Tuesday, November 29, 2011

To the embassy!

Got it from Getty Images
Ugh, I am sooo jealous. Guy in the back left doing the grunt face (and the police guy in the riot helmet is helping, no?), next to him, shoulders dropped, torso angled — clearly steering this Royal Coat of Arms, and the front left (handsome and laughing?) is clearly too excited to be anything other than the leader of the team. I hope these guys live to tell the grandbabies about this one... over, and over again.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Science, you are the worst, please go away

Here's a definition that, with a reading or two, reveals the pathology of SCIENCE!! Ready to define? (a very scientific activity, no?)

The intellectual and practical activity encompassing the systematic study of the structure and behavior of the physical and natural world through observation and experiment.

Like a sadistic stalker, who can find no pleasure unless it "knows" its subject... SCIENCE!! I'm more than a little pissed that it's so hard to de-bug my system, for you — SCIENCE!! — have fucked me up good.

This is, as I recall, what happened to me:

4 days ago, I lamented that a green mug — nice for tea drinkin' — had gone missing. The powerful one and I looked around for it... didn't find it. That was that... who gives a shit? Just a mug. I think nothing of it.

I shower Thursday morning. When I'm dried and ready for clothes, I make my way to the pants drawer. In this drawer, I have maybe 8 pairs of folded pants. But this time, I have maybe 8 pairs of pants and... and And AND... the green mug — sitting, as if nothing were a bother, upon my pants pile.

This freaks me out a bit. I wake up the powerful one — not very subtly, I'll add — demanding to know: Did you find the green mug? Did you find the green mug? Groggy, the powerful one tells me she did not.

It's in my pants drawer! How did it get here? And it's not just in there... it's sitting on top!

I'll throw out a few possibilities:

1) I found the mug (which I don't remember doing) and I decided to place it in the pants drawer (don't remember doing) and then I went ahead and put it there (obviously).

This is surely not impossible, but I don't have a history (how would I know?) of doing things I don't remember doing (I know, I know)

2) The powerful one, or the roommate found it, put it in the drawer, and lied to me about it — as they're both humans, they're certainly liars... but they're terrible liars, and I can't put any faith in this possibility.

3) A human or animal put it there, without being noticed, or informing anyone that they're "into" sneaking into rooms, and putting mugs in drawers.

4) Magic? Spirits? Whatever, you want to call it. Note: I am not saying that the green mug mystery is inexplicable. Absolutely not. What I am saying: I lack the knowledge or wisdom to explain it.

Literally, I am incapable of understanding what happened. That's the explanation I prefer, and believe to be "correct". Something happened beyond my ability to know or comprehend.

Also, that this the conspicuous movement of the mug is a message, from someone or something that wanted to send me a message, saying, roughly:

Attention Jerkoff Cyborg: You know nothing. You don't know how to listen. If you learn to listen, you might be able to learn a thing or two, perhaps even develop a relationship with other things in this world... but as of right now, you're a fucking idiot. Enjoy, Mover-of-the-mug.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Game Over (or not). Is this a good game?

Sooo... it's Barry O's turn to roll the dice and move his pieces: shake shake shake click dick rest... a six! What will he do? Troops to Australia? Uh... okay... okay... let me think for a minute. Eureka!!

Nice move Barry O, nice move indeed, get the good boys a little closer to our precious Uranium — well done! Everybody who loves lots of energy cheer for Barry! (deafening fucking roar)

India gets their peaceful uranium, we sure as shit already have ours locked up, but now we can sleep a little easier knowing our precious uranium is safe... so safe. And since nobody gives a shit about Fuku... Fuku... ah, I can't remember, uranium prices have been spiking lately... and that's all well and good — probably a money-making-opportunity!

Afterward, I got a chance to chat with the good President Obama about his lucky six:

So tell me President/Viceroy, why Australia?

President Obama: Well, the Ruskies have fucked us pretty good on the natural gas ball field. Their God-less Team Gazprom are exceptionally well-coached, very disciplined, and hey... what can I say, they've got an ass ton of natural gas talent — between the Ruskies, the lil' Ruskies, and those evil Iranians, they've really got us over a pipeline, you know? (gets a little squirmy) The Nabucco pipeline was a Hail-Mary (crosses himself, awkwardly) and we fucked it up good... what good is a big ass pipeline if we don't have any gas to put in it? We're a little embarrassed to have overlooked that detail.

