Risk: An Email in Two Acts

Just to clarify, Tim, by "Risk" you mean "the classic game of world
domination," right? And Marcus, by "Croatia" you mean "Southern
Europe" right? And by "poetry" y'all mean "controlling all of Asia
for a full round and receiving the seven army bonus plus depriving
your opponents of control of Siam which will ultimately lead to the
invasion of Australia, the purple continent and the sacking of North
America via Alaska via Kamchatka," right? And perhaps, if this is the
case, then by "avant garde" you are referring to "that huge stack of
armies that you've been amassing in Central America, biding your time
for a crushing blow to Venezuela, Peru, Argentina, and finally if luck
is on your side, swinging up into Brazil driving the opposing armies
back into Northern Africa solidifying your stronghold in the
Americas," right? Well then, if that's the case, then I must insist
that the Ukraine is NOT in fact weak, and to signify my opinion I will
crush your silly game!

en garde avant garde!
[mock belligerence] fish

PS perhaps you have misunderstood me. perhaps it would be better if
I controlled all four railroads as well as Baltic Avenue and
Mediterranean. I'll trade you Park Place for Baltic. It's worth THAT
much to me. (Little do you suspect my fiendish plan to procure hotels
for these properties more quickly than you can round the board twice.
You will not go bankrupt, my friends, you will merely pay out your
$200 for passing GO to me
every
single
time.
Good luck anyway.

Risk: An Email in Two Acts

Just to clarify, Tim, by "Risk" you mean "the classic game of world
domination," right? And Marcus, by "Croatia" you mean "Southern
Europe" right? And by "poetry" y'all mean "controlling all of Asia
for a full round and receiving the seven army bonus plus depriving
your opponents of control of Siam which will ultimately lead to the
invasion of Australia, the purple continent and the sacking of North
America via Alaska via Kamchatka," right? And perhaps, if this is the
case, then by "avant garde" you are referring to "that huge stack of
armies that you've been amassing in Central America, biding your time
for a crushing blow to Venezuela, Peru, Argentina, and finally if luck
is on your side, swinging up into Brazil driving the opposing armies
back into Northern Africa solidifying your stronghold in the
Americas," right? Well then, if that's the case, then I must insist
that the Ukraine is NOT in fact weak, and to signify my opinion I will
crush your silly game!

en garde avant garde!
[mock belligerence] fish

PS perhaps you have misunderstood me. perhaps it would be better if
I controlled all four railroads as well as Baltic Avenue and
Mediterranean. I'll trade you Park Place for Baltic. It's worth THAT
much to me. (Little do you suspect my fiendish plan to procure hotels
for these properties more quickly than you can round the board twice.
You will not go bankrupt, my friends, you will merely pay out your
$200 for passing GO to me
every
single
time.
Good luck anyway.

Risk: An Email in Two Acts

Just to clarify, Tim, by "Risk" you mean "the classic game of world
domination," right? And Marcus, by "Croatia" you mean "Southern
Europe" right? And by "poetry" y'all mean "controlling all of Asia
for a full round and receiving the seven army bonus plus depriving
your opponents of control of Siam which will ultimately lead to the
invasion of Australia, the purple continent and the sacking of North
America via Alaska via Kamchatka," right? And perhaps, if this is the
case, then by "avant garde" you are referring to "that huge stack of
armies that you've been amassing in Central America, biding your time
for a crushing blow to Venezuela, Peru, Argentina, and finally if luck
is on your side, swinging up into Brazil driving the opposing armies
back into Northern Africa solidifying your stronghold in the
Americas," right? Well then, if that's the case, then I must insist
that the Ukraine is NOT in fact weak, and to signify my opinion I will
crush your silly game!

en garde avant garde!
[mock belligerence] fish

PS perhaps you have misunderstood me. perhaps it would be better if
I controlled all four railroads as well as Baltic Avenue and
Mediterranean. I'll trade you Park Place for Baltic. It's worth THAT
much to me. (Little do you suspect my fiendish plan to procure hotels
for these properties more quickly than you can round the board twice.
You will not go bankrupt, my friends, you will merely pay out your
$200 for passing GO to me
every
single
time.
Good luck anyway.

