Archive for August, 2005

Moving To China . . .

August 31, 2005

FACT: When Eris and Dionysus get together – all hell breaks loose. READ ON!

The “Wild Dancing Party” recently landed on China’s flag construction — the Great Wall. However, while party animals from both home and abroad celebrated with glee, the senior wall was wailing.

Following an overnight spree gala at the Beijing-Hebei border section of the Jinlingshan Great Wall on July 30, the oriental epitome of ancient Chinese civilization was left in a chaotic mess.

Empty alcohol bottles and various rubbishes were scattered about, silently protesting against the past hilarity. Permeating in the air, the strong smell of excreta left by partygoers would likely make one feel sick.

One witness of the Great Wall orgy later said the July 30 party was the 8th of the annually held party, which soon caught on among domestic and overseas party animals.

The party, which usually leads a whole night through on the Great Wall, has welcomed thousands of people every year in Beijing’s cool summer night.

Regarded as China’s great national symbol, the Great Wall, under careful protection by the government, is cherished in the hearts of Chinese people. The improper carnival that seriously harmed the Wall has stirred strong critics among the general public.

“How dare they tramp brazenly on the national pride and spirit by injuring our Great Wall?” asked an angry netizen in a note left after the news.

On the other hand, those party lovers, as well, have their say, “We just want a happy hour and never intend to harm the Wall.” said a young girl who took part in the party.

A heated community response has caught the attention of the Chinese Great Wall Association (CGWA), in charge of the Wall protection. The CGWA general Secretary Dong Yaohui showed deep concern over the matter, saying, “It is really provoking. The visits of the Wall out of respect and appreciation are welcomed, but this kind of damaging carnival, never.”

“The Jinlingshan section of the Wall bordering Hebei Province has long been the heart of trouble. We are urging a relative law on the Wall protection to be issued to tackle this kind of problem under a legal frame.” added Dong.

Echoed by Dong’s remark, a recent report similarly made people again frown upon the news that open-air barbeque business is prosperous on the Great Wall, to be specific, the Jinlingshan section of the Wall.

When asked about the matter, Dong said, “All ‘evil’ arises from money grabbing.”

The management right of Jinling section of Great Wall has been leased to a Hebei commercial corporation since 1997 by the local government at a sum of six million Yuan (US$740,000) on a 50 year term. Since then various activities have been planned on the Wall, including even the orgy and barbeque.

According to Dong, the Jinling Wall located in Hebei Province, is managed by the Hebei Government. So far only the Beijing municipal authority has barred any profit-oriented commercial use of the Wall in the form of a law. The Jinling Wall is not protected within the cover of the law released in 2003.

Counting 50 years from 1997 the lease contract will expire in the distant year of 2047. Can the Wall stand up to “naughty deeds” by people that long?

HAIL ERIS!

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Bongo Fury

August 30, 2005

This story made me laugh this morning, so it’s worth recounting. It’s from the excellent biography “Captain Beefheart” by Mike Barnes, and it concerns many artist’s attempts to lure the Beef back into performing music:

“Another offer came from Bono, singer with U2. He wrote to Van Vliet offering him a support slot on an upcoming tour and allegedly said that he would like to write with him. Far from being flattered by this invitation, Van Vliet disingenuously asked friends: ‘Who is this Bongo?‘”

The Box

August 29, 2005

I knew a boy who was born in a box.

He lived in the box. Awoke in the box. Slept in the box. Ate in the box. Read in the box. He did everything in the box, in fact he never left the box. He didn’t know how. In fact, he didn’t even know there was anything to leave the box for. He thought the box was everything.

One day, the boy heard a sound outside the box. He wondered what it could be. The boy pressed his ear to the wall of the box and listened closely. He could hear faint sounds, many sounds, sounds he had never heard before. The boy wondered what all these sounds could be. What could be on the outside of the box?

The boy began to knock at the walls of the box, but couldn’t open it. He began to bang on the walls of the box, but still could not open it. He began to tear at the walls of the box, and saw light begin to pour in. He dug harder at the tiny hole he had produced and even more light began to shine inside. The sounds became louder, and looking out through the hole he saw all sorts of shapes, colours, sizes . . . he didn’t know what to make of any of it, but wanted to see more.

The boy tore at all the walls of the box, and stood up in a swift motion, ripping the box to shreds as he did. The bits of the box fell off and began to blow away in the breeze. The boy stood in the middle of a street, huge metal cars whizzing by on both sides. The blurring sites and cacophonous sounds assaulted the boy’s eyes and ears. He covered his face, and then his the sides of his head, then his face again.

The world outside the box was too loud.

The world outside the box was too bright.

The world outside the box was too big.

The boy looked around for his home, the box, but only saw shreds of cardboard twirling in the wind. The box was gone.

About The Crumbs

August 27, 2005

This is about insignificant crumbs of nothing.

You are an insignificant crumb of nothing. Your size, when compared with the sheer vastness of our known universe, is roughly that of an atom floating next to the island of Manhattan. We -you, me, everyone you’ve ever met- are all insignificant crumbs of nothing. If you could get a bird’s eye view of our entire universe, the vast collection of billions of interstellar shopping malls, you wouldn’t even be able to see our galaxy, the Milky Way. Neither would you see any of our neighboring galaxies, or even the large cluster of galaxies we reside inside; no, we are truly cosmically insignificant.

