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Evil - for dummies

What you do is you start a bank, then by sleight of hand you convince everyone that while you only have 10 units of coin in your coffers y...

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Gallant Spirit – the beginning

You will be helpless for many years before you can even articulate that you are helpless. You will merely cry for what it is you want or rather, what it is your meatbody craves, needs or desires. Your awareness will be entirely intertwined with the bio-mechanisms of your meatbody. In fact, you will scarcely be able to contain its regulatory processes: excrement will flow unhindered from your rear, and vomit from your front whenever it suits the necessities of your meatbody. You must live encapsulated in this manner for several years before your freewill – if it can be called so – will have a chance to manifest itself. 

Meanwhile, you will depend on the ministrations – or mercy, as the case may be – of senior meatbodies. If you are lucky, these meatbodies will be She who birthed you  and He who assisted in  your conception. He and She are counterpart meatbodies. They developed from helpless miniature meatbodies such as yours and over the years evolved higher levels of motor, intellectual and communication skills, allowing them to interact with other Hes and Shes in a way that will elude you for some time yet. 

The He-to-She, He-to-He and She-to-She interactions constitutes the pallet of life upon which you will be engaged. HS, HH and SS interactions are differentiated in many respects, but emotion and custom play a central role. Driven primarily by the underlying impulse to generate meatbody progeny, the HS interaction can be complex and at times tumultuous, in general much more so than HH and SS interactions which are not subject to the regenerative impulse – correction: HH and SS interaction can be injected with regenerative impulse, but biological constraints limit such interaction to mere impulse, yielding no progeny, but this is a subject for another time.

The HS interaction, if it coalesces around the regenerative impulse, is not merely functional but depends upon a long term cooperation that can extends up to several decades, wherein one or several miniature meatbodies (a “baby”, so called) is helped to evolve into a senior meatbody who in turn will engage HS relationships to secure progeny of its own. Such is the cycle of life. And such is the cycle of consciousness on this place you have selected for your journey. Earth.

I sketch it simplistically here as not to confuse you with details early on, for this is merely –  as is said in meatbody vernacular – “the tip of the iceberg”.  An iceberg is a large hydro-coagulant whose large buoyant volume is concealed from sight below the surface; only its relatively small tip is apparent to the meatbody eye for consideration. It is a good metaphor for the existence of a meatbody, for a meatbody can experience only the tip of a cognitive iceberg and the rest will never be known to him. E.g. the meatbody field of vision registers only 430 to 770 THz on an electromagnetic spectrum that extends, for practical purposes, ad infinitum. 

However, despite its limitations, you will consider that your experience is perfect and panoramic. You will imagine that there is nothing else in the world to see, touch, smell and feel but that which is within your reach and line of sight. Such is the arrogance of the meatbody. Such are the certainties that enslave him. 

And do not expect wisdom to come with age; on the contrary, these notions are only reinforced as your faculties begin to dwindle over time. The reasoning will be that cognitive fidelity can only deteriorate if its initial state was perfection. I imaging you are probably already starting to think this way, constrained and inarticulate as you are in your miniature meatbody. But just wait until you are eighteen, throbbing with bio-stimulants testosterone and adrenaline your whole life before you and every cell in your meatbody pulsing with the thrill of regeneration.

Sunday, September 4, 2016

divide and conquer 101

You yourself must never appear anywhere on the stage. You must stay as far away from it as you can. You must only place upon it actors that know the rules of the game. Do not admit any conciliatory voices. One side must always be framed as the victim; the other side as the oppressor. This only works if you install such duality that can never be resolved. Insist on this duality. Never permit the victim-hood of one side and oppressor status of the other to be challenged. It is integral to this method that a black and white duality be installed. Admit no gray area. And do not, under any circumstances, permit the victim side to come to the table admitting some responsibility for its plight. This leads to resolution. This is not what we are looking for. There must be a duality; no responsibility must be taken, ever! Instead, charges must be laid against the oppressor and restitution demanded. And its enforcement must come from the oppressor. That is key. The oppressor must enforce his own curtailment. Once self-enforcement is enacted into law, the duality is consummate and you will have state-sanctioned victim-hood which will ensure (through programs and government schemes) that this status will persist for many generations. This is social lockdown. This is what what we are aiming for.

You can only do the above if you control the debate. To do that you must control the actors on the stage. Make sure these actors are well paid and promised careers. If you have smut on them, all the better. In any case, never permit them to stray from the victim-oppressor duality. When this duality is firmly installed in the mind of the masses you will see that it will engender a culture, and where you have a culture you have a way of life, and way of life - especially if it permits the avoidance of responsibility -  will spread like no kind of propaganda you have ever seen.

Monday, March 28, 2016

the jester

“Enough,” said the king.
But still the jester mocked him.

“If thou dost not desist, jester, a dishevelled forelock is all of thee that shall remain.”

And still the jester mocked the king. 

So the king turned the glare of media upon this jester, and with every epithet his squeamish subjects could stomach, BLASTED HIM.

Saturday, March 5, 2016


Trompe, thou speakest on matters thou knowest naught of.

You’re going to tell me what I know and what I don’t know? It doesn’t take special insight or a personal history of deprivation to see that this country is going down the tubes. The government is an elite-run special interest club. Everybody knows it. I don’t take money from these people. And everybody knows that too.  

Thou dost not take their coin, but thou dost build castles for their dwelling. Trompe towers, golf courses and casinos offer naught to the common man.

