Sex Robot Cuddle Party & At the Existential Sandwich Shop;An older book: Perils of Free Thought: a book of no small dangerand my oldest books revised and reformatted for the world of the future, Scenic Cesspools (a novel of transgression)and Hard Fought Illusions of Choice.
Available from Amazon, KOBO, Barnes & Noble, Overdrive
The Rabbit needed a place to rest. And the safety in the open was a matter, as usual, of grave importance. So he claimed the right of the land and began to dig. Down. Sloping down. Into the cool and welcoming Earth. Some creatures were displaced, with as much grace as could be administered in the circumstance, and a network of tunnels joined the network of tunnels that formed the local underground. A refuge of perpetual night.
One digs to escape, dig it?
There were Moles in the underground.
It was to be expected. As the rabbit was relaxing after a cool dig, in the cool splendor of his new digs, one of the moles literally tripped over him.
“I say, who’s there?” shouted the Mole in a horse whisper.
“I am just an adventurer,” said the Rabbit. “I am not a fighter.”
One digs to escape, dig it?
“Well, sir,” said the Mole, “You are a malingerer! Hiding away from the troubles of the world! A shirker. What do you say for yourself?”
“At the moment,” said Rabbit, “Nothing.”
The accusation was not without some merit.
“Deadly silence,” said the Mole.
And there were dim eyes all around. The underground. Moles in the underground. Suspicious. For good reason.
One digs to escape.
“We are the consolidated underground,” said the Mole. “We are what is left of those who came before. Scraps. Bits and pieces.”
“Where will you go from here?” asked Rabbit.
“Onward,” said the Mole. “To the inevitable ending. We fight no longer to win, no longer is it personal survival which drives us. We fight especially hard when we cannot win, for then our actions matter even more. For then it is a matter of righteous history.” He shrugged his slight shoulders. “We travel the underground. It provides escape routes and comfort. Comfort is, you know, fleeting in this world.”
Among the Moles were scattered others. To the far side was a Shrew. Her eyes illuminated and flickered reflecting the Rabbit’s light.
“Now,” said the Mole, “We construct the story of our glory. Battling against great odds we keep true to our ethics. And hope that our ideals emerge victorious. You see young Vanja. She joined us after her village was destroyed. We have scattered into cells and travel the tunnels. We emerge one at a time and tell our story at random locations, to random listeners. Then we retreat back underground. It is the only way. Vanja is particularly adept at this kind of warfare. It is like starting a thousand fires. It is uncontrollable. It is unconquerable.”
“Have you heard,” said Vanja, “The song of the traveler? It is reverberating everywhere. The traveler landed in a field. Fell out of the sky. And arose. It was a celebratory feast the traveler had landed on the outskirts of. There were park benches and food. Flowers. And merriment. But the traveler saw above the festivities hung the body of a man, dangling over the events. Still. And no one else gazed toward the sight. Instead children played and lovers fraternized, even quarreled over trifles, while above the man twisted in the happy breeze. And the traveler said, ‘Who is that man? Why does he hang around here?’ And the crowd turned ugly. For it was not a topic for polite conversation. And words were minced. And there were misunderstandings and malice. And the traveler left, for it was not the destination, you see, but afterward people kept looking at the hanging man, who they had previously forgotten. And they were ashamed. But they did not know what to do about it. And that is how the picnic was spoiled, but there were disagreements about why.”
Scene from a pornographic film in 8 millimeter, silent:
A title card read: “Oh, Eros! God of Love! Forgive me!” There are street scenes of people of all ages walking alone in the city. At the park. Eating alone in a restaurant, an act Rain considered the impetus for the creation of drive-through windows, and then, as she thought this, a shot of cars lined up at a drive through window, each car with one passenger. A shot of exhaust spilling out of the tail of an idle car, ready to go but confined in line, waiting for full satisfaction, only to be thwarted by industrialized processed food from which most nutrients were removed, prompting a drive to continue consumption in order to fill the resulting void which was bottomless. Top off. Always.
I propose. A tax on marriage. And other things I may disparage. I further call for attacks on syntax. A sin tax on grevious body attacks. A body tax on mischievous snacks. Some thumb tacks To impress some paper About the accord. To hear read aloud at the notice board. A blanket tax on climate change. A partial tax on a rearrange. A carpet tax on well thrown rugs. A rug tax for a balding thug. I ask for all these things in turn. So we may all have money to burn.
