Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Loki

Loki, you are so fucked up!
Are you even a god or just a giant?
Are you straight bi gay?
"I'm all beast like that"
You say fuck girls guys the others
When you're not in prison I mean
Then fuck their mothers
You dislike where a conversation's going
you turn into a salmon or mare
You father outlaw children
give them brass knuckles for birthdays
fly off into air
All the neighbors call Odin on you
know you're divine trash
You're a creepy ravener and a power bottom
take horsedick just to brag
"It's all about the swag"
Manwhore with a revolving door
You taunt Thor about his crossdressing
piss off your drunken idiot family of gods
eating KFC at their Aesir white trash barbecue
None of them wanna know you
You won't take Abilify or Depakote
You write "shapeshifting" on your resume all smart ass
Your bad moods become other people's earthquakes
laugh when you get the shakes
You throw gasoline in nature's flaming eyes
like some idiot kid who wants on YouTube
You assfuck with only saliva for lube
You treat your entire life like a getaway
are the inventor of the Emotional Dropkick
used by assholes versed in relationships
You get new tattoos don't feed your kids
All your kids have your mouth
You can smell a bitch (either sex) a mile away
You think (like all drunks) life is a play
You like to get pregnant with disaster
This is how you gave birth to night mares like Sleipnir
and all the shit that came after
You call yourself a god of fire and air
Loki, did you give birth to the internet?
it sorta looks like your handiwork
You think you own the street
walking it with your Fenris Wolf and pit bulls
Loki, you are ghetto
say the Eddas talk shit
You'd sooner die than go to Shapeshifters Anonymous
You are terrified of anything quiet or still
or worst of all reformed
Loki, take another hit
make fun of gods who read and write
You think Ragnarok is a joke
Serpent's venom dripped on you a thousand years
and you learned absolutely nothing from it
You refuse to put your thoughts in runes
because you might learn something fatal
might learn the stupid shit fear knows
You think all skalds are chumps
You laugh and say the planet is bipolar too
It has a North Pole and a South pole
You say that fire is gold
And water is silver
You say laughter is gold
And desire is silver
And love is dry branches
Love is merely tinder
and you are fire's golden laughter
which is what comes After

I Had a Lover Like This Once

Do you want to be at home in the world?
Do you want your dreams heartfelt and squeaky-clean?
There is a bat in your mouth.
Just now when you opened it to answer, I saw it.
It was hanging upside-down, reading a book.
It's leathern wings made me speak aloud the words "leathern wings."
You try to distract me. You want to talk about dreams
but now I am obsessed with the bat living in your mouth.
What do you feed it?
Does it tickle?
Was that a Chinese book I saw the bat reading?
Does the bat intercept your food and eat it, effectively starving you?
Let's toss a grape in there right now and see what he does!
Why are you screaming at me?
Don't you think you should focus more on the bat?
Will you please check inside my mouth?
Here, use this flashlight. Because now I'm freaked I might have one too.
I'm too terrified right now to look myself.
Tell you what.
Just tap me on the shoulder to give your answer.
One tap for "no bat in your mouth."
And two taps for "definite bat."
Wait, let me take a hit off this joint
before you do this, okay? Just a sec.
Because I want to laugh not scream.
I mean if it's a "worst case scenario."

O Whatever!

Nothing is the flower
I mean the matter
O Lordy!
O Fleurian slip!
This last year
I came to believe
horrible unflowery things!
Like
You love you
I love me
Flowers dream
of being trees
O Flower Vainglory!

My flower is nothing
po po flower!
"What is your favor?"
"What is your flavor?"
Younger flowers will sluttily
ply each other
with endless flower IMs
All Hope to get a taste
of the buttery stamens
O Slutdom of Instant Messaging!

Look at me
My flower is nattering
clears its throat
O Minor Throat Irritation!
"Your flower is a bipolar alcoholic"
smugly out a corner of your mouth

You pour unrain on my parade
O Sarcastic Rain-Challenged Cloud!

But look Closely

My flower is powering up
like a slow computer
Clearly
My flower has registry errors
and error messages
Yes yes yes yes
But still...
O Something!

My flower spends a lot of time worrying
and sorrying
about the Boogie-Spike of Nonexistence
"I'm not worthy!" it says
or screams really
O Score one for Flower-Humility!

This scream attracts a Fly
The Fly grows much larger
simply because it is approaching
O Trick of Visual Perspective!

Maybe even this dull flower
begins to Hope...
O Power-Cord and Power-Strip!

The Fly approacheth!
O yes!
O maybe!


Even if the boogie-spike of nonexistence
spills even today
yes spills all about our poor stems!
O Circumferential Boogie-spike!

It's really just the spangled dress
The Stars wear to the Nothingness Ball
to show up all us poor flowers!
O maybe!
before The Stars fall at last
fall even beyond tabloidia
the Dumb Distance
will listen to us!

O maaaaybeee!
John Donne is right
as a proper dentist
and the Boogie-Spike of Nonexistence
will hold no dominion!
O yes!
the Fly sings
in its middleaged teenage voice
"Pour some sugar on meeeee!"
in its seedy flyvoice
and the flower wishes (just for a moment)
it were a Pitcher-Plant
or a Venus Fly-Trap
like Marilyn Monroe
Posh Spice
Miley Cyrus
post-post-Disney
O shame! O Unbridled Pollen-Lust!

The flower wishes these huge wishes
just for a few moments
before slippage does God's work

O god!
"Fuck Me!" says the flower
"Erase Me! like a pink marshmallow eraser
atop the No. 2 pencil
that wrote the Infinite Pencil Note of Existence!"
O Eraser My God!

And it feels the proboscis
of the lost Fly
in love with the flower's hollowness
"Your dewdrops
look like sequins!"
the Fly gasps
getting close

O Ba-de-bing!
says the fly coming
inside the flower

O Maybe!
thinks the optimistic flower
working the dream too hard

Two weeks later
O No!
O Really Really O No!
all the flower's earthly possessions
are laid out on the curb

O Absence of Courtesy!
O Forrealz?!

All its flower possessions laid out
on the curb of the Greenhouse Acres Luxury Apts.
and the Fly is nowhere
to be found or be had
for love or money or floral home repair!
O Cruel Zapper!

So the flower steps on the bus of the Wind
O Elsewhere!
thinking maybe I am
just going home...

O Dark Mother!
O Endless Beginning!

The flower smiles

O Ridiculous Bus Driver!
I think I love you!

Or is my One True Love
this new bus smell
Which is surely The Lord

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

The Diary of Loki Laufeyjarson


Okay, you probably heard stories about me giving birth to Sleipnir, my eight-legged lil hustlah.

I told you I do some shady shit.

Yeah, I posed as a mare and laughed my Jotun ass off while that stallion Svadilfari tore it up, no homo.

It was just a part of my plan to get all embedded and shit with those white trash Aesir.

And it worked too. I'm straight-up ninja like that.

So I had to get pregnant...so fucking what...

I'll go a long way to make Odin and those losers pay.

Respect, bitches.

Even if it means I have to get fucked by Black Beauty to do it.

And my shape-shifting is sick, son.

Chalk it with my other mad skills.

The Diary of Loki Laufeyjarson


Here I am eating some bitch's heart that I roasted on a linden-wood fire.

She gave birth to all those ogresses.

But we don't talk and so far she hasn't gone after me with a support order.

It's scary to think about all those girls running around out there.

My worst fear is that I'll end up hitting that.

But if neither of us knows I guess it's okay.

I do some shady shit.

The Diary of Loki Laufeyjarson


House party where things got totally out of hand.

Yeah, that's Thor dressed like a woman.

I don't remember a lot about that night.

Too many forties. That mead.

Shit happens when you party with bareassed Aesir.