Saturday, January 2, 2016

2016 – thank yous

Life has a way of teaching lessons. It often does it in a long-drawn and convoluted way. It does not pinch your ear and drag you to a blackboard to instruct you. It might just make you stumble enough to look down at the shit you are standing in, and if that is not enough, set a pothole in your path to effect the same. But much time must pass before it draws a tripwire outright to ensure that you fall flat on your face.

Sunday, December 27, 2015

imagine 1

Imagine the earth is round and flat. Imagine you are sitting on a landmass so extensive that you cannot see its edge, and its edges are so inhospitable that even the most intrepid among us could venture far within them: an endless expanse of ice with no refuelling stations and temperatures of forty or fifty below zero. And imagine that from this circular edge extends up and around a vast dome made of a material as unyielding and impenetrable as diamond. And imagine that within this capsule all the activities and happenstance of life transpires. Imagine that you are sitting at terrace on a sunny day on a Parisian boulevard minding your own business. Imagine that you are looking up at a crystal clear sky when you see in the far far distance a speck rising up to the heavens. The distance makes it appear that it is not rising fast, but you can easily surmise that it is probably barrelling up at Mach 3 or 4. As you bring your espresso to your lips, keeping your eye on the projectile, you suddenly see it stop and explode. The explosion is a mere blip from where you are sitting, but when the flash dies the projectile is no more.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

type 8 Homo sapiens: the vampire personality

If I could extract from you every Joule of energy by the action of a lever, I would not hesitate to press it down as long as you have breath in your lungs. Alas, I cannot take anything by force, but must manipulate you into offering it as an act of freewill. You might still think I would prefer to drink your blood, but I would not. No, no, no, there is no medium more effective to channel energy from your bosom into mine than the medium of human emotion.

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Evil - for dummies

What you do is you start a bank, then by sleight of hand you convince everyone that while you only have 10 units of coin in your coffers you can lend out 100 or even a 1000. It’s called fractional reserve banking. It’s legal. It means that you suddenly have 10-100x more money than you originally had. Then, once you have this funny money, lend it out but demand that it be repaid with real money, plus interest of course. You can do this at a small scale in your community, but once you get really good at it you can institute it a national level with a central bank. Most countries have a central bank that’s tied into the network of central banks; the few countries that weren’t tied in, like Yugoslavia and Libya, were – shall we say – chastised and brought into line. So once you have a central bank linked into the network you can cause all kinds of disruptions across the whole system – sorry, let me say that differently: WE can cause disruptions across the system, including in YOUR country.

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

known unknowns

What is known is that you woke up this morning, meaning that you went from a state of – let’s call it incognizance  to a state of relative cognizance. Relative because if it were absolute we would not be having this conversation.

Yes. I guess so.

Only in this state can you heave yourself out of bed.

Not completely true. There are somnambulists –

I’m speaking in general terms.

In general terms, yes.

Monday, October 19, 2015

type 7 Homo sapiens: the Social Justice Warrior

type 123456, 7

If you do not know the Social Justice Warrior in your midst it is because he or she (hereafter she) seems so innocuous that she has not caught your eye; and you have not caught hers because you and she have not yet had a social justice run-in.

Once you do, the SJW will be like a mole digging tunnels under your feet. The stable footing you once thought you had in a company that has employed you with satisfaction for over fifteen years will suddenly give way, and you will find yourself neck deep in a quagmire, seated before a panel of inquiry investigating an alleged infringement of the company’s Code of Conduct by YOU.
What the f..!

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Remembering Building 7

(first posted on September 11th, 2015) 

On this day fourteen years ago, the Twin Towers in New York City were struck and collapsed into their own footprint, symmetrically and at near free-fall speed. This event will be remembered and commemorated for many generations to come, as it should.

It is also well known that the whys and wherefores of this event are still hotly debated. Today I propose that we leave the towers be. Let us even be generous and accept for today that these towers did indeed collapse because they were struck by airplanes. After all, this seems quite conceivable and logical and to most people it is even so obvious as to be beyond question. Fair enough.

Let us instead turn our attention to BUILDING 7.

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

gallant spirit IV - the panorama

gallant spirit I
gallant spirit II
gallant spirit III
gallant spirit IV

Gallant spirit, I have seen with what enthusiasm you partake in the business of your fellow meat-bodies, how fondly you finger your assorted meat-body gadgetry and with what abandon you penetrate meat-body counterparts, amateur and professional alike. The 3D panorama is indeed there for your enjoyment. Feast on its offerings and the panorama will be commensurately reinforced. The more you feast, the better you will insert yourself into its texture. The more you insert yourself into its texture, the more you will feel not merely in it, but of it.

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Huck Finn on Snot-faces and the Laws of Nature

Fellers these days, all manner o' snot-faced good-for-naughts, never opened a book, never volunteered a thought o’ their own, but  know everythin’ is to know ‘bout everythin'.

What never been seen, never has been, goes the thinkin’. Never mind the visible part of the  spectrum is like a mosquito turd on a football field, never mind nothin’ cause it ain’t a yarn nobody wanna hear. We the only conscious gunners in the Universe; ain’t nothin’ alive the other side of the Van Allen Radiation belt; the only livin’ creatures, six billion galaxies and coutin’. And that's that.