going to the bathroom with loved ones

I will not lose my train of thought. We have been at it since day one. Day One was nearly fifty two years ago but nothing has changed except the size and strength of the bowel movements. We would wash up after some good sex and the sweat would stick and shine on our bodies After a shower where there had been cum or shit or shampoo or shower water the sweat would soon return there was no a/c then. The towels were all too damp then, now they bruise and scrape but here we are watching each other pee again. You always used to go in the shower and told me not to tell your roommate. Now you are very sick. I love you. You are dying but we’re always doing a little bit of that—no need to raise a fuss. Remember the first time we did it during your period. The bright blood on my underroos was scary or endearing or both. We soaked everything in blood and then warm water, no stains set in. This is my new favorite coffee shop. I couldn’t ask for a better cup of joe. You always could but didn’t. This was not the problem that it once seemed. I don’t care about it. I don’t like thinking about youth. This is nostalgia. This should be appreciated but guarded against. I don’t want to be interrupted yet. Are there any metaphors? Quoting a song: is there anybody out there? When will you come back to the way everything used to be. If there was ever any question I was confused by the question. My sister says I’m stupid all at once. I don’t want to see anyone that I know. My grandfather apparently wants me to write his eulogy. I am flattered and scared at the same time. When my grandfather dies I believe that I will receive all of his memories. My grandfather survived the Korean War on the ground. War is a series of geographical phenomena. Everything is illumined. Back off. When I grow up I want to possess all the memories of all the generations of my entire family back and back and back to Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. My psychologist said this is only natural for a boy of my sensibilities. His consoling explanation, I know, will not even begin to suffice. The words I am using to describe this situation are increasinginglyly not doing any good. Nowadays my words are going stale quicker. For example: my words are not bread of any kind. The kid had a compunction to straighten picture frames in public places. Society became fed up with him a lot faster than his mother ever anticipated. That was the problem with his mother, you see, she was the worst ever anticipator. Worse than that Napoleon Bonaparte fellow. Or perhaps worse than a false prophet of ancient eastern empires and deserts. This may never be matched. Try and match it. Try TO match it. These are also all thoughts, therefore, moving much too fast.

Aside

Some people call a “French Press” a “Bodum.” Meanwhile, some people call “Facial Tissue” “Kleenex.” The word “Bodum” sounds like a drum machine. It is the percussive version of the instrument called “Theramin,” whose inventor was a member of the KGB. These are the initials of the famous actor Kevin Gregory Bacon (Father: Sir Francis, Mother: Streakolean). Rose of Sharon is the prettiest name for a young girl that I have ever heard. I am surprised it isn’t more common. Sometimes I am mistaken for a girl in the cafeteria line; but no one ever mistakes my first name for Rose of Sharon.

The Misleading Nature of the Phrase: Herbal Refreshment

The Author: I have a feeling of guilt.
Answer Man: How come?
The Author: Forget about that for now. Listen to this. . . (whistles “Dixie”)
Answer Man: Jeepers!
The Author [still attempting the whistle]. . .
Answer Man: Are you in fact [whistle stops] guilty?
The Author: Your timing is slightly off [pause for effect], but I still respect you as I respect all of my characters.
Answer Man: I no more belong to you than your imagined [he utters a heavy sigh] guilt.
The Author: Are you sad now? I am trying to understand YOUR emotions.
Answer Man: Not quite. But either way there are foods to experiment with, I am sure of it. For example. Guilt is not a pizza so much as guilt is a shallow dish of pimento cheese spread.
The Author: Somehow I KNEW that you would say those words then. But I so dislike pimento cheese. Perhaps—[he is interrupted, as we often are in conversations]
Answer Man: OK OK, bear with me here. The guilt is not the cheese spread, nor is it the pimentos, nor is it the salty taste it gives you at the back of your throat, nor is it the shallow dish in which it waits for crackers or bunny bread with the crust cut off. The guilt is the combination of these elements. Your experience of guilt can never be detached from the circumstances of the picnic.
The Author: What picnic? [incredulously, confused severely, but with a strong will to learn from his mistakes].
Answer Man: The picnic during which you propose marriage to your beloved over pimento cheese sandwich quarters. She rejects you of course [rudely interrupted, he does not take it well. He never does. This is not OK].
Voice of the Beloved: [booming] I WHAT??? {to be continued…)