Anyway, so yeah... how bout that six I rolled? Australia! We're all really excited.

Mr. Viceroy, can you stay for one more question?

Viceroy Obama: As long as you don't ask me about the shit normal people whine and complain about... I have to talk about that bullshit all afternoon (rolls his eyes)

No, no, no... of course not. Our viewers aren't interested in any of that, rather, we want to know, what's the latest on Pipeline XL?

President Obama (fighting a big shit-eating grin): Oh, come on now (gives me a light punch on the shoulder) you know we're "reviewing" (actually makes air quotes) all those tough issues, I'm sure a well-intentioned meeting of the minds, get everyone around the same table, and we'll put any concerns about XL (makes a "raise the roof" gesture... dating himself) to rest. XL! EX L!

A comment on the above silliness:

The energy and resource game will continue. The wealthy ventriloquists will get their dummies to say exactly what they'd like, and another beer will be removed from the fridge.

A lack of imagination and motivation means — for now — everyone keeps going to work. The machine continues.

Will I let my job-self cannibalize my "real"-self (quotes note the absurdity of the dissonance) in exchange for a psychically numbed existence and life-sustaining-"resources"? My answer is: hopefully not for much longer... but YES. And I'm supposed to be a radical, or something? Bullshit.

Other than under it's own weight: clean water dirty or gone, healthy soil a memory no one has, and energy sources burned up (which is coming soon enough, and all the pain that comes with):

These systems will only collapse — ONLY (that's right, making a big claim) — when hundreds of millions (yep) people decide they no longer want to play. They no longer want to sell their time. They no longer want an utterly destructive job (teaching school, for example) to cannibalize their very existence in exchange for access to the resources which facilitate a refrigerated existence. Obviously, that breaking point could come quickly... but as of now... NOT EVEN FUCKING CLOSE! Am I wrong?

And with good reason: the system cares for us. It gives us our food, our water, our stuff, our identity (who is to say it's bad?). And it — very conveniently — makes it almost impossible (or at least foolish for a homo economicus) to go another route — the road less traveled is closed. The social hurdle is fucking enormous. The logistical-avoid-being-arrested-for-not-following-the-rules hurdle is nearly as high.

So shut the fuck up about all this bullshit, and expose yourself (that's right) and others to the fucking nightmare that is modern life. Smash a strangers phone and tell them, you're welcome. Stomp on Richard Dawkins toes. Do not vote for someone who is designed to represent you and millions of other people that will never come into contact with each other. The next time you hear someone ask a child, "what do you want to be when you grow up" (and the answer is obviously supposed to be a job... what job do you want TO BE), scream in that person's face: YOU. ARE. A. FUCKING. ZOMBIE. Leave that little human alone.

At the very least, it'll break the monotony.

The moldy torn rag is very valuable

I'm on a small field — modern lawn maintenance machines have been here before — three friends are along as well. The field is a fenced circle, two soccer goals face each other. The rules of our game: each pair is trying to score a goal... hands and feet are both allowed... and we're playing with one pleasingly new top-o-da-line ball. We play.

Before long two more balls — unfathomably fancy, they are, even better than our original ball — appear on the field. The 2 vs. 2 structure of the game unwinds... for now, 3 of the 4 players can blast shots into undefended goals. This goes on for some time. As the fourth ball-less player struggles to get hold of one, and mimic the others ferocity for "goals".

I become tired. I leave the field. I find a bathroom. While peeing, I notice a picture hanging on the adjacent bathroom mirror (it is hilariously fitting, that of all the images within this dream, who or what this picture captured escapes me, I have no memory at all, but I do know, whatever it was, the response was melting nostalgia. Knees buckled. I sit down).

Time passes. I sit.

I return to the field. Things have changed. Our small field is now full of players, perhaps a few hundred people, barely enough space to freely extend one's arms, and the delightful ostentatious soccer balls are gone. In their place: a small, wet, moldy rag. Reluctantly, I re-enter the field, the lone gate behind me vanishes... we are here to stay, and I want that rag.