All the bitches wanted to touch his Hammer.

The Diary of Loki Laufeyjarson


These are the kids.

They're basically little versions of me.

Well, except for Hel.

We're a little worried about the anorexia and depression thing.

They all got the outlaw gene. I'm proud to say.

What can I say?

I'm a bull. I make good breeding stock.

Bitches, connect.

The Diary of Loki Laufeyjarson


Did I mention I fly sometimes?

And I also do tattoos on the side. Mostly for guys I consider friends, no homo.

You have to stand back...a very great ways back...to fully appreciate this awesomeness.

The Diary of Loki Laufeyjarson



Here I am again in prison.

Why are there so many pictures of that goddamn snake in this album?

The Diary of Loki Laufeyjarson



Here I am in the prison where those little bitches the Aesir put me--after they couldn't hand the truth I dished out at that white trash barbecue or whatever the fuck they called it.

It took all of them against one of me and I'm still really just chillin like a villain here as you can see in the pic.

Prison is only gonna make me stronger, bitches!

That cum-dumpster Skadi fastened that venomous snake over my head--it's always dripping venom.

That's my homestack Sigyn catching the venom so it doesn't get on me.

Because I have a bad back and every time the venom hits me (when Sigyn goes to dump that burning shit) my back goes into spasms and this causes major earthquakes.

Sigyn wants me to see a chiropracter, but so far we haven't found any that will make housecalls in Jotunheim.

Sigyn is good tail...Odin bless her little heart.

Notice how ripped I am.

The Diary of Loki Laufeyjarson


This is me treating the gods like little bitches.

This picture shows that peckersniff Bragi getting called out by yours truly

I owned him and the rest of those immortal louts.

If I had an ingot for every stupid thing I ever did on mead...well let's just say I wouldn't be sitting here like a little bitch blogging right now.

Loki, the Original "Power Bottom"

I already knew many stories about Loki, but I particularly enjoyed one particular story from the prose Edda Gylfaginning.

This one's a real keeper.

In general, the Wiki article on Loki is much better than 90% of such articles.

One deficiency I noted was that allusions are made to Loki's murder of Baldr, but this very important incident is not discussed in any detail whatsoever--for example, where is the mention of mistletoe?

But this tale is classic...

Loki, Útgarða-Loki, and Logi

In chapter 44, Third reluctantly relates a tale where Thor and Loki are riding in Thor's chariot, which is pulled by his two goats. Loki and Thor stop at the house of a peasant farmer, and there they are given lodging for a night. Thor slaughters his goats, prepares them, puts them in a pot, and Loki and Thor sit down for their evening meal. Thor invites the peasant family who own the farm to share with him the meal he has prepared. Afterward, the peasant child Þjálfi sucks the bone marrow from one of the goat bones, and when Thor goes to resurrect the goats, he finds one of the goats to be lame. In their terror, the family atones to Thor by giving Thor their son Þjálfi and their daughter Röskva.[42]


"I am the giant Skrymir" by Elmer Boyd SmithMinus the goats, Thor, Loki, and the two children continue east until they arrive at a vast forest in Jötunheimr. They continue through the woods until dark. The four seek shelter for the night. They encounter an immense building. Finding shelter in a side room, they experience earthquakes through the night. The earthquakes cause all four but Thor, who grips his hammer in preparation of defense, to be fearful. The building turns out to be the huge glove of Skrymir, who has been snoring throughout the night, causing what seemed to be earthquakes. All four sleep beneath an oak tree near Skrymir in fear.[43]

Thor wakes up in the middle of the night, and a series of events occur where Thor twice attempts to kill the sleeping Skrýmir with his hammer. Skrýmir awakes after each attempt, only to say that he detected an acorn falling on his head or that he wonders if bits of tree from the branches above have fallen on top of him. The second attempt awakes Skrýmir. Skrýmir gives them advice; if they are going to be cocky at the keep of Útgarðr it would be better for them to turn back now, for Útgarða-Loki's men there won't put up with it. Skrýmir throws his knapsack onto his back and abruptly goes into the forest. High comments that "there is no report that the Æsir expressed hope for a happy reunion".[44]

The four travelers continue their journey until midday. They find themselves facing a massive castle in an open area. The castle is so tall that they must bend their heads back to their spines to see above it. At the entrance to the castle is a shut gate, and Thor finds that he cannot open it. Struggling, all four squeeze through the bars of the gate, and continue to a large hall. Inside the great hall are two benches, where many generally large people sit on two benches. The four see Útgarða-Loki, the king of the castle, sitting.[45]

Útgarða-Loki says that no visitors are allowed to stay unless they can perform a feat. Loki, standing in the rear of the party, is the first to speak, claiming that he can eat faster than anyone. Útgarða-Loki comments that this would be a feat indeed, and calls for a being by the name of Logi to come from the benches. A trencher is fetched, placed on the floor of the hall, and filled with meat. Loki and Logi sit down on opposing sides. The two eat as quickly as they can and meet at the midpoint of the trencher. Loki consumed all of the meat off of the bones on his side, yet Logi had not only consumed his meat, but also the bones and the trencher itself. It was evident to all that Loki had lost. In turn, Þjálfi races against a figure by the name of Hugi three times and thrice loses.[46]

Thor agrees to compete in a drinking contest but after three immense gulps fails. Thor agrees to lift a large, gray cat in the hall but finds that it arches his back no matter what he does, and that he can only raise a single paw. Thor demands to fight someone in the hall, but the inhabitants say doing so would be demeaning, considering Thor's weakness. Útgarða-Loki then calls for his nurse Elli, an old woman. The two wrestle but the harder Thor struggles the more difficult the battle becomes. Thor is finally brought down to a single knee. Útgarða-Loki to Thor that fighting anyone else would be pointless. Now late at night, Útgarða-Loki shows the group to their rooms and they are treated with hospitality.[47]

The next morning the group gets dressed and prepares to leave the keep. Útgarða-Loki appears, has his servants prepare a table, and they all merrily eat and drink. As they leave, Útgarða-Loki asks Thor how he thought he fared in the contests. Thor says that he is unable to say he did well, noting that he is particularly annoyed that Útgarða-Loki will now speak negatively about him. Útgarða-Loki points out that the group has left his keep and says that he hopes that they never return to it, for if he had an inkling of what he was dealing with he would never have allowed the group to enter in the first place. Útgarða-Loki reveals that all was not what it seemed to the group. Útgarða-Loki was in fact the immense Skrýmir, and that if the three blows Thor attempted to land had hit their mark, the first would have killed Skrýmir. In reality, Thor's blows were so powerful that they had resulted in three square valleys.[48]

The contests, too, were an illusion. Útgarða-Loki reveals that Loki had actually competed against wildfire itself (Logi, Old Norse "flame"), Þjálfi had raced against thought (Hugi, Old Norse "thought"), Thor's drinking horn had actually reached to the ocean and with his drinks he lowered the ocean level (resulting in tides). The cat that Thor attempted to lift was in actuality the world serpent, Jörmungandr, and everyone was terrified when Thor was able to lift the paw of this "cat", for Thor had actually held the great serpent up to the sky. The old woman Thor wrestled was in fact old age (Elli, Old Norse "old age"), and there is no one that old age cannot bring down. Útgarða-Loki tells Thor that it would be better for "both sides" if they did not meet again. Upon hearing this, Thor takes hold of his hammer and swings it at Útgarða-Loki but he is gone and so is his castle. Only a wide landscape remains.

Peter Rennick

wrote this. It made me laugh the struth laugh, which is better than the struthious laugh.


