Everything is dying, I've got to put masks on all the fish to prevent them from recognizing each other. For instance, dress up a flounder as a trout, a piranha as a ptarmigan, working wings and everything, each animal reassigned as you see fit. But don't leave it at that, take some initiative! Lions tailored up as caribou prey on moles in falcon attire fervently trying to burrow with wings made to cut air, not dirt. Pick them off like. They figure it out eventually by trial and error, don't eat the chinchillas anymore, they're piloted by dogfish, catch on fast. Everything a possible misnomer, your stapler is a museum without your knowledge, transposed after some pencil-pusher in Washington left a stray mark on your F8-21-7(a). Suddenly your 31 page econ paper is held together by three impeccably preserved crocodile mummies, talk about an embarrassing chat with the dean/Egyptian Embassy, but it was nothing compared to the time I proposed with a flawless 10 carat diamond I picked up on layaway that turned out to be the wrath of Achilles, Sing, O Muse, indeed, never had a chance with her after that, try slipping 25,000 lines of ancient war poetry over a broad's finger and you keep the candlelight romantic and not a metaphor of inchoate rage... women... but maybe I got off easy, I mean I discovered just the other day I'm actually the hairs of an old man's beard required for a scavenger hunt held by the Boy-scouts of America in 1957, try breaking that news to your wife over red wine and raw oysters on your 10th anniversary AND that you don't love her anymore AND that you're fucking the pool boy.
Check please.
9/20/10
9/18/10
An inspirational speech at the end of a pirated blockbuster, soft music burgeoning in the background behind the actor's words earnest and heartfelt, we were all very touched by it, turned away from the laptop with existential platitudes fogging our heads wistful in admiration of the human spirit, love, of everything that ought not to be and everything that ought to. That night we fingered our cum-stained cock rings with a new appreciation for the mysteries of life and looked up at the stars and wondered if anyone else was looking back at us.
I woke up the next morning with renewed vigor as I calmly prepared my speedball, and, tying off, resolved never again to take for granted my short life on this humble... must find an untapped vein, well the right then, long sleeves in summer doubt they'll catch on, here we go, depress plunger to liftoff, and I'm already five minutes late to my yoga class, out the door and down the street swiftly swiftly into the building, drop my things and unroll my mat, damn that Mrs. Peterson looking up at me condescendingly from downward dog, "Glad you could join us." yeah yeah, the things I must put up with for my spiritual and bodily well being.
I woke up the next morning with renewed vigor as I calmly prepared my speedball, and, tying off, resolved never again to take for granted my short life on this humble... must find an untapped vein, well the right then, long sleeves in summer doubt they'll catch on, here we go, depress plunger to liftoff, and I'm already five minutes late to my yoga class, out the door and down the street swiftly swiftly into the building, drop my things and unroll my mat, damn that Mrs. Peterson looking up at me condescendingly from downward dog, "Glad you could join us." yeah yeah, the things I must put up with for my spiritual and bodily well being.
9/9/10
How I Lost My Wallet
I'm pretending to speak Spanish to a Columbian national and I'm beginning to think he's catching on. Acting as if I have to go, I point to my watch, mime snorting a line of cocaine and rush off into the Amazonian jungle. My penis had just run the gauntlet of bare-chested native women, and I'm about to experience the cerebral effects of a cornucopia of unknown venereal diseases all kicking in simultaneously.
Overcome by dizziness, the horizon shimmers and I am assailed by hallucinations of exceptionally malignant character. A raven made of bloody knives precedes a tidal wave of vomit screeching the star-spangled banner with the same volume as twenty fighter jets breaking the sound barrier above Bikini Atoll on March 1st, 1954. The vomit envelops me and carries me up four stories only to set me down skewered through the crotch by a palm tree. As my gaze roughly skews skyward I glimpse a rainbow made of bile and puss, but suddenly the Goddess Athena manifests as an angry owl swooping two inches before my nose, enormous wings blocking out all else. Each feather is emblazoned with intricate mosaics of the mortals who crossed her and won a special hell among the tortured dead of Tartarus. In her golden eyes my form is mirrored and I see myself as she sees me, a quivering animal bereft of thought, squirming in terror before an incomprehensible being who has hated me for eternities, finally seizing upon this moment to dispense infinite agony into my dying soul. Rivulets of static cascade in the distance and a feathered serpent crashes out through reality itself tackling Athena with the force of a charging planet-sized rhinoceros and the two make vicious love in front of me ripping each other to pieces in the process. At this point I realize I have misplaced my wallet and I curse my luck as the two fornicating gods begin to make eyes at me mid-thrust as if propositioning a ménage à trois. As they bear down on me I hear the sound of my consciousness being shattered and reassembled into a configuration which permits endless insanity and pain.