Sunday, May 31, 2015

gallant spirit III - the enemy

gallant spirit I
gallant spirit II
gallant spirit III
gallant spirit IV

You are navigating a meat-body figurine that is highly sensitive to pain; and its appended mind, to anguish and foreboding. Both, figurine and appendage, will be stimulated daily by pictures and reports of an elusive entity consumed with a desire to cause you pain and anguish, preferably at the same time, preferably filmed on low resolution video that can be easily uploaded to the world wide web. But fear not: sweeping laws will be put in place to prevent you from being hurt; armaments will be amassed to defend against him.

Saturday, May 2, 2015

gallant spirit II

gallant spirit I
gallant spirit II
gallant spirit III
gallant spirit IV

Gallant spirit. I have observed you navigate your biped figurine from afar and I cringe at your self-indulgence. You have thoroughly identified yourself with your figurine and have forsaken who you are. It is not the upkeep of your figurine I refer to – although there are other ways to achieve this than forever expanding and inflating your musculature  – nor your recurring self-congratulatory exposés on social-media channels; nor even the plethora of counterpart bipeds you have penetrated for purposes of self-gratification. All of these are the result of uninspected internal impulses, and I suppose one can be forgiven such as the blindness of youth. But gallant spirit, I must intervene when I witness you entertain, accept and perpetuate lies.

Saturday, September 20, 2014


You only live once. People who say such thing often have lots of fun; they take photos of themselves on beaches, long drink in hand, encircled by friends. Such people have catalogs of photos on the worldwideweb documenting their funness. The degree of fun is measured by the number of thumbs-up assigned to such fun-photos by like-minded fun-lovers. The ultimate FUN has not yet been identified. The fun-Holy-Grail. The fun-Chalice. The fun at the core of the human spirit. It has yet to be identified, photographed and LIKED. You only live once, so you better start before it’s too

Sunday, June 22, 2014

Lui Antun Labas

Remember me,
Chipped tooth,
Traveler by night,
Seeker of truth.
Unseen of late,
But in spirit
Top of temple, 
Left ear.
Don’t you remember,
Back in September?
That was me,
Antun Lui

Saturday, April 26, 2014

romance rudiments

Stars overhead, leaves rustling, candles, wine, all that shit that comes with romance. We had that. We had a blanket too and some food for the morning in case matters evolved and we didn’t make it home.

All of the above is not absolutely necessary for romance, but you definitely need bodies. You need two. Add more and there is no romance. You just need two bodies. In my case, hers was type female; mine was type male. The differences between these are not just physiological; there are emotional differences too, and not mere discrepancies, big hollering differences. But that’s another subject altogether, not à propos right this minute. You would do well, by the way, not to explore these differences in the middle of romance. In fact, generally speaking, try to keep your mouth shut. Words aren't a key ingredient. 

Sunday, February 9, 2014


I am a photon off a breasty woman. I am one among quadrillions. I do not claim to be special or unique, but I will tell you that I have no patience for grunting Neanderthals of your kind. I do not like the look of you and I do like what you do, but it happens I am part of something bigger than myself, so I do as I am told, I do my job, and that is to bring you the information, whatever it is, you slobbering lech.

Let’s get on with it.

Monday, January 13, 2014

sisters and brothers

On this day, your day of birth, you are zero and have no life. I do not mean this ironically. It’s just numbers. You have not lived a day and thus you have no life. Others around you have lived, but this does not make them superior. On the contrary, they look at you with hope and wonder, convinced you will not fuck up as they have. For this reason and this reason alone - at this particular point in history - you are superior.

Do not let it get to your head, though, little man. It’s just the current state of their thinking. Your whole life will be about what you think and what other people think, not what is. You think you have entered a world of things; you have not. You have entered a world of opinions and considerations.


Sunday, January 5, 2014

type 6 Homo sapiens: the perfect being

type 123456,

You are in your thirties. You traveled the globe. You bungee jumped. You studied abroad. You are well educated. You are a professional and your prospects are good. You know how to enjoy yourself and you are considered good company. To all outward appearances you are an accomplished and sociable individual. Not just to outward appearances, you are accomplished and you are sociable. You are the type of human being many would like to be: fun, enthusiastic, traveled, smart but not burdensomely.

Wednesday, January 1, 2014


We are a pinpoint  in an expanse that is a hundred thousand light-years wide. It is only an expanse because it is studded with stars we can see, but beyond these stars there is so much more space it numbs the mind.

This year, as every year, we orbited one star. Just once.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

the wall

Never let it appear that something bothers you. Never let on that you have fire burning in your gut. Be rebellious, but only about such causes that make you seem correct and “right”. You may look into your backyard or your neighbor’s, but do not look inside yourself. Do not look there. There is nothing to see. Likewise do not express thoughts that might distress others, prompting them to look inside themselves. Do not do it.  Generally, try not to say anything at all. You may speak, of course, but do not actually say anything. Maintain a semblance. In time, this status quo will solidify and therein you will carve out a life.

This is how it’s done.

Thursday, August 15, 2013

gallant spirit

gallant spirit I
gallant spirit II
gallant spirit III
gallant spirit IV

You are about to become a biped. For the first few years you will be swaddled and cuddled, and trundled around in a special cart by a larger biped. The whole thing will seem illusory, but soon the sounds you’ll have been hearing will start to register. And then everything will change.

