Category Archives: My books

Rabbit Digs the Hole

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.

Idle Rabbit, Rabbit Idol

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. 

Dig it?

“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.”

The marketing of desires unfulfilled

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.

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New Books! New Books for Old!

Two NEW books for the New World.

Sex Robot Cuddle Party & At the Existential Sandwich Shop;An older book: Perils of Free Thought: a book of no small danger and 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

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More Than True with David Raffin, ep. 1

In these trying times what is needed is

More Than True

now more than ever.


If the Shoe Fits.

The cobbler has succeeded.

Music:
“Divertimento K131”, “Winner Winner!” by Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0

“Strange Italian Song”, “Exotica”, “Oriental Fever” from the album “Exotica” by Juanitos is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 France.

“Someone Else’s Memories” from the album The Politics of Desire by Revolution Void licensed under Creative Commons Attribution License 3.0.

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.

Rabbit Fears

“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.

Under the tree line

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.

Reign of error

Hark, dear friends, a terrible fate

America ran down the sewer grate

Beavers shouted “damn!” But it was too late

They were attending a party at 10,000 a plate

“What to do?” said the otter to its mate

“Why I otter…” was the reply-but it was too late

The Dragon said, “We’ll consolidate!”

“We can own this parched landscape if we concoctitrate!”

“If anyone tries to stop us we’ll denunciate!”

“Berate. Sublimate. Keep both eyes on Homeplate. Trust in me and I will make this land again great!”

“The first thing we’ll do is seal up those drains.

So we can keep all the water when it rains.”

And the creatures sang the dragon’s grand refrains

And they praised his renowned business brains

So they sealed up those drains

And muddied those plains

And reminded that only a traitor complains

About the mixture of clean water with sewer drains

And how drinking sewage causes stomach pains

But complaints, the dragon, he disdains

For it is his golden reign.

Let it rain golden showers.

Let it rain. Let it rain.

We are all freaks. Solidarity.

1916:
The gentleman raised an eyebrow. He said, “I shan’t go to the circus for the freaks are revolting!“
His servants responded immediately. “If the freaks are revolting I must go and lend my immediate support! For I love a revolt! Revolution!”
Also the gentleman’s wife left him. For the bearded lady.

Cold Civil War Heats Up

I can’t stand when Nazis try to lecture the public on politeness. But it does prove the old adage that those who can’t do will always try to teach. After all, the complaint that Nazis aren’t being treated fairly is nonsense. I’m willing to bake them a same sex wedding cake, same as anyone else.

The Nazis finally get some men in power, and still no respect. They just can’t win. What totalitarians hate most is people laughing at them. Their hatred is very serious to them. They expect you to respect their hate. Nazis love to be the center of attention but they hate being the butt of the joke.

The right wing is being torn apart slowly by the stress of having to take a stand on the NAZI issue. How uncomfortably sad for them. If they side with the Nazis they will be in the minority. They hate that. They hate minorities. And that makes them side with the… Soon they will be fighting each other in the streets. But at least the police will leave them alone.

Those who support Donald Trump are a shrinking minority. Which is awful for them, because they hate minorities. Reminder: The Republican party does not support this kind of hate. It supports a kind of hate with a slightly different presentation. Tactics are important.

Southerners were so angry following the Civil War, after John Wilkes Booth, they went and took over the Republican Party. It is interesting the Republican Party base is so patriotic. Considering they are made up primarily of confederate traitors and nazis. Abe Lincoln would never put up with this hogswallop.  I suppose we would’ve let the south secede, had they not been holding hostages.

Because Nazis have misused the term feminazi they’re left with nothing to call their own women. Irksome, as they don’t consider them equal.

The Nazis have never done anything decent for humanity. Except invent toaster strudel.

Which I won’t eat on principle.

Mimes are confusing to nazis. They like them because of the white face. But hate them because they are mute. Then they realize they’re making fun of the mute. They like that. Then they decide the white face is insulting.

When you say something nice about nazis that means you’ve lost the argument.

Eric Trump says his father tunes out criticism to prevent suicidal urges. Even his own son. Making Hitler comparisons. Say what you will about Donald Trump. He loves his kids. They make excellent human shields.

Evangelicals vote Republican because someone explained the horror of the free market to them and they thought it sounded like a revelation.

For the record, I am against forest fires, hurricanes and typhoons. I have opinions about a lot of extremist weather conditions which are counter to those of the ruling elite.

Let’s keep things factual: the American medical system is the only death tax applicable to 99% of Americans. There is no surer way to separate a family from money than sickness. In the USA. There’s a whole industry built upon it.

Trump today signed an executive order abolishing hope. He stated, “There is no hope for me – why should anyone else have it?”

Without getting too in to it, I’d vote for Colin Kaepernick in the next election. He’d never stand for this BS.

 

A proper airing out

A night out with the clown is not all it’s cracked up to be.

The clown strolls down the sidewalk his balloon hanging behind him, half inflated, like a dog being taken for a walk. What slim string holds a balloon to its master? It is convention. To a balloon being half inflated is to hang dejected. Not up. Not down. Just there. Any dreams the balloon once had have long since popped. Where do balloons go when they sail away aimlessly skyward? To salvation? Or are they ultimately eaten by the sun? I cannot tell you. Because if you look too long at the balloon it means you’re taking your eyes off the clown. The balloon is a diversionary tactic employed by clowns throughout the known world. The oldest trick in the book. When you develop a tingling excitement regarding the advertisement “balloon tricks,” you have already been ensnared in the trap.

Balloons contain thoughts. Exclamations. Hopes and dreams. Each balloon, each balloon filled by a clown, is filled with thoughts, exclamations, hopes, and dreams. Every balloon a repository of such. Filled by a clown.
From where? From where?

These things encased in artificial skin. Divided from the real world by a colorful but transparent wall. Turning the outside world into a fun house mirror of horrors, every day and accute. Of one color. I have one viewpoint. The result of one vantage point. The result of a definite imprisonment at the awkward hands of a clown.
The clown sneaks up behind you and delivers a tentative touch. You feel deflated. There is laughter, not yours.

Universal robotics

‪”But I don’t think I need to be reprogrammed,” said the robot.‬‪”That is exactly the kind of thing we all say when we need reprogrammed,” said the robot doctor. ‬

‪”That does not compute,” said the robot.‬

‪”Hey, who’s the robot doctor here?” said the robot doctor. Then she laughed. Kind of a tinny mechanical laugh. Just a whiff of robotic condescension. The product of millions of dollars worth of research, that laugh. Let us be clear – it is not meant to reassure.‬