Conceptual Valentine


A forked stick (or shriek)
stuck in the ground (or eye)
can douse flowers
but is poetry to gardening
what flarf is to yanking trees
out of the ground
to check how they’re
growing then trying
to replant them
in some other field
quite clearly it’s not yet
the monkey wars
but goes all the way back
to the universal cosmic language
in its frog-pond form
prior to percept and concept.

The Poetry Suicides

Sylvia Plath
Amaryllis

Gerard de Nerval
Candytuft

Vachel Lindsay
Bells of Ireland

Thomas Chatterton
Sweetpea

Sergei Esenin
Spiderflower

Marina Tsvetaeva
Moss

John Berryman
Cattail

George Trakl
Borage

Anne Sexton
Bird-of-Paradise

Vladimir Mayakovsky
Chrysanthemum

Paul Celan
Monkshood

Sara Teasdale
Mock orange

Hart Crane
Pine

John Gould Fletcher
Baby's breath

You Might Want to Approach Literary Reviews with This Knowledge

Courtesy of Wiki...

L
[×] Literary critics who committed suicide (8 P)
P
[×] Poets who committed suicide (69 P)

All You Really Need to Know

1. His writing is marked by an emphasis on the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women and the drudgery of work.

2. During his youth, he was socially inept and withdrawn--a condition later exacerbated by an extreme case of acne.

3. He had an epiphany when he was introduced to alcohol.

4. He viewed alcoholism as a method by which he might come to more amicable terms with his life.

5. Failing to break into the literary world, he grew disillusioned with the publication process and ramped up his drinking markedly.

6. The "lost years" which followed formed the basis for all his later autobiographical chronicles.

7. He agreed to marry a smalltown Texas poet, sight unseen, but they divorced two years later.

8. She insisted that their separation had nothing to do with literature.

9. She often doubted his skill as a poet.

10. He launched a mimeographed literary magazine with a friend. The magazine had no effect whatsoever.

11. With increasing notoriety and growing fame, he embarked on a series of love affairs and one-night stands.

12. His one girlfriend later wrote a book about him entitled Blowing My Hero.

13. He died shortly after completing his last novel.

14. His gravestone reads "Don't Try."

15. After his death, there was a movement to preserve his bungalow.

16. His fans worried this could jeopardize his outsider status.

17. He disliked having Bono over to the house.

All You Really Need to Know

1. His writing is marked by an emphasis on the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women and the drudgery of work.

2. TIME called him the "laureate of American lowlife."

3. He told people he was born a bastard, even though records show that his parents married one month prior to his birth.

4. To sound more American, his parents began calling him "Henry."

5. During his youth, he was socially inept and withdrawn--a condition later exacerbated by an extreme case of acne.

6. He had an epiphany when he was introduced to alcohol.

7. He saw this as the genesis of a method he could utilize to come to more amicable terms with his life.

8. He was declared 4-F by the United States military.

9. Failing to break into the literary world, he grew disillusioned with the publication process.

10. The "lost years" which followed formed the basis for all his later autobiographical chronicles.

11. He worked for the U.S. postal system.

12. He was hospitalized for a bleeding ulcer which was nearly fatal. When he left the hospital, he began to write poetry.

13. He agreed to marry a smalltown Texas poet, sight unseen, but they divorced two years later.

14. She insisted that their separation had nothing to do with literature.

15. She often doubted his skill as a poet.

16. He launched a mimeographed literary magazine with a friend. The magazine had no effect whatsoever.

17. He wrote that he decided to starve.

18. With increasing notoriety and growing fame, he embarked on a series of love affairs and one-night stands.

19. His most important relationship was with a woman who was a poet and sculptress. His other affairs were with a recording executive and a red-headed single mother.

20. All of these relationships provided material for his stories and poems.

21. His one girlfriend later wrote a book about him, entitled Blowing My Hero.

22. Two years later, he moved to the East Hollywood area with a new love interest.

23. They lived together intermittently.

24. Sometimes he would tire of the relationship and send her on her way.

25. They were eventually married by a Canadian author and mystic.

26. He died of leukemia at the age of 73, shortly after completing his last novel.

27. His gravestone reads "Don't Try."

28. After his death, there was a movement to preserve his bungalow.

29. But his fans thought this could jeopardize his outsider status.

30. Mickey Rourke portrayed him in a movie.

31. He disliked Bono.

All You Really Need to Know

1. She was an American lyrical poet.

2. She had poor health most of her life.

3. Critics praised her lyrical mastery and romantic subject matter.

4. She fell in love with a poet who wrote her daily love letters.

5. But she married a rich exporter.

6. She remained friends with the poet throughout their lives.

7. She was not happy in her marriage and divorced.

8. She commited suicide.

9. Her male friend (the poet) had committed suicide two years earlier.

10. Her male friend (the poet) was gayer than a kitten in a teacup.

11. Possibly she was too.

"Non omnia possumus omnes...." I'm Afraid I'm Gonna Have to Go with Virgil on This One....

"Varsity Stroke?!

"Utopian Turtletop!?"

OMFG!!

The latter sounds like Dr. Seuss and the former sounds like an old very white woman with a blood vessel bursting in her brain.

(Very) gay men would buy the Pastelogram though.

WIKI say...

In 1955, Moore was informally invited by David Wallace, manager of marketing research for Ford's "E-car" project, and his co-worker Bob Young to provide input with regard to the naming of the car. Wallace's rationale was "Who better to understand the nature of words than a poet?" On October 1955, Moore was approached to submit "inspirational names" for the E-car, and on November 7, she offered her list of names, which included such notables as "Resilient Bullet", "Ford Silver Sword", "Mongoose Civique", "Varsity Stroke", "Pastelogram" and "Andante con Moto." On December 8, she submitted her last and most famous name, "Utopian Turtletop." The E-car was finally christened by Ford as the Edsel.

All You Really Need to Know

1. She encouraged promising young poets.

2. She became a minor celebrity in New York literary circles.

3. She attended boxing matches, baseball games and other public events.

4. She wrote liner notes for Muhammad Ali.

5. She was a conservative Republican.

6. Her most famous poem is titled "Poetry."

7. She was known for her irony and wit.

"I Have Removed My Poems Per Your Request"

I have removed my poems per your request*
Nobody shall have my poem's virginity before you
I understand the position
We all love negligees that show the nipples
I'll pinch them so they beam like headlights
Pink headlights in a gauze of fog
"Where are you driving me?"
"Why is that weird lunchbox on the front seat?"
I'm only kidding
I should be grateful that you asked me out
I realize I'm getting older
I can see skulls now in both my kneecaps
I pretend weeds that flower are okay
I don't fight back against squirrels as much
(I think they opened a sports bar in the attic)
"I...I...I...I..." I say
a film noir clueless vixen
But you realize my babble is my foreplay
I'm translucent as my pearlized nightgown
And all my thoughts are pearlized too
In your hands, I quiver like the tissue paper
Over the frontispiece photo of a long dead poet





*I really did just remove poems someone was nice enough to ask to see for consideration. But the poem is a lark. Yes, everything is funny to me. The third grade teacher was correct.

Monday, June 28, 2010

All You Really Need to Know

1. He was a volatile and peripatetic poet.

2. He wrote all of his poetry in a space of less than five years.

3. He was caustic and unstable.

4. He died virtually indifferent to his own work.

5. He spent his adulthood in a constant struggle for financial success.

6. He noticed a pain in his knee.

7. He died after a night of hallucinations.

Ligeti: The Devil's Staircase



Torturing pianos is fun.

György Ligeti - Poème Symphonique For 100 Metronomes

Älgarnas Trädgård: You Can Never Have Too Much Suburbanbatherson....

That's YouTubespeak for "great videos."

Here's one he posted recently.



The venerable YouTuber writes of this video and the song behind it...