I awake dangling ten feet high, straitjacketed to a parachute caught in the canopy. A native wearing a red loincloth yells at me from below, and seeing me awake, climbs the tree expertly and cuts me down. The thump from my fall sends hundreds of forest birds flying away skittishly. He jumps down from the tree himself and lands crouched beside me whispering, "Aliwah togoba sibelteen magruntun. Aliwah togoba." I look at him tiredly and frown, but say nothing. After 20 minutes of trying to elicit a response from me, he gives up and undoes my bindings, probably surmising that I am too weak to do him any harm. Then he leads me into the forest beckoning me onward with a clenched fist. In two or three hours we reach a single large hut smoking through a hole in its roof. We go inside and I am soon offered a bowl of water which I gratefully accept. They all stare at me doubtfully around the fire, with a cocktail of emotions, trepidation, curiosity, excitement and others that as a European I have no name for. I lean back against the wall of the hut and stare back at them. After a time I remember something and slowly shift my knapsack onto my chest and unzip it as they look on eagerly. I pull out a box of imported cigars I bought duty-free at the airport, remove one and offer it to the one who brought me here. He takes it in both hands, takes a deep whiff and then smiles widely. The package is passed round and we smoke them wordlessly into the night with great satisfaction.
Overcome by dizziness, the horizon shimmers and I am assailed by hallucinations of exceptionally malignant character. A raven made of bloody knives precedes a tidal wave of vomit screeching the star-spangled banner with the same volume as twenty fighter jets breaking the sound barrier above Bikini Atoll on March 1st, 1954. The vomit envelops me and carries me up four stories only to set me down skewered through the crotch by a palm tree. As my gaze roughly skews skyward I glimpse a rainbow made of bile and puss, but suddenly the Goddess Athena manifests as an angry owl swooping two inches before my nose, enormous wings blocking out all else. Each feather is emblazoned with intricate mosaics of the mortals who crossed her and won a special hell among the tortured dead of Tartarus. In her golden eyes my form is mirrored and I see myself as she sees me, a quivering animal bereft of thought, squirming in terror before an incomprehensible being who has hated me for eternities, finally seizing upon this moment to dispense infinite agony into my dying soul. Rivulets of static cascade in the distance and a feathered serpent crashes out through reality itself tackling Athena with the force of a charging planet-sized rhinoceros and the two make vicious love in front of me ripping each other to pieces in the process. At this point I realize I have misplaced my wallet and I curse my luck as the two fornicating gods begin to make eyes at me mid-thrust as if propositioning a ménage à trois. As they bear down on me I hear the sound of my consciousness being shattered and reassembled into a configuration which permits endless insanity and pain.
I awake dangling ten feet high, straitjacketed to a parachute caught in the canopy. A native wearing a red loincloth yells at me from below, and seeing me awake, climbs the tree expertly and cuts me down. The thump from my fall sends hundreds of forest birds flying away skittishly. He jumps down from the tree himself and lands crouched beside me whispering, "Aliwah togoba sibelteen magruntun. Aliwah togoba." I look at him tiredly and frown, but say nothing. After 20 minutes of trying to elicit a response from me, he gives up and undoes my bindings, probably surmising that I am too weak to do him any harm. Then he leads me into the forest beckoning me onward with a clenched fist. In two or three hours we reach a single large hut smoking through a hole in its roof. We go inside and I am soon offered a bowl of water which I gratefully accept. They all stare at me doubtfully around the fire, with a cocktail of emotions, trepidation, curiosity, excitement and others that as a European I have no name for. I lean back against the wall of the hut and stare back at them. After a time I remember something and slowly shift my knapsack onto my chest and unzip it as they look on eagerly. I pull out a box of imported cigars I bought duty-free at the airport, remove one and offer it to the one who brought me here. He takes it in both hands, takes a deep whiff and then smiles widely. The package is passed round and we smoke them wordlessly into the night with great satisfaction.