Hiatus

People have been asking. I, however, have not been answering properly. The solution: more text. The solution (possibility 1, sub-A): a brain tumor the size of a croquet ball painted blue and red stripes. [This is an inconvenience at best]. The solution (possibility 1, sub-B): Too much caffeine. This is the simplest, and therefore likeliest solution in this possibility sub-category. Do not disregard it too lightly. The solution (possibility 2): dearth of possibility [Nota Bene: this has only been studied at the extremely momentous, see Hawking et al. DE TEMPUM-SPATIUM.] The solution (possibility 3, sub-A): masturbation. I am unwilling to completely disregard this possible solution, although it is against my best fortune. On a scale from one to ten I would rank this possible solution. [The above sentence acts the same way as a major scale left unresolved at the seventh step.] The solution (possibility 3, sub-B): kites. This is chronically evident. (Hawking et al.) The solution (possibility 3, sub-C (possibly possibility 4)): a complex series of possibilities stretched across a loom where no one’s grandmother sits and weaves knickknacks out of wool. Also, ‘loom’ appears to rhyme with ‘room,’ although rhyme rarely ever appears in the non-metaphorical sense.

easy does it

i'm not sure what it means, but this month is July. This feels like it is deserving of comment. Then again, there have already been many months. The group of consecutive days which we call July was named after an Roman Emperor. He was human but his ancestor (according to popular accounts, e.g. the Aeneid) was half-god. That makes him more God than me. Or that is what I have been led to believe. Julius Ceasar, as they called him, was at least more month-worthy. Tomorrow is my mother's birthday. And the day after that is my nation's birthday. Isn't that great? I will burst fireworks upon it. I will play a patriotic soundtrack. There will be Mel Gibsons on the occasion. Mel Gibsons and veggie burgers with cheese. These are traditions. Every day I must feed the dog that is not my dog. Every day I must feed the cats that are not my cats. The birds are not my responsibility. The tomato plants ARE my responsibility. This is an attempt to exert some control on my environment, an environment which is largely out of my control, out of all of our controls. Nevertheless this is an attempt. Wade through my attempts with me. Is this interesting to you? Are you learning something? Or are you nodding your head politely? Perhaps you do not have a head to nod. This was once the case with Al Gore. Upon meeting Nick Drake one day in his college years Al Gore exclaimed, "Polar Bears!" At which Nick Drake seemed to telepathically project, "I am Nick Drake. You are Al Gore. But we are only a tiny dot in space." This was unexpected, and Al Gore was momentarily uncomfortable. Then the next slide appeared (slightly late). Everything became connected. The personal became political became a tiny dot in space. The Simpsons and the Sun and a polar bear and all gold bricks as Thomas Rain Crowe says were only a tiny dot in space. You can only see the dot if you are a telescope, or on or in a telescope attatched to a complex mechanical space probe deep in space. You must be deep in space in order to understand the concept of a single pixel of everything. Already this may be confusing you, dear reader. Perhaps you blame it on my condescending tone. Perhaps you blame it on one political party or another. Perhaps, after all, it has been the homosexual agenda, distracting you, leading you astray. And yet the word 'astray' is only an 'h' away from from 'ashtray.' And both sound rather a lot like the Spanish word 'estrella' which (roughly translated) means star. This is perhaps only coincidence. However, I would be lying if I said I wasn't tempted to draw certain conclusions. For instance, I could conclude that 'estrella' is synonymous with 'star,' or that 'star' is a word. This is not very satisfying. Soon I must feed the dog from can and bag food for dogs. When we say that we are "feeding" a pet. What we usually mean is that we are making food available and easily accessible for that pet. Usually animals can feed themselves. The obvious exception is of course, the very young animals. They do not count, in the same way that prose so often does not count. I am wondering at the etymology of the word "freelance." Perhaps it comes from a distant time when artists carried weapons for their protection and for the protection of their honor. Writers seemed to have possessed honor from time to time throughout history. Take Lascaux as one example of a cave in which artists defended their honor. Lascaux was not a mistake (although it was a dirty cave). The handprints were real and they were made on purpose, or at least FOR a purpose. Therefore art history teachers will not scoff, though they be profoundly confused, and possibly stoned. We each have a ruler. This could be what Bob Dylan says to Nick Drake, or another musician-celebrity: "You gotta serve somebody." Nick Drake has a song which was only recently discovered. It was scratched on papyrus sheets rolled up in a clay jar in a cave in early France. Early just means deeper underground here. (You see how early can be a place?) The truth was all rolled up there in that cave. There were believers of several numbers and classes. We belonged to the upper-middle class, though we wished otherwise, and were told yet anotherwise. It was all a very confusing religion. But we made it. And I think we deserve a pat on the back.