"During my ADII obsessional phase - where I'd recreate their album covers in my dreams and ride around on the 'Carnival In Babylon' camel - I searched for other artists who could match their earthy, freaky folk genius with that certain touch of stoner interstellar insanity... Obviously a big ask, but I did come across Swedish band Älgarnas Trädgård, whose name translates as 'Elk Garden' - who get pretty damn close to Renate & The Yetis. Released in '71, this classic LP (full title: Framtiden är Ett Svävande Skepp, Förankrat I Forntiden - my dictionary translation: 'our future is a floating ship, harbored in antiquity') is undeniably from that free-fall experimentation 'anything goes' era, with its own particular open mindset. If you like RIO scene artists, avant prog or the Krautrock ethnomusicology of Can & Agitation Free, then you'll find something to excite you on this LP. The track 'La Rotta' reminds me of early Faust, and is just as impressive as those eternal Wumme tunes, for sustaining a medieval yet modern vibe - something so far in the past, it sounds just like the future. Sorry for the deliberate contradictions, but the video is full of them and is complimentary to this brief tentacle of Framtiden - ie: lots of antiquated footage of futuristic fears. The BBC has few remaining good documentary strands and one of them is Timewatch (which sounds a bit like a lost Klaus Schulze album). I like this BBC4 effort because it isn't fronted by a career-building, egotistical celebrity and just uses archive stock footage linked around a fairly broad theme... Here the great sci-fi scribe, Asimov joins the ranks of McLuhan in lying down for the camera, to pitch his own vision of our future. Some smart robots join the melee as well as jobbing actors in Bacofoil space suits."


And here's more "Elk Garden" put up by other YouTubers...





This one sounds a little influenced by Ligeti to me...

I Love Kathy Acker


There really isn't anyone like Kathy Acker.

I love her novels. She remakes the novel in the way that only a handful of novelists can do in each generation.

The early novels are under-read.

I love I Dreamt I Was a Nymphomaniac: Imagining (1974).

Like her later Great Expectations, this novel throws vitriolic acid on the figure of The Artist, strips the flesh back to get to the real neuroses and terror that lie at the heart of the vocation. The gilded vocation. The miserable vocation.

I think people rightly recognize that Acker follows logically from writers like Burroughs and Genet.

The sense of cut-up is still there, but with Acker it's definitely more sampling and the art of the remix which are the models.

Technology always influences art. It's inevitable.

She was well ahead of her time since the early novels in which she demonstrates this remix aesthetic date from the early seventies. These novels only became celebrated with their later republication by Pantheon as Portrait of an Eye (1992), which collected three great Acker novels from this period.

What I love about I Dreamt...how she plagiarizes shamelessly from other artists but reframes their work, recontextualizes it, like what she does with Poe's "William Wilson" in this novel, reading it as an early formuation of the male, capitalist, narcissistic self-embrace that America was to become....showing how even the most romantic gestures of the artist are always horribly mundane and compromised by the worst sort of profit motives...how cultural narratives will appropriate personal narratives in the basest ways...and this includes "love."

Sexual addiction is the dominant theme of the novel and she does this thing where she repeats long passages (erotic and otherwise) twice or more, often with the slightest of changes.

You think at first she's just mocking the self-referential nature of desire and underscoring the fact that "emotions are cliches" (Hejinian). Sexual addiction is at the heart of this novel, after all, and the novel begins "I absolutely love to fuck."

But in a later chapter she shows you what was behind all this spooky doubling.

It's rather a Cartesian nightmare and a meditation on time. A creepy gedankenexperiment.

Like all serious artists, Acker is concerned with essence.

She suddenly turns to the reader halfway through the novel and begins speaking like this...

The first time, I repeated one (writing) even simultaneously slightly changed that event. Repeated this changed event two times. Call the first event 'a'; the repetitions of 'a' (which, as I"ve said, are slightly different from 'a', 'b.') How do these events occur in time? 'a' occurs between zero and 'b.' 'b' occurs between 'a' and 'b.' 'b' occures between 'b' and 'b.' 'b' occurs between 'b' and zero. Notice each event occurs between two events whos conjunction is unique.

The second time, I repeated one event once. I didn't change the event at all. Call the event 'a.' 'a' occurred between zero and 'a.' 'a' occurred between 'a' and zero.

This time I'll repeat an event three times. This time two of the time placements of the event are the same. Call the event 'a.' 'a' occurs between zero and 'a.' 'a' occurs between 'a.' 'a' occurs between 'a' and zero.

Say there's two theories of time. Absolutist theory of time: the world is time. The world, events occur in moments. These moments can be mapped on a time line. Relativist theory of time: time is in the world. Time is the temporal relations of events. An event can be earlier (later) than or simultaneous with another event. The first theory suggests that individuals (subjects) are the true substance. The second theory suggests that temporal characters are the true substance of the world.

I write down a certain number of words repeat those words again. Does the first unit of words mean the same as the repeated unit? That is, either events in time (as for time, for space) are isolated, or mutually dependent with regard to meaning not existence. (For a moment, skip problem of disjunction of meaning and existence.)If the meaning(s) of the writing events depend(s) at least partially on the temporal relations of the writing events, the relativist theory of time seems more accurate.

Intention: escape this horror as I know it and am made by it. How can I (I being a model of any individual) change? Assume the relativist theory of time accurately maps time in the world. "I change." What do I mean by "I"?

If I'm an individual and I persist over a period of time, I'm a substance. If I'm an individual and not a moment, I'm an ordinary individual. Right now (t1) I'm picking my nose. Right now (t2) I'm not picking my nose. "Picking my nose" is a relation between t1 and me. "Not picking my nose" is a relation between t2 and me. But waht if there aren't distinct moments? If t1 isn't distinct from t2? (Relativist theory of time.) I'm an individual who is picking and not picking his nose. Contradiction. I can't be a substance, an individual who persists in time.

If I'm not an individual or if no individuals exist, no temporal relations exist. (In a world without individuals, any character can exemplify any other character. If temporal relations exist, a character could be simultaneously nose-picking and not nose-picking. Contradiction.) By "I," I mean an unknown number of individuals. Each individual exists for a present duration and exemplifies one or more characters. These characters exist out of time. Example: "I chane." "I" exemplifies "change"; "change" exists, is timeless.

This can't be totally accurate because when I remember, I remember an awareness, not an object. I don't remember my hamster, I remember seeing my hamster. Or: I remember seeing my hamster, I remember my hamster directly as I become my hamster, I go back and forth. If I do at any time remember (imagine, think, etc.) an awareness, I must be a continuant. But when I remember an awareness, I don't repeat that awareness. My remembering seeing my hamster, I'm aware, differs from seeing my hamster. Or "repeating" doesn't exist."


I love the way she fucks with our heads not as a way of showing off, but as way of showing you how you can't follow the turns modern philosophy has taken (following modern science) and not have your head fucked.

The logical conclusions do lead exactly where she points: dissolution of any notion of independent identity--identity itself is always relative.

Because she pits Newtonian (absolute) time against Einstein's relativist time--which has conquered and become paradigm science. She pits Cartesianism against Bergsonism (the next section discusses Bergsonian duration, although she doesn't drop names anywhere in this passage, as you can see).

Newtonian "absolute time" and the Cartesian subject are no more.

Even logic's Law of Contradiction is flouted by the new physics.

X can, indeed, not equal X.

The subject can only exist as a prismatic, schismatic polyphony of selves (which are actually bundles of temporal events). Who got closest to the truth? Hume! Davey Hume!

Acker is a whip-smart novelist.

She goes smashing through Enlightenment ideals. She pilfers constantly from the Great Books curriculum to show that centuries of social engineering almost always mean "someone else's nightmare."

