, see, and she gives you a massage. And so I was talking to her, and she was really pleasant about hearing about this
I'm going through. It was really special, you know? I'm going back.... Anyway, she told me something I could use, she said, 'You've got a lot of tension right about here, means there's some issues about sexuality. Maybe you should just leave well enough alone, you know?'
me. Then she jerked me off, and I went home."
I said, "She
CHAPTER SEVEN HUNDRED AND TWENTY ONE, IN WHICH ANDREW SULLIVAN DISPLAYS, AGAINST ALL FORMER PRINCIPLES OF REASON OR SIMPLY MEANING, OF LANGUAGE OR OTHERWISE, THAT HE IS OBSESSED WITH LOGS, THAT HE DOESN'T KNOW THE MEANING OF A PARTICULAR WORD, IN
AMAZINGLY, LIKE THE PEOPLE WHO THINK QUANTUM MEANS SOMETHING BIG, LOGS, ANDREW! LOGS, ANDREW! LOGS! LOGS! LOGS!
"A young Pakistani Muslim is watching television and sees that this man - Barack Hussein Obama - is the new face of America. In one simple image, America's soft power has been ratcheted up not a notch, but a logarithm."
"Jeff used to be such a madman, those were the days, eh? He used to do these crazy art things in malls and shit, you know. Now he's making downpayments on a condo, now he's staying
at nights. I remember him getting arrested for 'vandalism.' It's not like he was hurting anyone! Why can't the cops leave us rads alone? So anyway, he's all domesticated and shit. I even heard he's got a big tv. Sigh! I remember, one time, he violently raped me. I was, like, bleeding and everything. Now he's, like, someone's dad. What happens to people?"
A DREAM OF PROMETHEUS
This is a true story.
I was in a room on the 99th floor of some skyscraper with my sister. I was sitting, she was standing. Magically-suddenly there appeared, to the right of me, right in front of the window, a naked man, still and white and poised as a statue. We didn't know if he was alive or not. Then he suddenly changed into a white small man, then a white small dog, all looking like statues, then a bigger dog, a woman, another man, change change change, and I woke up in horror.
Silvia and me, we're into a weekend gambling routine. We find something to bet about, and we bet about it. (For example, this weekend it's the Academy Awards. Will the Austrians or the Poles get Foreign?) But we've taken it up a notch: we have to both be able to lose, and if we both lose, we put some money in a cup. Next week, if we both lose again, we put
the money in, and so on. The cool thing is, if we go twenty weeks both losing, the money in the cup'll be
over eight billion dollars!
Gotta work fast, gotta go, ninety-five to go, I have to be somewhere, they're expecting me, eighty-six, need my shoes need my hat need my coat, seventy-four, can't let it all start without me, don't want to miss a moment, sixty even, all the swinging cats will be there and that band, man, that swingin' band, forty-four, forty-three, if I find Kitty with someone, man (thirty-four), I'm gonna blow my top, hear me Ace? twenty-six, shoes hat coat, cash, need cash, nineteen, pay the man, gotta pay the man, eleven, shut out the lights, six, shoes hat coat, two, one.
She goes up to the Y concierge and says, "I have to complain."
The concierge says, "Tell me your complaint."
"There's no lookers out on the floor."
"You mean attractive people?"
"No, I mean, where are your people, the ones who look at me? I need them, I need them that look at me. Where are the people looking at me?"
"The folks you hire to look at me."
"Oh please. You know, the 'extras.'"
"Madam, I think you've got the wrong universe."
"Oh, have I indeed?"
"Yes. Just let me shift your co-ordinates a little."
Burn baby burn!
Burn baby burn!
Burn baby burn!
Burn baby burn!
The Queen fire, yes! Two or three stories high
Hipsters cryin' "Oh!" watchin' it all go
Such a burn, rubber and electrons do explode!
A cool man I heard say
Burn baby burn! Bikeshop inferno!
Burn baby burn! Burn that Suspect down!
Burn baby burn! Bikeshop inferno!