9/2/10
Exquisite Corpse cb dw
And so he covered his loins with tomato paste, the fragrance gently wafting to his nose, he dreamed now of spaghetti, whose presence in the tomato paste now mingling with his pubis would consummate his union with pasta and slake his desire upon the Cross of a Crayfish, or was it the Sphere of a Simian? Enough flora and fauna already! Shall we bring out the werewolves? The ketamine-scrambled thirty-something with dissociative identity disorder (no, not just from the ketamine, but it was certainly a contributing factor) didn't know WHAT he ought to hallucinate next, perhaps the iridescent facades of cathedrals folding in on themselves into the shape of an origami frog, only to hop into a microwave and bloodily explode jizz all over his furry slave's asshole. Thomas Jefferson thus conceived a fascist rainbow from his animalcule. What glistening aporias of the eyes could perceive such a sublime union between the beastly and the blaisee. Soggy children drenched in the sweat of their ancestors tied together with extension cords leering at passers-by with their seizures and clenching their teeth on more and more tablets of MDMA "I seriously can't believe Joey had the keys to the Sesame Street set. This rave is going to be fucking killer!" And it was killer indeed. Slashers, rippers, rapists, mutilators, torturers, armed robbers, patricidists, fratricidists. dazzling monkeys the color of a mustard stain on expensive pants, warbling dictators strapped on the backs of elephants plodding into a volcano, a 30-story high bugs bunny made of paper mache' chewing an enormous cigar in lieu of a carrot, which according to Time Magazine (July 26th, 2037) was a "dankshittedly snarbtagular alternative to the Mormon religion." Xenostrophone, as this phenomenon came to be conceived, proved to form the foundation of the political diagonal, whose newly formed political platform promoted with a campaign to comandeer the sewers and open them up to the surface, ruining the streets and reuniting the citizens with the scent of their collective offal. He won by a landslide.
9/1/10
exquisite corpse cb dw ha
As clocks chased the African princess through the streets of Babylon, I stared and laughed at the spectacle, having been a fan of regicide for the cause of time pieces for some time. "Pause for the cause," that's my motto. As for Elveen, she masticated his caresses with the obscene grace of a grown walrus tying the shoelaces of a toddler with ivory tusks which gleaned as if made of the souls of a thousand dead stars... Geriatric jerry, his friends gave him the endearing moniker, monitoring his levels of cholesterol and catheter urine napsack decided it was imperative he join the Knights of the Old Republic (KOTOR) forum, populating with oozing-with-zits, masturbating-to-tits twenty-three year olds who had found the role-playing game as appealing as Lewinsky found Clinton's dick, as elegantly as a pack of 10,000 dingoes gently pirouetting across a stage full of statues of 10-foot octopi. "Oh darling look! It's donatello's mary magdalene!" jerry slowly approached one of the statue, writhing and undulating in his rascal. With one left hand in his pocket, he grasped for change, but found only his cock, which might earn him money in a more conservative, morally upright area (where libertines abound) but alas, he lived in Portugal, where the welfare and legalized drugs trained citizens to behave as if pursued by flocks of deranged herons thirsting for bales of prophetic signs, nirvana, the escape from Samsara. Geriatric jerry, in his infinite wisdom, sought enlightenment through the act of gently placing his head in an oven. "A true martyr," the chimney sweep stated ever so earnestly in a matter-of-fact tone...
A Proper Bearing: An Introduction to Carrey's "Le Dernier Morceau de la Poire Rouge"
Famously described by the New York Times Serious Play Review for Serious People as "The Diary of Anne Frank meets Cirque du Soleil with trained bears, I mean literally these bears are the best fucking actors I have ever seen, fuck the goddamn Academy Awards." Alvin Carrey's "Le Dernier Morceau de la Poire Rouge" was inspired by an unfinished symphony of Nicolas Formé whose Op. 2 reportedly called for a complete complement of "bêtes féroces" (trans: ferocious beasts) rather than the traditional human instrumentalists.