She knows that sex is the most important economy (not that she respects that bullshit either) and constantly underscores its hidden workings and mocks its unwritten manifestos.

She considers art as just another form of sex in most of her novels, and sees herself as the nastiest of courtesans.

She despises the Court for which is forced to perform. Her empathy really lies with those whose existence can't even be spoken at court. She constantly brings them out of the shadows into the light, these despicable characters she clearly numbers herself among.

I really can't think of a smarter, more just contemporary novelist than Acker. As J.D. McClatchy asks in his one essay--does one cease being contemporary as soon as one dies? No. One does not.

Her early death is more than lamentable.

Yet another proof that nature is a terrible, terrible editor.

As if everyone didn't notice that by now.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Poem Stolen (pastiche)

I am on the new sofa. I am wedged
in every stanza, and on the winding
unearthed in the lightning. Pale and fast.

The poems of Shelley.

No one is happy.
You can't do this to me, cry
down and walk along the beach.

Lead me out of my own heart,
a miniature earth, beset on all sides.
The robin chasing the butterfly,
waves and particles of light.
Someone bottle this and send it to them.

It is hard not to pour a glass of wine in the morning.

I have just taken a shower and await
the streets wet and confusing.

The empty city. Rush. Rushes out of my ears.

I can't stop looking up
on the moist grass, until the clouds become criminal.

Postcards

Postcards represent a great vanished creed

that is alien to us today as the windshield-wipers

Aleister Crowley affixed to the Victorian Pornmobile.

Slow Ahead

I collect these glorious ceramic mice like a pharaoh. Jealous much?
Yes, we all want you flecked with feeling, your overdue clouds,
a lightning bug flying through nature's background check
and acing it, not getting flustered at all, the goodwill of birdseed
in a miniature house swinging from a tree.

I found a man behind the washing machine today.
It made me realize. I could have been born a Rupert like you.
Anything that is going to be salvaged should be put
on the front porch of the dream. Pronto. Stat.
The luggage of a chimera is an exquisite thing.

Anymore.

I say names with an undue emphasis, as if they required postage.

Lawn Jockeys

Somehow I was asking for it. Drunks in the yard
attempt to ride SIT'N-SPINS and we can't help it.
We watch, eat cherries, laugh. A child tweets
in a tree over our heads. Sparrows are disgusted.
They know Nature is a muse, but Nature is a lush.

She drops things all over this evening. Birds
eat the bread crumbs she drops because
of a story she heard once, has tried to reenact
numerous times, but with little success.

The fairy tale is out of order and someone civilized

should just hang a sign about its neck.

Seriously.
I think I tried to adopt you in the PETSMART
of my poem. My PETSMART gargoyles were all draining
heavy rains from the flattop PETSMART wears
to remind itself of the buzzcuts and buzzcocks of youth.
But I also want to show how the skull is rising.

I collect these glorious ceramic mice like a pharaoh. Jealous much?
We all want you flecked with feeling, your overdue clouds,
a lightning bug flying through nature's background check
and acing it, not getting flustered at all, the goodwill of birdseed
in a miniature house swinging from a tree.

I found a man behind the washing machine today.
He was talking about Caravaggio desperately
and running one hand through his rather long hair.
"You'll do," I said, and hummed the Buzzcocks
as I steered him by the elbow to the nearest Poodlebox.
Anything that is going to be salvaged should be put
on the front porch of the dream. Pronto. Stat.
The luggage of a chimera is an exquisite thing.

Anymore.

I say names with an undue emphasis, as if they required postage.

Knock Knock

Knock Knock.

"Whos's there?"

Gargoyle.

"Gargoyle who?"

Gargoyle after sucking cock.

Now That We Are Pretending We Are a "Soccer Nation"...

Here are really the only important things for any gay man to know...




"kathy with a k wear them dewdrop eyeglasses..."



Love the "typing"...





Saturday, June 26, 2010

evanescent poem

you are like a shopwiki search
for cat tea kettles and all the wonderful
unnecessary shit that i see right here

evanescent and feigning necessary

so necessary i break my legs

and die in a kitsch avalanche

metaphors and similes / my japanese tea kettle

shopwiki search did this to me

Love Poem (No Homo)

What were elk doing in my pajamas?
What were you? We learn by watching Neve Campbell
in The Craft that "everything in nature steals."
(No homo.)

The dead sharks wash up on the beach
at regular intervals, found at dawn. A "love gift."
Nancy has a penis. There's nothing wrong with her. Or us.
(No homo.)

Words that Unhyphenated in the Night While We Weren't Looking (Because We Were Fucking)

bearsex, tatdog, bowwow, scumlord, demiurge, afrosheen. plugugly, orangeade, sleepshy. poodleball, gaylord, taturge, bearsheen, afrowow. catjamas, bearcat, scumsheen. poodlelord, afrourge, gayball, fauxhawk, lovesick. trampstamp, bareback, fuckall, fruitstand, sploogewear, peckersniff, chocoholic. orgyshy, guitarlick, douchebagiana. plugqueen, bromance, froggystyle. cockoholic, sizeade, lickoholic, trampmance, brosheen, afroholic, browow. cockstamp, tatmance, scumoholic, chocosheen, poodlejamas, peckerhawk, lovesniff. lovetrick, horndog, demisniff. werehomo, shamwow, mercyfuck, flailmail, douchestamp, hornwear. flailmance, afrotrick, weresex. mercyholic, sploogemance, mercyjamas, poodlestamp, shamoholic. scumjamas, sploogelord, doucheholic, chocoback, fruitdog, brohawk, afrojamas. flailball, trampade, mercystand. cocksick, werewow, shamsheen, douchemance, shamback, scummance, weresniff, fauxoholic, demibagiana. sizestand, douchesick, bearmance, poodlequeen. pluglord, chocostamp, weremance. brobagiana. tatmail, sploogeade, afrostand. orangemance, scumwow, tathawk, weremail, sleepmance, brosniff, afrosick. flailbagiana. weretrick, poodlemance, bearstand. trampbagiana. brotrick, mercymance, demifuck.

Love Poem (No Homo)

I love the way you know someday you'll carry
pussy willows through the gay Middle Ages
bound and gagged.
(No homo.)

I thought (with this distance) you gave me
the finger, but now I see you were
only holding a french fry weirdly.
(No homo.)

I made you a t-shirt of the Pillsbury doughboy
wearing rainbow pride skivvies.
I trust you will wear this in numerous straight bars.
(No homo.)

I made you a Lil Wayne/Patrick Wolf mix c.d.
(No homo.)

I have this rubber doll of you (lifesize)
I chase around the backyard when the moon floods and stalls.
(No homo.)

My ringtone for you on my cell phone?
Crazy Frog singing, "there's a masturbator on my phooooone..."
(No homo.)

Do I love you? Of course!
But I love the raven of Charles Dickens, any soup
arriviste enough to call itself bisque and peachblow.
(No homo.)

You are a chameleon. That much is certain.
But I can't say with any certainty of what you are a chameleon.
School cafs? Cyber-masques? Imaginary argy-bargys?
(No homo.)

I don't know what the plural of argy-bargy really is.
I just bluffed.
(No homo.)

Are we in cahoots?
Sometimes I feel that way when I am hunting elk
in my pajamas and suddenly notice you crouched by my side, doing sudoku.
(No homo.)

What were elk doing in my pajamas?
What were you? We learn by watching Neve Campbell
in The Craft that "everything in nature steals."
(No homo.)

The dead sharks wash up on the beach
at regular intervals, found at dawn. A "love gift."
Nancy has a penis. There's nothing wrong with her. Or us.
(No homo.)

"Evil Knock Knock Jokes"

is now a blog.

I plan on writing a few thousand.

It's in my blogroll.

Feel free to leave your original work ("Knock Knocks") if you visit.