Two

In response to Chris Vitiello’s question: If you were going to work with a number, what number would it be, and why? I wrote:

I think the number two (2) is a really interesting number which has a lot of depth and potential. It seems like a really common number (as numbers go). It's prime. It's the lowest even number. It even works its way into the definitions of other classes of numbers (e.g. a prime number has two and only two numbers which it is evenly divisible by (1 and itself (right?)) The number two seems to have worked its way into our lexicon/psychology/subconscious in interesting ways (is it strange that I put lexicon in the same group of words as psychology and subconscious just then?) Think about all of the songs and movie titles and old saws which have the word two in them. "Two's company..." "A bird in the hand is better than two in the bush." "Two heads are better than one." The number two seems to symbolize/signify the most basic plurality in existence. Why did philosophy stop at dialectics... where are all of the trialectics and quadralectics etc? Think about all of the things that come in pairs. A lot of the ways in which our bodies interact with the world comes in sets of two whether we think about it consciously or not. We have two eyes, two hands and two feet. I'm sure there are other important pairs to think about. Also, this seems related to the idea of symmetry. Two, it would seem is the most simply symmetrical number. Two just seems to me like a pretty important number all around. Thanks for such a stimulating question, Chris.

riffin'

Mental Note

This is all a mental note. 1. Previously a post titled "Lunch" ought to have been titled "Late Lunch." No one eats jalapeño poppers for regular lunch. Everything seems to be coming together. The moon is sinking as we planned. Plans are a marvelous tool it turns out. Plans, not language, as it turns outseparatess homo sapiens from the other homonids. Who knew? For instance, had the invasion of Troy been planned it might have gone off without a hitch. But the Trojans it would seem were not humans at all, rather scary fire-breathing ape-beasts. Again, who knew? It certainly is amazing what science along with the help of a millennium of planning have helped us humans discover and create. I would be willing to bet that if it all were a contest that the human race would've knocked all of the other competition unconscious with our fists of hardened steel a long time ago. 2. Two is the next number here. Well, 'there,' I suppose. I want to talk about Rufus Wainwright. 3. Nick Drake, Rufus Wainwright, neither man is a different man. Allow me to explain. 4. Here is an explanation. 5. We don't fully understand the numbering system which we use. 6. Number five, we know, was right after number four. We can designate them by their number written out in different writing systems. Therefore five is the same as 5. No one can spell 5. But we digress. We or I. You see? We is the same as I in the same way that 5 is the same as five in this case. Isn't that funny? 7. We manipulate these ideas like amarionettee when we don't fully know what amarionettee is, only we have read the accompanying instruction manual. It seems to work, so we stick with it. I am sticking with it for now. 8. This is the nick drake principle. It is called the thee nick drake principle" for several reason which may not be discussed at present. This is an ok thing. There are things un-ok sometimes. Not according to the the nick drake principle. Stay with me. 9. All of this is made up. This is meant to designate all of the surrounding materials. Look around you. What else belongs in the room you are in. What else belongs outside of the room you are in. Is there any other space to think about? Look at them. Look at all of these. Don't you see what we are trying not to have already seen soon? We are a language of ideas. We are not even speaking. Not even close. Reading does not exist, or at the very least, CANNOT exist. An ambulance is travelling between East Asheville and its centrally-located ambulance dispatch hub located to the South of Downtown Asheville. Can it ever possibly get there in time? This is my question to you, the so-called "reader." Also, how do you KNOW? How can you possibly know? The answer may seem obvious to some, and may be a real stumper for others. But now back to our regularly scheduled programming. 10. All of this is being thought in the brain of a man or woman, but perhaps he or she identifies as some other gender. We will never know. This is no accident. History has conspired, and we do not know what's on the menu yet. This music is confoundingly an adjective. How nonsense.