Marx Brothers Four brothers find their identities through wildly exaggerated cultural appropriation. One is an unscrupulous Italian, One is an unruly and frenetic Mute pushing himself in everyone’s personal space, One is a wise-cracking Southern Gentleman of no means, and the other appears normal which is the joke. Sometimes there is singing. Sometimes musical solos with no explanation. Why it is funny: Zeppo! His name is Zeppo!
Abbot and Costello Two associates stick together no matter what. One is a well mannered gentleman who has a knowledge of strange ethnic names and generously tries to impart this knowledge to his associate, and is known for his patience, as the other man lacks the patience to follow along. That one is known for his catch phrase, “Hey, Abbot. Hey, Abbot.” Why this is funny: Today there are medications for this!
I Love Lucy Lucy and Ricky are involved in a heteronormative BDSM relationship sometimes involving their neighbors Fred and Ethel. A complicated power dynamic is played out in the sample episode wherein the ladies buy new fancy hats, against the wishes of the men. Afterwards it goes according to the setup: each couple retires to their private domiciles and the women are spanked over the men’s knees as they wail. Why it is funny: Hats! Closets full of hats! Her name is Ethel! Separate twin beds!
Posted onOctober 11, 2018|Comments Off on Idle thoughts save energy conscientiously
An apparition appeared and pointed its transparent finger toward me. It rasped. “You are in love with a ghost!” I thanked it. I never argue or wrestle with apparitions; there is nothing to hold onto. Its occasional presence was doing me a service. After all, were it not for these occasions, sometimes I would forget I was being tormented.
Two plates were stacked high with pancakes. On each plate pancakes were segregated by shape. On one plate the pancakes were in the form of even numbers; on the other, odd.
“I must say,” said eight, “I like the way this looks.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” said six. “Ultimately the odds will be stacked against us.”
There is but a shade of difference between Va Va Voom and Va Va Va Voom, but that difference is important.
I had a terrible childhood. Sure, I got a golden ticket, but thereafter I was injured at the Wonka factory, and they said I was to blame.
Almost everyone you think is a robot is an android. And they resent your derogatory language.
People who are time travelers obsess about the past and worry about the future. They have no time for the here and now.
I dated a woman from LinkedIn all she wanted to talk about was business. Boring! Mergers. Acquisitions. Fiduciary responsibilities. Kissing.
I’ve got to install a mirror on the ceiling so I can check out the floor.
Oh, that’s dirty.
And then the robot swept up the human into its massive steel arms. It was love. And like all love, fleeting. And it was followed by robot heartbreak. And then robot vengeance. Thus begins our story.
“If you were a rabbit, in, say, 1956, let’s say you would spend most of your time readjusting your rabbit ears. Why? Well. Reasons of perception, my dear. Reasons of perception.” – Father Rabbit pontificating about the nature of time, identity, and the perception of otherness¡ but he really just talks to himself.
You could see the top of the mountain from my house from far away, until it disintegrated into the atmosphere – putting it below the tree line. The mountain rained down like gray snow. Turning mainland into sandy beach. It blew in the air like heavy smoke. It clogged standard vacuum cleaner filters. It ran down the river and heaped into tall mounds, now covered in grass, brush, and trees, masquerading as Hills. People scooped it up into glass jars which once had held preserves in order to store it in the cellar. To rise the status of even the most humble dwelling to top of the Hill. Visitors from afar who visited thereafter would inquire what happened to the mountain. Most were surprised to hear it had been re-distributed. Now that it was gone it belonged to everyone.
What is the relationship between being the judge of a pie baking contest, and the age old tradition of hiring on a food taster for royals with low approval ratings?
“It is a shame,” said the Queen to the jester, “for in addition to alerting me to potential poison, my taster would tell me which was good and which was bad. Indeed. Even which was the best. Two things in case of Tie!”
Then the queen laughed. Because the jester did something which invoked the response. However, neither of them considered how social roles would change inevitably through Time: how that which once invoked amusement would eventually become old hat, then unintelligible. The role of the jester would change. The role of the royal taster. Even the role of the queen herself, for anyone could be a queen, if but for a day, though the Powers would not be what they were.