Carrey's adaptation is a period piece taking place in 32nd Century Mars right after the planet was inadvertently terraformed into a pear-like shape due to a miscommunication by lowly bureaucrat and hopeless chocoholic Hoover G. Stallion (played expertly by unknown actor Bear #1), who is the closest the play has to a hero. Meanwhile Stallion's ex-wife Carla Foghorn-Stallion (The bear from Without a Paddle) is revived 78 years early from the cold-sleep she entered to escape extradition by Cheeto Corporation Zionists in an emergency procedure triggered by the unfortunate terraforming. With the planet she loved turned to a pear and the CCZ still in full strength, Foghorn-Stallion finds herself launched into the dangerous world of the "undersea airline" a secret network of Neo-Vegans who offer room and board to known enemies of the CCZ looking for freedom in the no man's land located at the newly forged pear tip of the planet.
Carrey said of the play after its premier, "It was the kind of thing which could have only been done with bears, see, the human actor is too self-aware, is enslaved by his very humanity, which is why only bears could play these roles and why they played them so spectacularly well. There is an early scene where Stallion eats thirty pounds of chocolate... it was one of the first I wrote... we tried it with a human... to great disappointment, and I had this tremendous struggle with myself about it, because I knew that we had to establish his chocoholism in a viscerally disgusting and provocative way or it just wouldn't be real, like here is this living, breathing being, who cannot wake up and go about his day without painfully shoveling thirty pounds of chocolate down his throat, I mean we've all been there, we know what it's like and we feel for him. It was then that I looked myself in the mirror and said "Godsfuckit Alvin, your going to stop pandering to the producers right now, you're going to kick these primates to the curb and get some honest to goodness goddamn bears and do it the way it was intended!" and so we got these bears and all I know is that I slept much sounder after rehearsals."
Associated Press writer William Kinch in Juneau contributed to this report.
Copyright © 2010 The Associated Press. All rights reserved.
Carrey's adaptation is a period piece taking place in 32nd Century Mars right after the planet was inadvertently terraformed into a pear-like shape due to a miscommunication by lowly bureaucrat and hopeless chocoholic Hoover G. Stallion (played expertly by unknown actor Bear #1), who is the closest the play has to a hero. Meanwhile Stallion's ex-wife Carla Foghorn-Stallion (The bear from Without a Paddle) is revived 78 years early from the cold-sleep she entered to escape extradition by Cheeto Corporation Zionists in an emergency procedure triggered by the unfortunate terraforming. With the planet she loved turned to a pear and the CCZ still in full strength, Foghorn-Stallion finds herself launched into the dangerous world of the "undersea airline" a secret network of Neo-Vegans who offer room and board to known enemies of the CCZ looking for freedom in the no man's land located at the newly forged pear tip of the planet.
Carrey said of the play after its premier, "It was the kind of thing which could have only been done with bears, see, the human actor is too self-aware, is enslaved by his very humanity, which is why only bears could play these roles and why they played them so spectacularly well. There is an early scene where Stallion eats thirty pounds of chocolate... it was one of the first I wrote... we tried it with a human... to great disappointment, and I had this tremendous struggle with myself about it, because I knew that we had to establish his chocoholism in a viscerally disgusting and provocative way or it just wouldn't be real, like here is this living, breathing being, who cannot wake up and go about his day without painfully shoveling thirty pounds of chocolate down his throat, I mean we've all been there, we know what it's like and we feel for him. It was then that I looked myself in the mirror and said "Godsfuckit Alvin, your going to stop pandering to the producers right now, you're going to kick these primates to the curb and get some honest to goodness goddamn bears and do it the way it was intended!" and so we got these bears and all I know is that I slept much sounder after rehearsals."
Associated Press writer William Kinch in Juneau contributed to this report.
Copyright © 2010 The Associated Press. All rights reserved.
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