Grip the Raven


Here is poor Grip.

He's probably wondering how the hell he ended up in Philadelphia.

He has been "lying in state" for quite some time.

I don't believe anybody taxidermied any other members of Dickens' family or Dickens himself.

Maybe they figured "there just wasn't the interest."

I was looking for other blog posts about Grip, and I found this interesting post at Lisa Waller's blog, which I can see is a very readworthy one...

Lisa Waller on Grip.

Memorial for Grip by Daniel Maclise


Here is the memorial for Charles Dickens' raven Grip, drawn by artist Daniel Maclise (1806-1870).

He was "an Irish historical painter who designed illustrations for some of Dickens' Christmas books."

Seon Manley used period illustrations exclusively, contemporary with Dickens (and many of them his illustrators and friends).

I was pleased to see she included a handful of Cruikshanks and she included a number from Dore's London, lest we get too cheerful a picture of the time period from her largely upbeat tale.

I had no idea that Grip is in Philadelphia now!

As empire and money move westward....I guess it makes sense...

We gobble everything up. Charles Dickens' dead raven. Crown jewels. Whatever can make our houses and institutions look older and more venerable.

Grip's only a few hours south of me. (Hope he's still there.) Maybe I should go visit him!

Here's Seon Manley's explanation of the provenance of her tale, and the genesis of the idea...

ABOUT THIS STORY

"CHARLES DICKENS, a great lover of animals, was the 'proud possessor' of two ravens.

"The first, he said, 'was in the bloom of his youth, when he was discovered in a modest retirement in London, by a friend of mine, and given to me. He had, from the first, as Sir Hugh Evans says of Anne Page, 'good gifts' which he improved by study and attention in a most exemplary manner. He slept in a stable--generally on horseback--and so terrified a Newfoundland dog by his preternatural sagacity, that he has been known, by the mere superiority of his genius, to walk off unmolested with the dog's dinner, from before his face. He was rapidly rising in acquirements and virtues, when, in an evil hour, his stable was newly painted. He observed the workmen closely, so (sic) that they were careful of the paint, and immediately burned to possess it. On their going to dinner, he ate up all they had left behind, consisting of a pound or two of white lead; and this youthful indiscretion terminated in death.'"

I think there might be a typo there near the end of that passage, with "so" substituted for "saw." Often, writers will err homophonically when typing or transcribing. I do this all the time. They mistype what they are hearing in their "inner ear." ...saw that they were careful of the paint, and immediately burned to possess it. Doesn't that make more sense? "So" could follow as the start of an adverbial phrase, but it's odder, more stilted and less likely to have been the intended word.

Seon Manley continues...

"I found this description of Grip irresistible, and it is the basis of my story, filled in like an old holiday pudding with currands and citron of the imagination as well as the flavors of old diaries, letters and other contemporary chronicles.

"Ravens are capable of speech, but the liberties I take with Grip, his huge talent for speech, follow those used by Dickens himself when he depicted Grip in Barnaby Rudge."

Manley lists the people to whom she is grateful for assistance in writing this book, and she arrives at..."Mr. Howell Heaney, librarian emeritus of the Rare Book Room of the Free Library of Philadelphia, who not only read the manuscript but who was the guardian of Grip himself, now stuffed but ever triumphant in the library."

No wonder Gorey ended up collaborating with this author!

Friday, June 25, 2010

"The raven knew just what he meant..."

"The raven knew just what he meant. He put his head to one side, and his bright eyes studied his surroundings. He wondered if he should take up with this strange new family or not, and then he gave an answer. An answer in a strange supernatural voice that set up Ella's screaming all over again. A voice harsh and distant. It seemed to come from all of his feathers rather than from out his mouth. And the voice seemed to say, 'Hello hello hello. Keep up your spirits. Never say die. Bowwow, bowwow, bowwow. I'm a devil, I'm a devil, I'm a devil. Hurray.' And then he let out a strange whistle."

(A raven arrives in the home of Charles Dickens in Seon Manley's strange little book, A Present for Charles Dickens.)

I had known Manley primarily heretofore as an editor of anthologies of supernatural tales, at least one of which was memorably illustrated by Edward Gorey.

I'm enjoying this book--published by the Westminster Press of Philadelphia.

Flashback: Humpe Humpe's "Yamaha"

Corporate nationalistic anthem.

Cute.

Produced by Roma Baran, believe it or not, who worked with Laurie Anderson on her first album.




The Humpe sisters were hugely important in German pop music from what I'm reading online.

Funny, I had no idea. I just remembered stumbling upon a Humpe Humpe album in the late eighties or early nineties and loving its cuteness.

They (the Humpes) have apparently morphed into many different bands and most recently Annette Humpe has joined with another songwriter to create "Ich + Ich" (pronounced "Ich und ich").

Wiki...

Ich + Ich (German for I and I), also pronounced "Ich und ich" is the name of a musical project by the German musicians Annette Humpe and Adel Tawil. They met in a Berlin recording studio in 2002 when Adel sang on a production that Annette had written. They have sold more than 2,600,000+ records in German-speaking nations.

Their first album, Ich + Ich, appeared on April 18, 2005, and two of its singles (Du erinnerst mich an Liebe and Dienen) reached the German Top 10. The second album Vom selben Stern released June 29, 2007, reaching No. 1 in charts. The first single of the album with the same name also reached the Top 10, too, along with the second and third singles (Stark and So soll es bleiben, with all three singles being certified platinum in Germany). This second album has sold more than 1,000,000 copies and has been certified platinum in many occasions in Austria and Germany. The album also spawned two more less-successful singles: Nichts bringt mich runter and Wenn ich tot bin.

On November 13, 2009, their third album, Gute Reise, was released, reaching once again the top of the german album charts. Its first single, Pflaster, became the band's first No.1 single in Germany.



Their videos have 300,000 hits on average so they must be doing very well in Europe but I don't think they are crossing The Drink at all. Duh. Because they sing in German.







I stole these Nao robots from The Nerdist.

I didn't realize until recently that Chris Hardwick, besides being a stand-up comic, is also a big tech-head and has written for Wired for a loooong time.

So he's always debuting frontier science and science-y stuff.

I'm trying to remember if these are the same robots that were in the Beck video a few years back.

They had the little Japanese fans they were waving about in that video.

They seem very reminiscent of those. Maybe those were prototypes?

Now I'm thinking that's likely as here's what Wiki says...they do have a history...had no idea it was a French company!

Nao (pronounced "now") is an autonomous, programmable and medium-sized humanoid robot, developed by the French company Aldebaran Robotics, a start-up headquartered in Paris.

Although the Nao Academics Edition is already available for universities and laboratories for research and education purposes, it will not be available to the general public until 2011.

On August 15, 2007, Nao replaced the robot dog Aibo by Sony as the robot used in the Robocup ("Robot Soccer World Cup") Standard Platform League (SPL), an international robotics competition [1]. The Nao was used in RoboCup 2008 and 2009, and the NaoV3R was chosen as the platform for the SPL at RoboCup 2010.

NAO ROBOTS

Versions

Six prototypes of Nao were designed:

from January 2005 to March 2006 : AL-01, AL-02 and al.-03
from September 2005 to July 2006 : AL-04
from June 2006 to June 2007 : AL-05.a
from May 2007 to December 2007 : AL-05.b
On March 2008, a first finalized version (Nao Robocup Edition) was released to the Robocup's contestants.

In late 2008, the Nao Academics Edition was released to the academics and education market (universities and companies).

A general public version is to be launched middle 2011.