No, these are not sounds you are hearing, these are thoughts you are receiving. How shall I say - you are receiving these as concepts, but this is not how they do it down there. These tricksters emit sounds, you understand, every sounds is like a symbol which designates something. It’s a complicated system and you will never really get used to it. Some words mean several things and you will have to always be aware of context. Bipeds are crazy about their “context”. There must be some logical progression in what you say, you cannot just jump from one thing to the next like you are doing now; don’t do that down there, you’ll be marginalized.

Saturday, May 4, 2013

ultimate thing

The ultimate thing, the thing that lies behind all things. That thing without legs, without body, without mind, always ahead of you, always faster, always on the move. The ultimate thing. 

From time to time, out of the darkness, in a still moment, it will turn around and whispers to you, it will say, ‘Now, my friend, now is the time.’ And perhaps you will hear it, and act. Or perhaps not.

Friday, April 12, 2013

this is your mind speaking

Hello owner, this is your mind speaking. I understand you have a problem with me. I do not habitually speak, but under these circumstances I feel compelled to, as you are now affecting my work.

You have been inquiring into my exact location and function for many years now; since adolescence I would say. Such questions never bothered me, even if I never answered them nor ever could. But more recently, unhappy with my “performance”, you have become grudging, slighting and at times even utterly unreasonable.

Friday, March 15, 2013

type 5 Homo sapiens: cocky upstart

type 123456, 7

It’s the eight o’clock buzzer. A signal we must begin.

Roll out of bed, stretch a leg, pull out your pecker and piss out a half liter plus, while anchor-boy on the radio brings news of a coup d’état, somewhere, East. But not to worry.  No declarations of war; Ukraine gas will flare up under your fancy little Italian percolator as per spec.

We proceed.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013


I am crossing the Van Allen Radiation Belt in a capsule made from a material similar to Plexiglas, but in appearance only; it is a dense material, impenetrable and molded into a perfect Faraday Cage. I am suspended thus not for my personal amusement, nor with any particular destination, as I’m geostationary, like a weather satellite. It is a splendid sight from here, no doubt, but it has been several months, and after such a length of time even a supernova will bore a man.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

call it life

Call it a scab on God's knee; a fly in his oceanic soup. Call it a miracle. Call it peaceful fluttery things. Call it something polysyllabic, riddled with learnedness and complexity. Call it a bitch, bro. Call it wasted, on women, on drink, on forty years of drudgery. Or call it out for what it is, point fingers mutherfucker, get angry, call it shit and stomp the ground that sustained you through it. Or

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

welcome to the animal kingdom

Say you wake up  and look down the front of your body and see a pair of legs and your chest and the rim of your nose and a tuft of hair in front of your eyes; say this is the first time you've ever seen such a thing. Say you were familiar previously with panoramic vision and great altitude, and what you feel now is  unusual and clunky, especially the continuous rumination of this large organ inside your skull - the brain,  so called. The rolling of your eyes inside your sockets is unnerving;

Friday, January 4, 2013


Hide in the sand
At the bottom of the sea.
Mouth open wide
For falling debris.
Or rise fearsome
To the waterline;
A fin sloshing
In the sunshine.
Or take off wide
Into the open sky,
And flock with the millions
Or die. 

There is no freedom
Where there is need
Where there is loss.
Free is the dove
Amid the albatross.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012


My mind electric
My heart lush.
Empty hands but
Passport and toothbrush.

Out the back
At light of dawn,
Hopscotch the fence,
Down the neighbor's lawn.

Running, scuttling
On the slippery grass
I tumble, impatient
To see you at last.

Plenty of time,
But my feet go go go,
For I can't wait to see you
And my heart races so.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

not widsom and lore

Don't think words
Fall ´to a void.
They are heard,
First by one,
Then a second,
Then a third.

Paper and pen
Have struck down
The worst of men.
Not scoundrels mere,
But men of war,
Agents of death,
Merchants of fear.
Men who take
The good of tomorrow,
For whom  
Truths are lies,
Pain a prize,
And all history past,
A game of sorrow.

When we have
Great honor again,
In action,
Not wisdom and lore, 
Then only, such men
Will be no more.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

tree poles

Quiet day. Nothing out of the ordinary. I'm on a street corner downtown. The sun fucked off weeks ago, fired for incompetence and dereliction of duty. It's seasonal work, so there's nothing you can do.

Shoppers stroll, babies wail, mothers lug bags and corral kids in and out of department stores.

Out on the street, big screens advertise cough drops and undergarments for bosomed girls under twenty, and there are pedestrians and short trees strapped to wooden poles.

Ahead of me on the pavement a wreck of a man sells magazines. A user, a 12-year veteran. He shakes all over, but his right hand - his work hand -  is steady. Five years ago he sucker-punched his dad for the family China which he pawned for a few grams. He has since found gainful employment and has never missed a day's work. His dog Charlie has seen two continents and eight months on a freight barge bound for the Philippines. Mange, conjunctivitis and a limp, but otherwise a happy mutt with a good wag in his tail.

The sun makes a fifteen second cameo appearance. A glorious goddamn burst of light. The street stops in its tracks and everyone looks up as though visited by an apparition from above. Men gape and women drop their children's hand.

Soon the clouds return. And all is peaceful again.

I enter a cafe. My usual. I flail my hand for a Grande. The 37-year-old who takes my order speaks fluent English, but if you listen close you'll  hear an accent, something Balkan. And if you get to know her, if you spend months getting her to open up, if you never judge, never pry, never get "curious", if you just keep your piehole shut and listen, she might tell you about the three year siege she endured in her home country, age fifteen, and the men with "visitation rights". She might tell you. Or she might tell you to fuck off just the same.