Burn baby burn! Burn that Suspect down!
Disillusion! come from that confusion!
"Private property's always been our enemy,
"And now my stuff is gone! Alas! The irony!"
And all the slackers never sigh "Whatever" again!
Burn baby burn!
"Are you aware that the earth goes around the sun at ninety-three million miles an hour?"
"They said so on TV."
"But, it's impossible. If it was true, then a year would last a little more than three hours, max.
hours, to be exact."
"Maybe they do."
"Look, a year lasts ... a year. Three hundred and sixty five days."
"Maybe those are really short days."
"Okay, now you're involving spin."
"Please believe me."
"I'll pay you to believe me."
"I'll pay you."
"How about ten?"
Three cheers for February. It's the short month. That makes it special. It could easily be thirty days long just by shaving a day off of, say, July and October. Then the leap day could occur in February, April, June, July, September, October, or November. We could even rotate through them creatively. Three cheers for February. It's as close to the middle of winter as possible. Why are the three months after the solstice so much colder than the three months before? Anyone know? Seems to be they should be the same. Maybe there's saved heat. Three cheers for February.
THANK YOU VERY MUCH TYLENOL KILLER AND I MEAN THAT MOST SARCASTICALLY
1. Remove plastic packaging before dislodging protective shell.
2. Remove protective shell by pressing down and turning counter-clockwise until a click is heard.
3. Break all eight radial plastic connectors between inner and outer cicles.
4. Unpack cotton and save in case product is defective and must be returned (within fourteen days of purchase).
5. Almost there. Grab a coffee.
6. Untie and remove ribbons in this order: blue, yellow, green.
7. CAREFULLY unwrap the wrapping paper.
8. Open the box from the larger end.
9. Happy birthday.
THE MAN WHO LAUGHED AT EVERYTHING HE SAID
There was once a man who laughed at everything he said
Wow, I didn't mean that, ha-ha-ha
So you don't love me after all, hoo-waa
I meant to do something different, ha-ho-ha
I was drunk, sorry I hit you, huh
I'm such a disappointment, ha-woo-hah
Is this it, I ask? huh-huh
My legs are hurting, huh-huh-ha
You think I like it? Haha-ha-whoa-whee
Where'd I put the, what was I looking for, hwa-huh-huh
I guess this is it, all, ha-ha-ha
Death's no biggie, AAH!! huh-whee-huh
It's ripping me apart, ha, well
I called her up on Monday. I simply had to tell her about what happened on Sunday.
On Tuesday I called her. Was she merely tolerating me? No.
Wednesday afternoon I called just to see how she was. "Fine, fine."
Thursday morning I made a call to her. She'd gone off to work by then, I think.
Friday night I got drunk and I called her and I told her answering machine everything.
On Saturday I called her, to update her. She said, "Please stop calling!" and I said, "Darling, I've stopped calling you all week!"
On Sunday I rested.
Conservative MP Dave Batters recently urged the new president of Telefilm Canada, Michel Roy, to block federal funding for objectionable films, listing
Young People Making A Movie About Fucking, Raping Their Mothers With Serrated Blades, Pulling The Intestines Out Of Kittens, Lynching Niggers And Kikes, Collecting Welfare, Taking Drugs Until They Die, Polluting The Water Supply With Ricin, Burning Shit Down Indiscriminately, Blowing Off Heads, Screaming Sieg Heil Seig Heil, Inventing Stupid Nonsense Languages And Saying Cocksucker As Often As Possible
as a recent example.
's maker, Michael Gero, responded by saying, "I bet they haven't even
In the end, Jack Morton returns to Bala Park Island after some sort of event in Barrie. He or someone else brings back some books, one of which is
. He reads this book, and falls into a profound melancholy silence. Not even Marin can bring him out of it. He deteriorates on his deathbed. Then he reveals that he sees that his entire life was merely a shadow of a greater work he was unconsciously imitating. Life disappoints him, and he cannot continue. He dies.
I was going to spend twenty years getting to this scene!
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