[edit] Specifications
Technical Specifications
Height 58 cm
Weight 4,3 kg
Autonomy 90 min. (constant walking)
Degrees of freedom 21 to 25
CPU x86 AMD GEODE 500 MHz
Built-in OS Linux
Compatible OS Windows, MacOS, Linux
Programming languages C++, C, Python, Urbi, .Net
Vision Two CMOS 640 x 480 cameras[4]
Connectivity Ethernet, Wi-Fi
Robocup Edition has 21 degrees of freedom (DOF) while the Academics Edition has 25 DOF since it is built with two hands with gripping abilities. The figure of 25 for DOF is misleading as each leg has a "HipYawPitch" axis of movement that amounts to 1 DOF for the pelvis.

All versions feature an Inertial measurement unit and 4 Ultrasonic sensors that provide stability and positioning within space to Nao.

Nao also features a powerful multimedia system (4 microphones, 2 speakers, 2 CMOS cameras) for text-to-speech synthesis, sound localization or facial and shape recognition amongst various other abilities.

The package includes a dedicated programming software called, Aldebaran Choregraphe and Nao is also compatible with Microsoft Robotics Studio, Cyberbotics Webots and Gostai Urbi Studio...





As you can see, they should be upon us next year...just in time for bringing about the 2012 Apocalypse, no doubt...

And here's the Beck video I was remembering.

They aren't prototypes of the "Nao."

I found this online: "Sony's QRIO robots to dance in Beck video."

Hence, the Japanese fans.



This gives me flashbacks to Humpe Humpe's song...and you get some Japanese robots in this video too...sorry for the piss-poor audio on this "remix"....

Lee Has Figured Out

something I've known for some time.

CURRENT TV runs a lot of good stuff.

He has been recording the show That's Gay, which is basically The Soup for gay t.v.

It's a very cute show.

I Just Gave Some Hot Beef a Pearl (Onion) Necklace...


Sorry.

I couldn't resist.

Nor could I resist taking a picture of how pretty this roast I just stuck in the oven looked wearing its red potato necklace.

I added some sherry in its bathwater, and a bunch of spices, including fresh-ground pepper and voila...roast beast, as Dr. Seuss says.

Lee has promised to watch it as I need to run out.

I had no baby carrots to add but I will prepare some on the side.

Apologies to any vegetarian or vegan perusers of this image.

I drink blood.

I feel we owe it to our caveman ancestors.

How do you think we got here anyway?

The cookware is from IKEA. And I have to tell you...it cost six bucks. And I remember paying like twenty bucks for some French "name" cookware (no, it wasn't Le Creuset...but one of those) on discount at TJ MAXX, and the thing just "lost it" after about only two years. It was unuable from the cracking.

The IKEA piece could be dipped into the sun's core and would still be as new as the day I bought it (which is how its entire surface appears).

Those Swedes!

More Execrable Knock Knock Jokes

I'm sorry.

But I can't stop now that I've realized my love for one of the lowest "art forms" on the planet.

I'm so sad that people don't tell these as much anymore.


Knock knock?

"Who's there?"

Murder.

"Murder who?

Murder anyone who tells you knock knock jokes are funny.

(Or you can say "Murder merrier.")





Knock knock?

"Who's there?"

Spermicide.

"Spermicide who?

Sperm a side your mouth where you didn't wipe.




Knock knock?

"Who's there?"

Atari.

"Atari who?

A tarry stool is a sign of rectal bleeding, and often the first sign of colon cancer.




Knock knock?

"Who's there?"

Anal.

"Anal who?

(sing deep) "Anal sunshine when you're gone..."

filters are addictive








Here is the Kiyochika wooblock print I published on my postcard blog today with several different filters applied.

I love the anamorphic one. I think I got the name right, although they don't call it that.

That's the one where you put the mirrored cylinder in the center of the drawing and the picture recomposes itself correctly in the reflection.

postscript: I googled it and yes it is anamorphic art.

Here are two more examples.

I love the anamorphic teacup!


"we're just friends" (scanner art)



Uh huh.

I think I like it reversed (left) better.

strange relationships (scanner art)

sixteen candles (scanner art)



Thank God for transparencies.

Aglow (sixteen, erm, seventeen penises)

"You Don't Have a Green Thumb"

While I generally prefer to abuse more than I like to disabuse, I must attempt to disabuse some people of certain cherished and wrongheaded notions.

You do not have a "green thumb" just because you can keep any of the following plants alive...

1. SNAKE PLANT. Why do you think so many restaurants, hotels and doctors' offices host this horrid excuse of a plant? Because it can live on the exhaust from chain smokers and the sweat shaken off passing waitresses. It doesn't need you at all. Don't flatter yourself. If you don't believe me, try it and see. Just die. Like Celine Dion, its heart will go on. If you want to credit a plant this uninspring (no fireworks of flower or foliage whatsoever) with having a heart. I don't.

2. WANDERING JEW. I got one of these at a K-MART when I was ten (yes, people actually shopped at K-MART back in those days, children). While relationships and friendships wilted and died, this plant went on. While national boundaries were withdrawn and nations changed their names on maps, this plant just wandered joyfully like Willie Nelson in a WAL-MART. While horrible holocausts occurred all over this world, this plant just kept annoyingly trying to grab the cereal boxes on the fold out table in the corner of the kitchen with its green paws. It outlasted all my brothers' marriages, and the aunts who warned me about overwatering it are all six feet under, themselves now overwatered. I couldn't have drowned it with the Hoover Dam. Nor could you. So don't even brag.

3. ARECA PALM. There's a reason they sell these at WAL-MART. Didn't you ever notice that anything that requires any subtlety of care (example, bonsai plants, phalaenopsis orchids) is invariably dying or dead and on markdown in the Garden Department at WAL-MART? The Areca palms are invariably flourishing. Because one doesn't really have to do anything. Just think of it as a very big dandelion. Without a yellow flower. Because it's about that resilient. And about that much of a horticultural cliche in a house or a hotel foyer as a dandelion is on a lawn.

4. CACTUS. Admit it. Don't you feel that someone is insulting you when they give you a cactus plant of any type? Aren't they being very unimaginative in their choice of a little ironic present? One wants to respond, "Oh, Thank You! I just love plants that remind me of Jesus's agonizing death!" And they'll never die. Some of them get these horrid red bulbous growths on them which I guess are supposed to look pretty but remind me of things like bonobos' noses or a horrific red wart I once saw on a beagle's ass when I was eleven. Or cancer. Some cacti seem to get growths that actually resemble types of skin cancer. "Ooh, look...your plant's metastasizing." Would it really surprise you if it were skin cancer? I mean look how much time they spend in the sun without the benefit of any type of sunscreen or sunblock. And I don't really think of those horrid green things they grow as leaves. Rubbery chlorophyll dinosaur plates aren't really leaves. I mean, unless you're really desperate. And there are other plants in the sea.

5. MOSS. Yes, believe it or not, children, some people actually pretend they are growing this in their home. Moss doesn't grow. Moss infests. Moss plagues. Moss infiltrates. These are, of course, the same people who buy their Buddhas at Pier One and their entire education is usually a melange of The Discovery Channel, PBS and Animal Planet. These channels might tend to give one an "elevated view" of moss. But the rest of us know better. It's really just a form of outdoor carpeting. Not a plant.

6. PHILODENDRON. A plant so chummy they gave it a basically human name. I have one in my kitchen and in trying to adhere to the Hindu principle of ahimsa (the practice of not harming any living thing) I basically gave up my kitchen to Phil. If Walt Whitman had kept a philodendron in his dwelling, he would have written Leaves of Phil not Leaves of Grass. Because grass has nothing on Phil. Phil now owns the kitchen. I have to take a machete and wear a pith helmet when I want a bowl of cereal. Every time I believe we have come to an understanding about "no growth zones," I find yet another incursion. My house is now home to seven endangered butterfly species that are usually found only around Angkor Wat and in the remotest areas of the Amazon jungle. I try to keep reminding the cat about these "sacred cow" butterflies, but every time I encounter him trotting past there is usually an extinction fluttering in his mouth. Yesterday, I caught Phil with his hand on the television remote control, but I'm happy to say he pulled it back when I screamed.