"Black or white today, Lui?"


There is fine coffee in this establishment. There are families and  friends, and dogs, and people who come to work on their laptops. There are lawyers, like the balding fellow on the corner table (three kids force-medicated under "child protection" policies, locked in a rampaging lawsuit: the State against Ibrahim X).   He comes here to listen to innocent chatter. To daydream. To do nothing. To look out the window at passersby and those trees strapped to wooden poles, steadied in the wind. 

Me, I wait for you. 

Saturday, October 27, 2012

animal spirit

Like a cat caught
Inside your ribs
Heart and lung,
A frantic, restless
To jump 
To scratch
To run

Your legs
Are like two boars
Sightless through
The brush,
A muddy,

And in your mind,
This errant device,
The treadmill
The scurry of
A thousand

There is no place
That is not wild,
No place but
The gentle flame,
The blazing sun.

The animals
you tame, 
But let this light
Shine through.
For this light
This warmth 
This fire
Is you

Thursday, October 11, 2012


A long time ago we were all just points of light – call it whatever you want – zipping from star to star. Things were simple. There were many of us, but the games were simple.

Then all this boundless space got boring, so we narrowed it down. We put in delineation and sharpened the rules.

Weary of forever knowing everything and being able to be everywhere instantaneously, we gave ourselves some arms and legs to move around with, and a set of eyeballs to goggle at the infinite. This enormously reduced the scope of anyone’s knowledge and mobility, and so entered the need for analysis and computation. How else were we going to know what the other might or might not do.

Prediction was now the name of the game, and, well, some were just better at it than others. Entire social hierarchies were erected based on one’s ability to predict. From the elite and visionary at the top, down to the numskull and schlemiel on the street, prediction was everything. So in essence, what had become out-of-fashion and boring many eons earlier was now once again the only thing that mattered.

But all these bodies roaming around had to get by one way or another, and single-handed prediction just wasn't good enough in this complex game. And so they worked it out that in groups they had a much better chance of making it. Within such groups there was a distribution of skills that could never exist singly in one human being. Thus entered economics, industry and war, and thus we had the interplay of large forces that guided whole societies up or down. Generally down.

In balanced conditions it worked out pretty well, and the game remained “fun”, so to speak. But soon “prediction” came to be simply imposed by authority, and so it was no prediction at all; it was just brute force and mechanics. And eventually, like everything mechanical, it got boring.

But beyond these very large groups, there were also smaller groups that formed around the need to preserve the race by procreation. A family would often emerge (and much pleasure could be derived from one) but not always, because soon sex itself became a vector all on its own, used widely and at every level of society to enthrall, entrance, entertain, titillate, amuse, coerce, sway or otherwise persuade the elite and the moron alike. A force like magnetism, or old school psychokenesis, it had the power to make an elite into a moron, but no power to turn a moron into an elite. Hence the widespread propagation of pretty-faced morons.

From there on down, interpersonal games reached levels of complexity never imagined, overlain with a spectrum of emotion and a register of human behavior so vast as to be nearly unpredictable – nearly, but not completely. What seemed like a game of chance to the many who lost, was not so for the very few who won. But most of them employed no prediction at all, but treachery, trickery and deceit, passed off as prediction. 

So there we were, dragging around a hundred and fifty pounds of flesh, plus or minus, including the various appendages meant to facilitate the functions of living. But at long length, all this began to feel like a drag, and much nostalgia and sentiment was expressed for the old zipping-around days. And thus began the effort to be points of light once again, to be in one place and everywhere at the same time, to know everything at the press of a button. And so we had the internet and so we had emails whizzing around furiously and so we had a hundred gadgets to finger and goggle at, and all these things did a decent job of it, and often had a similar effect, but - let's face it - they never quite cut it.   

Saturday, June 9, 2012

the people

There are gentle people who inspire, who raise your spirits. They can reach into you and touch you where you are hurt. They have no fear of contact, they look you straight in the eye and if you let them, they will look right inside you, but never with a desire to “take”. In such an instance you could ask yourself if they are not seeing the same as you; you could ask yourself if they are not being you. There are very few of these people. I can count them on one hand. To me they are magicians, they are like Houdinis, but grander and more universal, not merely fiddling with knots and padlocks.

Of other types of people there are many more. Such people look at you with interest, perhaps they will exchange ideas with you peaceably and propose alternatives to your points of view. These are interesting people, mostly interested too, and they are good, sometimes even great, but they are not god-like. I like these people and when I am sitting in a train next to such a person I readily talk to him or her, and it may even be that I regret having taken a so called “bullet train” and not the slower kind, knowing the conversation will soon end. There are more of such people than the previous type, but far fewer than the following:

The following are precisely that, they follow: they look at you in expectation, they look at your “face” as a general thing –  that is, when they are not looking away –  and they do not really have anything to propose besides what is already at hand. On many occasions I have sat besides such an individual and felt quite comfortable. Generally it is preferable to sit quietly and converse moderately about moderate things and not look at them too interestedly or too engagingly especially if the individual is a woman; in such a case the conversation could suddenly take an abrupt turn one way or the other because of ideas lodged in the woman’s mind about what a man of my age might or ought to do (the latter case is the more dangerous).  But overall they are harmless and I can readily sit besides such a person and feel quite comfortable. However, I am then also satisfied that the train I am sitting in is not a slow one but a so called “bullet train”.

