Category Archives: My books

Thankfully, ideology only brings out the best in people.

Whenever terrible things happen the intelligentsia inform you the age of humor has ended. Because they don’t want you to have anything.

Will there be funny jokes during the suffering? Yes, there will be funny jokes during the suffering. But the laughter will be desperate.

This country used to have slaves. But the word was distasteful. So we replaced it with other words more socially acceptable.

Under the new regime poets shall be stripped of their words and forced to communicate via color wheel.

Why is there so much disaffection in the USA? Because people there have been trying to buy happiness for too long, and it isn’t working.

People always say “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” But they never say the reverse, “if it’s broke, fix it!”

You can’t buy happiness. Happiness is given away in exchange for personal data used for advertising.

After the terrible election fiasco, the USA is finally getting back to normal with another mass school shooting.

I have the best nightmares. They are the stuff other nightmares are made of. No one can defeat my nightmares. My nightmares are winners.

“All groups are inherently exclusionary or will inevitably become exclusionary.” I read that on a men’s room wall when I was 19.

‪Sometimes I am informed how lucky I am to be a man. Other times I am informed I am not a man. It’s a controversial definition. ‬

Honestly, when I was in kindergarten, first day, I couldn’t figure out which bathroom to use. But I got it eventually. Now I just go anywhere.

A sales circular says these are the final days. Apocalypse news filters through in store displays. Everyone pays in different ways.

‪”Only in America!” As Yakoff Smirnoff would say, would the phrase “water is life” be controversial.‬

It’s been a long emotional journey. But I’m ready to eat pancakes again. I just can’t afford them.

A meeting of the monsters

 

“No, I don’t like it,” said a monster.

“Then no one shall have it!” said another monster, who was a friend, a foul-weather friend, of the first monster. “Anyone who complains shall have their sanity questioned!”

“Hear, hear!” said the number one monster, who finally felt validated by taking pleasure away from someone else. Which is what monsters do.

A third monster was paid 200 million dollars for formulating a policy paper explaining, breathlessly, why pleasure was being, must be, withheld from a large segment of the population, and why there was nothing that segment of the population could do about it. In fact, explaining how they were lucky.

The third monster was that kind of monster.

There are many kinds of monsters. They are a lot more supportive of each other than you might assume. They have to be. To get things done.

Bear all

The bear ate a pear
You think, how debonair
But she wanted the eclair
Which was already eaten in a picnick-error
By a picnicker who was an au pair
But tasted like an upholstered chair
So the bear followed up by eating a pear
And slept that night without a care.

– From the little book of rhymes about well fed-up bears

 

Try not to be diminished

I like to do math
It puts me back
On that evil left handed path
For what is math
That Wicked art
Which reduces all to that
Numeric flow chart
It sets one and one apart
Ripped from each other
With a cold math heart
And joins together randoms
Thereby forced to work in tandem
For the sake of the equation
Where the means justify the ends
On paper everything’s good and right
For no one cares of the numbers plight.

 

It’s about time I wrote a love story

so this is chapter 1 of
Sex Robots at the Edge of Infinity

This art stolen from Richard F. Yates, C'mon, click it.

This art stolen from Richard F. Yates, C’mon, click it.

“You’re interested in sex robots,” said the manual. “And who wouldn’t be?” It was a rhetorical question. Who wasn’t interested in sex robots? “Fifty years ago they were the wave of the future and today they are what keeps humanity sane.”

The manual was outdated but it was still true. All of it was true. A manual doesn’t survive in today’s world to be an out of date manual, one which hasn’t been pulped and recycled many times over, if its contents are not true – unless its contents are meant to give hope. Real hope–false hope, and, as everyone knows, most hope is false hope. The occasional doling out of hope was an exception to the truism. Always has been. Always will be. It is a cosmic continuity. While the universe is not kind sometimes it can appear ambivalent. Sometimes that is enough. Sometimes it will throw you a lifeline. By accident. Sometimes that lifeline will drag you down with relief. It’s a cosmic joke.

Friedman’s nose was in the book. He was a man very much interested in sex robots. And who wasn’t? Who wasn’t.