7. GERANIUM. I don't particularly believe there is great pride to be had in growing a plant that smells like your grandmother's armpits, but some people do. That's why most people keep them on the front porch, which is also what most people try to do--usually unsuccessfully--with their grandmas. I gave one to my mom one year in August and she dutifully put it on the porch and ran. When I visited her later that same year, during one of our particularly gnarly Pennsylvania blizzards, I saw largeish hummocks in the snow of her driveway and sidewalk. I later learned these were my brothers*, surprised by an "uptick" in the blizzard, who had been overtaken and quickly buried. But the geranium was in full noxious flower and "taking the sun" and bragging that its life is entirely leisure, just like an annoyingly wealthy Colorada skier or a Southern plantation belle (but a Southern belle who smells like ass).

8. ALOE. You just know this is the snake plant's second cousin. Or nephew or something. The only difference is the snake plant has coloration and the aloe has some gooey primordial ooze that is supposed to help wounds heal faster. Neither of them feel the need to do anything. If plants received Welfare, the snake plant and the aloe would be the "welfare queens" of the plant kingdom. They are quite content, like you, to just sit around and watch television all day. And night. Yes, it helps wounds heal faster, but it also puts spores into your blood when you rub that afterbirth crap it produces on your cuts or scrapes. Then you are turned (unbeknownst) into an "aloe baby farm." Every time you sneeze or cough, you are giving birth to thousands of baby aloe plants. The spores float invisibly out of your orifices. Science just discovered this yesterday. Or the day before that. I forget. It is Invasion of the Body Snatchers, where the nth remake is actually you. Anyway, you can't kill it. It has evolved to an objectionable, peaceful co-dependency with humankind. Sort of like television.














*Luckily, these boys each had a sudoku book in their backpocket, and this kept them occupied until the rest of us "could be arsed" to bother digging them out. In April.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Yes, I will sink so low as to write "knock knock" jokes.


Knock Knock?

Who's there?

Kidnapping.

Kidnapping who?

Kidnapping cuz I gave him half a bottle of Nyquil after he wouldn't shut up about going to the pool.
Yes, I will sink so low as to write "knock knock" jokes.


Knock Knock?

Who's there?

Dickens.

Dickens who?

Dick ens too soon if you prematurely ejaculate.
Yes, I will sink so low as to write "knock knock" jokes.


Knock Knock?

Who's there?

Distance.

Distance who?

Dis tance be all white and shit.
Yes, I will sink so low as to write "knock knock" jokes.


Knock Knock?

Who's there?

Hepatitis B.

Hepatitis B who?

Hepatitis be making your eyes all yellow and shit.
Yes, I will sink so low as to write "knock knock" jokes.


Knock Knock?

Who's there?

IKEA.

IKEA who?

IKEA car when the bumper stickers piss me off.

Knock Knock Joke in Homage to Louis Pasteur

Yes, I will sink so low as to write "knock knock" jokes.


Knock Knock?

Who's there?

Pasteurize.

Pasteurize who?

Pasteurize is your nose!

dangerous knock knock jokes

Yes, I will sink so low as to write "knock knock" jokes.

Wife to Husband:


Knock Knock?

Who's there?

Some hot young fifteen-year-old girl who wants to fuck you.

Some hot young fifteen-year-old girl who wants to fuck you who?

I can't believe you answered the door! I suppose you've been lying to me every time you say "I love you." Should I be worried about getting tested now too? Has it gone that far already? How many are there? Can I count them on the fingers of my two hands...or do I need to take off my shoes, Sigmund? Do I need to take off my shoes and then call our children and ask them to bring their fingers over here too?! Would you like that Sigmund? Huh? Would you like it? As easy as that? As easy as that, to just throw twenty-eight years and three children away, huh?! I want a fucking divorce, Sigmund! You hear me? A d-i-v-o-r-c-e!

I thought it was a joke!

Oh, it's always a fucking joke to you, isn't it?

Well...then...Knock knock!

(unamused) Who's there Sigmund? Another one of your little pedophile crushes?

Hoover.

(screaming now) Hoover fucking who, Sigmund? Hoover FUCKING WHO?

Hoover told you you don't need psychotherapy fucking lied.
Knock Knock joke to be told in a public restroom to a stranger you don't know who is standing right next to you pissing also...


Knock Knock?

Who's there?

European.

European who?

European on my shoes, asshole.
Yes, I will sink so low as to write "knock knock" jokes.


Knock Knock?

Who's there?

Multiple stab wounds.

Multiple stab wounds who?

Multiple stab wounds now! (He stabs joke participant, murdering him.)

knock knock

Yes, I will sink so low as to write "knock knock" jokes.


Knock Knock?

Who's there?

Cancer.

Cancer who?

Cancer all my appointments. Have hlot date with hlot goll tonight.



Okay, that's not only stupid, it's objectionable.

I think that's what I was trying for.

Sinking Spell

Yes, I will sink so low as to write "knock knock" jokes.


Knock Knock?

Who's there?

Canteloupe.

Canteloupe who?

Can't elope right now. I have herpes.




Postscript: I should have realized a pun potential that glaring would not be missed by fellow Knock Knockers.

I just Googled it and see many have already "written" this. Sigh.

I guess you have to go with much more preposterous puns.

Scrambled Bernadette Cherries

                  

A cherry pie; the cherries are eternal
Tumbled down an incline of Bash Bish

It is not immortal, though rooted in the ground
In a wildfire, tornado or apocalypse

Broke many things; it was still spring--
Or move over in a spring flood

The same thing you saw yesterday, maybe
At Bartholomew's cobble; a coneflower appeared

Clouded over, it was too rainy to walk annually
& coming back? it might disappear

As did a lupin; even some alyssum
Or earthquake; you move over & you'll see

It's the welcome wagon; here's
(Be forewarned) the eternal perennial




            (all shuffled lines hers)

Yadda Stroke Yadda

                  

Learn more about me. I have a literary telephone and a stake. I can't dance well but I can do it a long time. Foxes stink but I pat my couch and crotch when I see them. My dying is all Meh! in your face! You delete my existence and I panic.I write you a three page letter (on real paper, asshole!) and remind you that I usually write to the famous. I try to explain at length why I Meh and even talk about tragos, that itchy goat-skin
of tragedy (yadda..stroke..yadda) I have dedicated my life to wearing. In Iowa. I am clearly a magpie with multiple raven exes. Once, I made a coffin completely out of jellybeans and a real miniature golf course, I mean art gallery, displayed it. I want the marriage of Woody Woodpecker and Kafka to lead somwhere, I need it to. You have no idea of the mistake you just made. I am both epiphytic and saprophytic. Did you even know I am one of the co-authors of Extinction for Dummies? When you pulled the plug on my neon roller skates I really hated you for a few thousand hours. But then I discovered Twitter! I tweet Nietzsche! I tweet a recurrent nightmare where I am a penguin finding a can of peas and a can opener on an ice floe just off Antarctica. How could you possibly think that you could harm a sacred magpie and get away with it, asshole?" I have 243 followers this afternoon, and that is what I just reminded my boss when I quit one of my fourteen jobs at 130 decibels.

i'm not shouting

POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
POETRY IS ACTUALLY JUST PHOENIX UNIVERSITY
BUT DON'T TELL ANYONE I TOLD YOU THIS OKAY
OKAY OKAY OKAY COOL ARE WE COOL OKAY OKAY