Finally, there are people who sit beside you – they may actually initiate this – but not to do any of the above, rather you will find yourself used as a kind of lever or foot piece to raise themselves up, compressing you in the process. You will feel sitting beside such an individual, suddenly and without any provocation, reduced or compressed in some fashion inexplicable to you, and you will ask yourself how it can be that only a moment ago, alone in your thoughts, you felt like an air balloon, and now, out of nowhere,  you are compact and pressed to the ground like a clump of dirt. Staring such a person in the face for explanation will be futile because such a person will ably wear a smile of any coloration while he is grinding his heal into your genitalia, or whatever else will improve his foothold. It is even possible that such a person will ask you if  “everything is ok?” Needless to say, you need not answer such a question in earnest. 

From there on down we have all manner of miscreants, molesters, pedofiles and so forth. I will not go into the whole cast of sub-characters or this piece will turn dark and become mired in language that would not pass muster. 

But these, in brief, are the people.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

type 4 Homo sapiens: defier of deities

type 123456, 7

Throw me a firestorm Master of the Universe; face me down with a devil army; sick upon me your hyenas and from the sky your carrion birds. I will not budge for any overlord, potentate, president or hog-boss. And I will not budge for you. Look me in the eye and you will see. I am no baboon or lowly form from your cast of creatures. You may throw me up thirty thousand feet; roll me through the muck at the bottom of the ocean; defy me, Gentleman of All Times. You may bare your universal teeth, your sharpened fangs; you may do with me as you wish. I stand unperturbed. I revere you, but I stand as I stand, where I stand. If you are dismayed, if you are indignant, if you think me just another recalcitrant ape, Oh Masterful One, chastise me, cast me into distant space and I shall join the orbital debris without a whimper. I am a little man, but I am my own little man, Oh Great One, and I will not be constantly reminded how devastatingly immense you are and I comparatively microscopic. I did not tail my way past a million competitors, I did not inch my way to that glowing ovum against all odds to be constantly told what to do, to be demeaned by invisible forces, and to be subjected to undue scrutiny by an infinite and omniscient being.
Please remember that little men are forced to be smart in this vast world of mystery and deception. Our powers are faint, so they must be acute and accurate instead. Though we are all entranced by your game of mirrors and mystifications, we are also all just human beings. I know you are omniscient, but perhaps you have not always been paying attention, so let me make you aware of something we all share: we accept to be toyed with, we accept deprivation and indignity of all kind, and we all stand in awe before your Infinite Universe, but the fact remains, everyone here has his limits.

Saturday, January 7, 2012


If you watched five seasons of 24 in a single sitting and it made you proud, get out. If a day’s work, in your book, is filling out government forms, get out. If you need permission or approval to hold an opinion or make an original statement, get out.

This year is not for the piss-ant, the pansy, the pushover. If you are any one or a combination of the above, get out. You will be just another jackass tripping over himself and you will waste twelve months of everybody’s time.

To a grizzly I would recommend extended hibernation. But if you are not of the hibernating class, just get out.

This is the year it all comes together. The dilettante and the doorknob have had their time. This is the year of the professional, the perfectionist, the “perseverer”, the artisan, the artist.

War looms in the Middle East. The dollar and the euro wobble in the ring. The Mayans predicted… what they predicted.

But I digress because I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about you.

If you want to participate, if you want to be more than a twiddling little figurine in a landscape of like-minded figurines. If you’re tired of being a a paper-pusher or a peon, if you want to rise up and do something, and if you want it badly, then sit up straight, get your hand out of your pants, switch off your phone and begin.

Begin by observing what you have bottled up in your heart. Observe it. Then take it out and lay it on the table and observe it some more. That’s the first thing you do.

But if you are not prepared to take this thing with both hands and wrap you fingers around it like you fully own it, like it’s the only thing you have in the world – that and the clothes on your back– if you are not prepared to do that as a minimum, soldier... get out.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

You are a warthog desirous of fame and fortune

You are a warthog desirous of fame and fortune. You have not the physique for the former nor the acumen for the later, but you know an opportunity when you smell one. There are in your professional circle a number of gentlemen no longer fit to take on the challenges of international business. You have noted in their deportment a laxness and in their judgment no longer the sharpness of their early years. You have decided that now is the time to undermine these sonofabitches. Room needs to be made for the underprivileged.

A warthog such as yourself must fare cautiously in all events, but in the corridors of power, quadrupeds are few and far between. You are alone eating from a trough, alone defecating on the lawn, alone in most matters except one: greed. There you are joined by many. Bankers, lawyers, brokers, councilmen, all bipeds perhaps, but all deceitful in their own right.

From the moment you rise in the morning, having removed the gunk from between your hooves and the crusts from your scratchy skin, the moment you enter the lobby of headquarters, you are on the alert, your ears perked up for whispers and your snout on the scent of rats and other vermin that gather in these parts. Sharpened by years of observation, serving under the most treacherous management class your company has seen since its founding, you have learned to turn a blind eye when a matter doesn’t concern you, to swallow your pride when it does, and to take a beating on some else’s behalf if required.

