Monday, April 28, 2008

"Here, It is Dark, Dank, and Pleasant"

Blixa Bargeld, who measured 5.2 on the Richter Scale, struck at 4:36 a.m. near the town of West Salem, IL, and howled under the bed. I jumped on the windowsill. Blixa Bargeld made it seem like Afghan battalions and their rangers were reforming and it was completely still outside. The felt-wrapped mouse with catnip trapped inside was dim and delicate. I could shove it into my mouth. "It's your baby. Go do it," Condoleezza Rice said. To the surprise of many, Blixa Bargeld struck in the Wabash Valley, 120 miles east of St. Louis. "Here lives the architect immersed in his plan of this building crammed with ideas," he said. "I wish him a chair in heaven!" Many people think that animals sense Blixa Bargeld. "I was sleeping and I knew right away what it was," said the cat on the windowsill in the building across the street, licking himself in an up-and-down motion produced when stress from the moon and other planets builds up over a long period of time until it exceeds the strength of the most dangerous thing you can do.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Episode Twenty-Three: "You're Nice to Me Like Ice"

MARY: Have you seen my Triregnum, Rhoda?

RHODA: Look under the white cossack. In your top dresser drawer.

MARY: I'm wearing my white cossack.

RHODA: Did you try your zucchetto? Maybe it's under your zucchetto, Mary.

MARY: Could I talk to you underneath the ottoman? I feel kind of funny in here. What's that noise inside the bathtub?

RHODA: I'm sorry. I've gotta get the Pallium over my chasuble in a hurry. I think the bride is in trouble.

MARY: Listen, Rhoda, aren't you going to ask me how your ombrellino is?

How is it?

MARY: It's going home tonight. To New York. That's how it is. I think I hear the bathtub spigot.

RHODA: What do you want out of me?

MARY: Rhoda, would it hurt you so much to go down to the bus station and suspend the Sub-cinctorium from the maniple?

RHODA: Fix my Falda for me first. It's too short. It feels like it's hiding under the alb.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

My Index

Number of U.S. presidential elections so far in which the two major-party nominees were both sitting in a windowsill and staring at the street below them: 2

Rank that the age gap between McCain and the black cat across the street would hold among the largest ever between a presidential nominee and a cat living in Chicago: 1

Percentage change between 2002 and 2007 in captives tortured by the CIA after Condoleezza Rice said, "This is your baby, so go do it": 100

Chances that former Secretary of State Colin Powell does not have "sufficient memory recall" of Rice's statement: 3 in 5

Number of Silicon Valley workers earning between $30,000 and $80,000 who have lost their jobs since 2002 and are lucky enough to live in garages eating field mice, chipmunks, and bats: 62,000

Number who have been hired into jobs making less than $30,000 during the same period and are lucky enough to live in garages eating field mice, chipmunks, and bats: 66,000

Percentage, in a recent study, by which the average weight gain of vainglorious rats eating saccharin exceeded that of rats eating sugar: 25

Percentage weight loss by rats eating saccharin or sugar who are chased into a garage in an alley before you kill and eat them: 57

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Plush Brass Horsefly

Today, you’re in no mood to declare undying devotion to the Roscoe Village cougar shot to death by a policeman, Shimmy. The conjunction of Leonora Carrington and Alena Nadvorniková puts you in a bad position for making sacrifices or knocking the miniature tennis ball soaked in catnip oil. You keep your distance rather than get too involved, and you prefer guns, religion, and antipathy to stability. You must act as you think best, but take care not to hurt Marie-Dominique Massoni with your fickle attitude. The atmosphere in the bathtub isn't very healthy right now. The combination of Lislot Hafner and Gudron Gut suggests that someone might be trying to unroll the yoga mat or the window blinds. Be suspicious of the ombrellino, white cossack, zucchetto, and the Triregnum. Be suspicious of anyone trying to stop you from eating leaves on the back deck or walking into an empty hallway. Be suspicious of anyone being you.

Saturday, April 12, 2008

The War on Terror, Number 11, in D Minor

"What are we listening to?" Debord asked. He sat on the edge of the ottoman, his legs crossed.

The soles of his giant shoes smelled like peanut butter, dragonflies, and rank pigeons from the pavement of Boulevard de Sebastopol.

"The War on Terror, Number 11, in D Minor," I said.

Underneath the ottoman, I watched his giant didactic shoes rock back and forth.

I said, "Opus 103. Maximum blood. Breakaway glass. The dogs upstairs rolling in WD-40 when the apartment buzzer bleats."

"The subway should be opened at night, after the trains stop running," he said. "The passageways and platforms should be poorly lit with dim, blinking lights."

"The President of the War on Terror asks a lot of clattering little questions, Debord."

I licked my stomach. An old pickup truck jerked down Greenview Avenue and I was afraid. This morning they sliced a matted hair from under my chin.

Their famous shadows, a diversion of color, a swat of yellow wall.

"The strength and the weakness of the War on Terror resides in its viewing the goal as immediately present," Debord said. "The War on Terror retains only the conclusion. And its exclusive insistence on this conclusion is accompanied by deliberate contempt for method."

His giant shoes are purple and extroverted. They are manufactured in the mountains of Italy and created using flat, metallic sequins.

Guy Debord's giant shoes are inspired by memories of his wandering childhood. You can see his giant shoes are flat where they land.

He added: "The White House has merely to repeat and replay the same simple, total conclusion in every single struggle, because its first conclusion was from the beginning identified with the entire outcome of the War on Terror."

"The score calls for three flutes and piccolo," I said, "and two clarinets and bass clarinet. A place for my tongue on my steady fur and soup made from moths and French Vanilla yogurt left in a bowl."

"Terror, when it does not hold the promise of happiness, must be destroyed," Debord said.

"Four horns, three trumpets, three trombones, and tuba."

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

The Vatican vs. Gertrude Stein (Part XIII)

THE VATICAN: Slavery itself, considered as such in its essential nature, is not at all contrary to the natural and divine law, and there can be several just titles of slavery and these are referred to by approved theologians and commentators of the sacred canons. It is not contrary to the natural and divine law for a slave to be sold, bought, exchanged or given. The purchaser should carefully examine whether the slave who is put up for sale has been justly or unjustly deprived of his liberty, and that the vendor should do nothing which might endanger the life, virtue, or Catholic faith of the slave.

GERTRUDE STEIN: There is no pope.

Saturday, April 05, 2008

Cherry Fireflies Discussing Tall, Electric Weathervane

Why do
bats perish?

I eat them

Dog prays
for rebirth
as a cat,
bat in mouth,
wings slapping against
my cheek until it dies

Yes, I crouched
under the table
when you
were gone

She tasted

Quit looking
at me

Their noses
are white but
you still
can eat them

that's an
Abu Ghraib
pyramid under
the table

Will bridges
make them
taste better?

I know,
you cleaned
both my Tora Bora
boxes yesterday

White nose:

could clean
my Tora Bora boxes
for 100 years
and I will squat under
the living-room
table anytime
I want

The assassination
Martin Luther King, Jr.
was not
"meaningful news"
for John McCain

Glenn Beck never talks
anymore about
all those dogs he
and killed
(pit bulls)

for the Smarty Kat
Flutter Ball

but I'll do what
I want
under the living-
room table