He owned an Avant-garde model. An antique. Interesting, if you’ve an eye for history. If you can be sold on tradition over functionality. If you are a nostalgic bent connoisseur of the past; like in olden times when a person would buy a fancy sport car which broke down all the time and wasn’t reliable at all and needed special tools. And owning it made the person feel happy even though it wasn’t functional and it did nothing to please, in fact quite the opposite. But the person would dote upon the car, where it inevitably sat in a climate controlled garage – safe from traffic, roads, pedestrians, and road wear. The person began to love the car, though the car had done nothing to earn the receipt of said love. And the car did nothing to give love back. Some historians declare that this nonreciprocal love is the purest love of all. Nothing to dirty it up. It was honest.

This was how men started to love machines. And when I say men love machines I say it in a universal way. Because women also love machines. And buy love machines to love. And men buy love machines to love. Sometimes they are the same types of machines and sometimes they are differentiated machines. Meant for one or the other. But sometimes with attachments. All the best machines have attachments.

It costs more. But it’s worth it.

The casual reader might wonder about the lack in English of more gender-neutral pronouns. Neuters. But the philosophers among you have determined that this book is about love. And philosophers have no idea what love is. It’s a dubious subject.
I ask only that you come with me on a journey.

Don’t look for the silver lining

I distrust people who see a silver lining in every cloud. I’m not a scientist but I’m pretty sure a silver lining to every cloud would be a sign of some serious ecological problem. I know the silver industry says up to ninety percent of the earth’s atmosphere can be safely composed of powdered silver, but I have lingering doubts. These doubts nag at me. The studies they cite, some of them, appear to be tobacco industry studies with the word “tobacco” crossed out and replaced with the word “sugar,” which was replaced with “saccharine” and then, finally, “silver.”

But they are conserving paper, and saving trees, so I guess I can applaud that. Let it not be said I am one of those nay sayers who are in it just for the opportunity to say nay.

 

Desire in Chains

You love me, she said. You love me. Just admit you love me.
But she was too early. Because I didn’t love her yet.
And then it was too late.

There aren’t enough containers in the world to hold all of your desires.
We have a container deficit.
Desire, uncontained!
Desire, lost!

My disagreement with the queen

Youthful Spirits by Richard F. Yates

Artist: I need a muse.
Queen: We are not a muse.
Artist: All is forlorn!
Queen: Amuse us!
Artist: But I am without a muse!
Queen: Amuse us then with a tragedy.
Artist: This is the story of an artist without a muse.
Queen: I’ve already heard that one.

Unreasonable expectations at the palace.

Machines that measure sadness

I know there hasn’t been a podcast episode in three weeks. My apple-ologies.

 

 

Pod 6: A disquieting tale

Image005A story about a man and his place in the universe.

A story about the many uses of cell phones.

A story that asks the philosophical question: What is it that makes a chair?

An excerpt from Tragic Stories Disguised as Jokes.

 

Motives and motifs

At the Existential Sandwich Shop by David Raffin In my upcoming release “At the Existential Sandwich Shop,” like the previous “Perils of Free Thought,” I talk intermittently of bears and robots.
That is because I am a robot bear.
Thank you in advance for your understanding.

There is also a reoccurring motif of baloons.

 

Pod episode 5: Obama has an old hat; George W. Bush a one-track-mind

I have a joke about Gennady Zyuganov, Head of the Communist Party of the Russian Federation, but odds are you will never hear it. Even though Gennady Zyuganov is a funny name. To western ears. And this has nothing to do with the podcast. Sort of.

Two pieces, one about Barack Obama telling jokes, one about George W. Bush having a one track mind.

I don’t ordinarily do topical material. The danger being that people will forget things like that the Nobel prize was given out to a man running a war or that the president of the USA hired a male escort to sit in the press gallery and ask questions in briefings, or that a previous candidate for president blamed a hurricane on “the homosexuals, feminists, and the ACLU,” acting in concert to make it rain. Those kind of things get lost in the mist of time. Are washed away with the years. Get drowned in a bathtub of memories.

Also a suggestion that you buy the album Adaptations to a Modern Age by Scott Steven Erickson. Even though I sing in the background.