All of this you have mastered well and quickly. But there is one act of submission you have not and will never learn. You just don’t know how to give up. These sonsabitches have been trying to teach you for years. When they put out their cigarettes on those strange tusks that protrude from your snout, what do you think they’re telling you? They're saying, listen Warthog, you are a mere curiosity here, something to differentiate us from our competitors; you are here so that we may say, between deals, “we have among our senior staff a Nolan Warthog from Guinea-Bissau”.

I recognize that the alternative for you is bleak: you may try to flee, but eventually we all know you will end up as sausage on a German Christmas market, your tusks discarded and your hooves turned to Pritt Stick Glue. So I understand that you must play the game, and I understand that you must play it hard. And I know that, in essence, you are not greedy I mean, you are just a Nolan Warthog – but none of us are really greedy, in essence, it’s just that along the way, warthog, something went wrong, terribly wrong, and now God help us we just don’t know how to get back.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

here we go (pt.2)

(pt 1)

Don’t underestimate the value of pain: the sting of urine on your butt cheeks or that choking feeling when milk runs down the wrong tube. Drink it. It’s valid. Any experience, even irritation at unknown folk fondling your feet or breathing into your face, is valid.

When you have none, experience is worth more than your weight in gold. Some you’ll have to go out and get, some you’ll receive free of charge, and some – alas – will be inflicted on you. In all events, be patient, it comes slowly (at least it will seem that way until you realize it has all come too fast). A spit bubble is experience; laughter is experience; but so is chickenpox or gonorrhea.

(Later in life when a security agent performs on you an internal cavity search for no justifiable reason, that too will be experience. But I digress…)

Anyway, congratulations, you are now no longer a complete sitting duck. You have started on your way to actually know something; you have started to experience knowledge, and with that first taste, your appetite will become insatiable. Thankfully, nature has so rigged things that it is also around this time that your eyes will clear up from the amphibian fog that has been with you for over nine months.

Open sesame. Behold the wonders of the world: cumulus clouds, primary colors, the Big Dipper, and so on and so forth.

You will be peering through these peepholes a damn awful lot, only closing them to sleep or shut-out insects and incoming particles. You will be amazed a thousand-fold before you become blasé. You will not comprehend what you have just tapped into. You will feel exalted, if not all-out Godly.

These will be your wonder years. Enjoy them because they are relatively short. Before you know it will commence six years of state-mandated training in reading, writing, arithmetic (for purposes of testing) and social exclusion, compliance and class-warfare ( purposes of… I don’t know).

Anyway, you will suffer major indignities before the age of ten. You will contract coodies and other imaginary diseases, and you will be put without your consent (or even knowledge) into any one of a number of categories, ranging from GEEK, DORK, JERK, JOCK, NERD, PERV and so on. There will be no disabusing anyone of this as there will be no proof for or against it. You will be tried and convicted by a jury of your own peers in a court that makes up laws as it goes along.

Just get through this is all I have to say.

In Phase 3 (Erections and the Enticements of Lust, so termed in the literature) you will be up late many nights doing fuck all with a gang of “dickwads” you will call your "friends". All of you – yourself included – will be under fierce hormonal attack, and often in varying stages of inebriation. Believe it or not, but you will learn a lot from these fools. Not directly – you will learn nothing from them directly – but from the experience as a whole. This is when your voice will start to break, your body will throw shit at you and your mind will become obsessed with one and one thing only. If at some stage you find yourself crying for help from the bottom of shallow ditch called teenage love, forgive me if I don’t come to the rescue. That too is part of your “experience”*.

(… to be continued)

* “Experience” may take on an altogether difference meaning at this stage if you decide that your skin, eyes, nose, tongue and ears are inadequate tools of perception and that they need to be "enhanced". Go down this road at your own peril.

Friday, November 11, 2011

here we go (pt.1)

Here we go.

You’ll emerge headfirst, your skull still loose tectonic plates and your eyes almost useless. You’ll have no hand-to-eye coordination, no motor skills and not a balanced bone in your body. So forget trying to find your bearings or doing any kind of reconnaissance. You won't have time for that anyway: as soon as you’re out, a fucker in a white coat will cut you loose and you will be transferred to an adult-sized woman on a bed, the same woman – by the way – who hosted you, fed you, and kept you warm for nine months consecutive. So BE NICE! If she weeps on your face, if she cuts the flow of air to your lungs, take it. That's love.

Now. Make a fist - go on - just do it. It’ll be the size of a plum and about that soft, but it doesn’t matter, it’s symbolic, it’ll feel good. Once you’ve done that, push out a long, sharp cry; just shriek your little lungs out. With all these giants manhandling you, you'll need to put your foot down one way or the other. Besides, your voice will fill the surrounding void and it will give you a sense of the dimensions and emptiness of this place, your new home.

At this stage, if you are anything like me, you will feel a strange mixture of joy and consternation. You will feel free and liberated - somehow - but at the same time, all of this will seem just too freaky and mysterious. And that’s ok, because it is.

Finally, at the end of this long day, you will be put in a caged enclosure for the night. To rest. Don’t worry if this makes you feel like an animal; this will not last for very long, only the first few years of your life, and not (with a little luck) the remaining seventy five.

( be continued)

Sunday, October 16, 2011

take a straight line

Take a straight line, vertical. Follow it one light year. Up.

Stop. Take a rest. Then go another two.

You will be three light years from home now, if my math is right. At this point – because this is not in your hands – the content of your bladder will be sloshing around your underpants. There is no gravity, so it will stay there.