Lunch

So, we meet again, blogsphere. The channels of fate run deep and cold, and yet they have led me to you once again. May our time together be a memorable one. May the cheeks of the newborn calf be pink with the proper patterns of respiration. May we all fit neatly into a idea-shaped box without the need of much extra tape. May the address label be smooth upon the cardboard. May the spellchecker be functional. May and may and may. May the afternoons be filled with the "good kind of boredom." May there be a certain tree in a certain region of a certain forest which when slept beneath a certain number of nights in a row a certain wisdom may be bestowed upon a certain segment of the population of a certain planet gyrating in a certain very distinctive manner (anti-clockwise) around a certain star. May a mushroom. Mother, may I. . .? Mayfaire. Mayapple may not be a single word, then again it may. May it. May is what a linguist might call a modal. That same linguist might characterize the word, 'may,' as a "helping verb" in casual conversation with other reasonably intelligent professionals who are perhaps not as well-versed in the discipline of linguistics as the linguist over drinks (i.e. cocktails) one evening after work. One distinctive characteristic of some Southern American English dialects is the appearance of "double-modal" phrases, such as 'might ought,' and 'might could,' as in the sentence, 'I might could stop by the Bi-Lo later if you made me out a grocery list.' "Isn't that interesting?" thought the awkward dietician as she reached for her vodka tonic and smiled at her friend who was a linguist. Beside her on her left sat a couple who were both zookeepers (it's how they had met). Beside her to her right was a politician who was drinking a beer. No one could ever quite remember his first name, so they all called him "Mack" for short. It was a good set-up. The politician, whose real name was Matthew, thought they were all just mispronouncing his nickname; but he was too nice to have the desire to correct them all. On Mack's right was a 500-pound brown bear drinking a Long-Island Iced Tea made with his favorite vodka and his second-favorite gin. The bear was surprised that the bar had garnished his drink with a lime wedge rather than the more-familiar lemon-wedge. On the bear's right was the linguist. The table was round. The bear was hungry. The woman sitting two seats down from the linguist on his right (it was an oddly shaped table) was ordering jalapeño poppers-- they were supposedly good here, made with a special cream cheese blend. The brown bear really wanted a plate of spicy wings; but he was trying to impress the dietician, so when the waiter asked if anyone else was ordering he didn't speak up. The bear grinned across the table at the dietician who was stirring her vodka tonic. The bear thought she looked like Tori Amos the singer. Everyone else at the table except for the linguist (who was unfamiliar with Tori Amos) thought that the dietician, though slightly awkward, was the spitting image of one, Tori Amos, singer. This pleased the dietician greatly. A tiny Japanese man who was a dentist was thinking about time-space. For some reason, the linguists anecdote about double modals had reminded him of a book he'd been reading in his spare time (which was usually on Sundays and Mondays when Sawa Dentistry Associates was closed. Apparently Mondays are statistically the worst days to go to the dentist in terms of random shootings, etc. So, Sawa Dentistry Associates would remain closed on Mondays as well as the usual Sundays (for sundry religious observances-- it was, after all, the Bible Belt). The dentists name was not Sawa. His name was Nichizawa. Sawa was his brother-in-law's name. Their dental practice had been smiled upon by the Buddha for going-on nine years now. Sawa had been Nichizawa's brother-in-law now for almost eleven years. Sawa was the elder of the pair by five years, so although Nichizawa had received his DDS a full three years prior to his brother-in-law, out of courtesy he had insisted that Sawa's family name also be the name of the dental practice. Someone was saying ". . . one for the treble, two for the bass, three for the ladies, four for the blaze. . ." Everyone was feeling mellow after a round of drinks. The politician wondered how many of his friends smoked marijuana on a regular basis. The linguist wondered about the etymology of the word 'bong.' The dietician wondered if her wig was on straight; but resolved not to worry about it, after a quick glance in the "Guinness" mirror on the back wall revealed no visible hair anomalies. The zookeepers were whispering in an annoying anti-social sort of way about the new Hippopotamus amphibius at the zoo. The bear was fantasizing about the cream cheese blend inside of the bar's version of jalapeño poppers. TO BE CONTINUED...