Meanwhile, you will have become aware that matters are out of the ordinary, and you will seek something familiar, something to reassure you. First urgently, then DESPERATELY. In the end you will seek ANYTHING to rest your eyes on. But you will see only blackness.

This observation will be accurate because, indeed, there will be ABSOLUTELY NOTHING FOR SEVERAL MILLION MILES IN ANY DIRECTION, not a speck of dust, not a twinkle of light.

Time will elapse. The piss in your pants you will have forgotten; likewise that morning’s scheduled PowerPoint presentation on debt guarantees. All this stuff will be far removed from your mind. And the nameless woman you left in your bedroom that morning: a mental artifact.

Having struggled outwardly, now your thoughts will scramble for a foothold, but they will be in a quagmire of their own.


Suddenly, for reasons I will not share with you, you will think that all of this has to do with the fact that too many times in your life – a disproportionate number given your age – you have been insensitive, callous, and even – let us be plain– an ASSHOLE.

Perhaps you will be right in thinking so. Who is to say. I am not here to judge, even if I hold pinpoint-specific opinions about everything in the KNOWABLE universe. Even if I was instrumental in its creation.

You will cogitate on this briefly, but before you come to any conclusion you will begin to feel EXTRAORDINARILY SMALL – microscopic – but you will ascribed this to the immensity of space and the utter soundlessness in your ears. You will NOT consider that there may be other reasons you feel this way, reasons that are, let us say, more personal or metaphorical. I posit this is not because you are unsophisticated or unliterary, but because having been an asshole so long, so consistently –

Anyway, I will not pretend to know how you feel or what motivates a person such as yourself. I will only describe the events in a kind of journalistic fashion for the purpose of general edification, since it is easy for me to see what is going on in time and space in a way that you (plural) are not able to.

True, in the early days I played a role in your affairs, but now with all this mythology surrounding my capabilities and general attitude, not to mention all of the terrible shenanigans you've participated in these past few millennia, I have washed my hands of you. So I am here as an impartial observer, an occasional commentator, but certainly not as a fan.

Back to you.

You are suspended, your pants filled with urine; in your mind, that inkling that you have been an ASSHOLE just too many times. (It gnaws at me. This word means too many things these days: interpersonal, anatomical, and so on. In French it would be trou du cul which has more edge than the American asshole, but it is not used in this context even if it is more trenchant – also French… but I digress).

First you will think of karma, but realizing you do not know exactly what it means you will become distressed and quickly move onto more familiar western tradition, in particular, all those half-way stops like purgatory, anything as long as it is not everlasting. Forgive me here if I can no longer hold back an ironic grin that will have been pressing for some time.

Anyway, at the thought that you can now somehow “make good” you will feel briefly religious and an appropriate soul-nettling torment will follow. But nothing compared to what you will experience next.

Not right away, but it will come eventually. Like a train.


Unannounced, it will penetrate your core. You will be as if impaled! It will rip right through your being. So overwhelming will be this feeling that your sense of your own body will be completely eclipsed. Eternity and endlessness will fill your center and you will feel euphoric, but at the same “time”, so to speak, you will be drenched in terror.

As with any experience (rather than state) eventually it will come to an end. And when it does you will find that morning’s breakfast, partly digested, floating before your eyes. Finally, as more fluids continue to flow from every orifice of you body, you will attempt a devastating, existential roar which will go no further than the confines of your skull, there being no gas around to transport it.

As for me, from my vantage point over here, I will take note and perhaps do a little cogitating of my own. If it takes an awfully long time, perhaps I will toy with this phrase trou du cul a little longer as I am very interested in terminology as a field of study. In all events, rest assured, I will not tarry to bring all of this to an end at the earliest opportunity

(True, I am not completely uninvolved. But that’s also a matter of perspective).

OK. Take a straight line. Vertical. Three light years the other way. You may stop at your own discretion, you know the routine now.

If you see yourself on the way down it is because you exceeded the speed of light on the way up.

If you see yourself on arrival it is because you are back where you started, in the bathroom, in front of the mirror.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

type 3 Homo sapiens: old-school buckeroo

type 123456, 7

Roust him outta bed, chuck him his boots and something to chomp on, get him goin’ but don’t let the sonofagun speak up, not ‘til he’s all sweated over and caked with grime, you hear. You let a gunner like that open his pie-hole befor he’s well and tired, you let him expose partions of his mind too early in the day, mark my words, soon all manner of pretense and frill ‘ll come apparent. Soon he’ll think himself a goddamn gentleman and no more lift a finger for his pops than wipe his hind-end with his own sleeve.
I says there aint no need to go about inneractin' and innerchangin’ ideas and esperiences all the goddamn time. That only stir up complications and relativizations and so forth, and no good ever come of that.
Likewise the ladies, nowadays so generally accustomated to courtesy and such hogwash that every conversation soon become a goddamn spectacle a’ feelin’ and sentimentality. A man want to recline quiet and listen to the crickets. A man want to enjoy a jug a’ ale on his lonesome. No sir. The missus have some injury must be redressed right this goddamn minute, and all heavens stop gyratin’ before she git back quiet to business as usual.
Aint nothin’ to be done about it neither. What with the innernets now and those goddamn pocket telephones they be fingerin' day long, everybody's a know-it-all but nobody look you straight in the eye no more. The world just aint what it used to be and if you think it's all goddamn magic and wonder, I got a chopped finger and a whistlin’ lung says otherwise.