But, we are conscious. At least, we think so. Possibly, just possibly, the only conscious beings in the entire universe as unlikely as that seems. And each of us; you, me, your mother, that dog down the street, are all composed of atoms created in the Big Bang. We are all the same age, and we are all made up from what was once smaller than the head of a pin. You, your potted fern, and a stapler are all essentially the same.

Think about that.

St. YoYo, for an insignificant crumb of nothing, certainly took being evicted from his crumb of an apartment quite seriously. He was pissed off as he ran with his tacky turtle-shell suitcase to catch the crumb known locally as the Queen Streetcar.

As he ran to the streetcar, a large red star in a relatively nearby galaxy winked out for the final time, and collapsed upon itself, sucking everything -even rays of light- within millions and millions of miles into the hole it left behind. This star kicking the proverbial bucket would not be visible to people on Earth for six million years.

St. YoYo had no idea the star even existed.

Three large galaxies on the opposite side of the universe were swallowed up by a gargantuan super-galaxy which was spinning out of control, destroying stars and planets like a child destroying ants. St. YoYo was only aware of one other galaxy, our nearest neighbor, Andromeda, which will eventually collide with our galaxy, forming a super galaxy of our own. Perhaps, we too will careen out of control gobbling up star cities for the rest of time. Think of it as something to look forward to.

St. YoYo knew he had to find a place to stay, and at the same time was vaguely aware the universe was expanding, but had no idea that the more it expanded the faster it traveled. He had no idea that our ‘Big Bang’ was, in fact, the fifth big bang. The universe had been expanding and collapsing on itself for a googol’s worth of years. Or maybe a googol’s googol. Or a googolplex. At any rate, it’s been a while. St. YoYo had no idea this was the fifth try at a universe anymore than he was aware that he’d existed since the very first big bang. And, so have you.

Happy Birthday.

Germ 101

August 26, 2005


minor tremors
far from oral walls
incite vicious swans to
rear up and attack
flesh
particularly the lips
and the
teeth

gnashing shards with fervor
and licking with retarded glee
carnival blood runs across
my chin
violently beautiful
a single dark bubble belches
and splits down the center
revealing
spark plugs, bicycle chains,
and brains

Prime Quality Beef

August 25, 2005

calibrate me
primarily through
non-existent colour

one through twenty-three
gaunch skidoo
like uh helluva guru
pink n flirty n bulbous
like uh man show
guns n ammo
mano a mano
i yam what i yammo

shiatsu bones crack n splinter
the new wooden teeth licks
and damn well sucks
like the beef selling hoovers
to mr. huxley

in the end
what can you do
but chew?

* * * * *

Schlomo and Gerta would like to send out a big thanks to the Mystery Gift Giver, whover he or she is.

Hay Bay

August 24, 2005

green smoke through
yellow tile
something like a
discordian temple
pungent acrid air hangs
low and hilarious
music throbs against the
remembering and forgetting
of she as he
or he as she
and this is it
forever

3 YEARS!

There Was A Door

August 23, 2005

in so many ways
that door
was the beginning and the end
of me
every day in and
out
every night out and
in
eating and eating and eating

there was a door
when i was a
child
that seemed to whisper
something
each time i passed through
only once
with surplus nerve
did i ever stop
wait
turn
and ask
in a harsh low growl
what was said

palpable silence
itching creak
turned into whine
as the door
giggled
and
repeated
“burp”

Fugue

August 22, 2005

split
i am split
like sunday i scream vomit

i asked her for water
and she gave me gasoline

no sodium pentothal no milk no ice

superset i try to think of me
and can only think of me instead
when does it end
this zipper confusion
of whiplash licorice anger
spliced with a musical interlude schizm
of brainfade terrazzo tiles on formica teeth

i scream
one sexually molested dog
and a collapsed lung later
here i am
back to back
good as new
knew it would be easy
but can’t. but can’t.
instead
ice cream

Dear Muddy,

August 21, 2005

Cheer up, Muddy, remember that life is short. Life is often brutal and depressing, have fun while you’re able. Smile, laugh, giggle, even guffaw when you can. Muddy, you and I both know that there were times when you had fun, I’ve even seen you attempt to roller-skate. Granted, that was during the Carter Administration, but still, the joie de vivre was in your blood then and can’t truly be snuffed out, once ignited. I’d give my Aunt Jodie’s wooden left leg to see you jitterbugging all over the rink again, with a pillow tied to your fanny.

Muddy, what’s wrong with walking in the rain? The term ‘acid rain’ is mostly poetic anyway, nobody I know curled up and died from letting some drops fall on their tongue. Do you think you’re made from sugar? I used to think so, but now I’m not so sure . . . care to prove to me you are?

Don’t work so hard, Muddy, the work will always be there. Like what people say about making the bed, it just gets messed up again anyway. Remember that work is for money, and that money is for fun, so in the end work is just a means to an end.

Muddy, why do you reject the amusement park? Don’t you realize those wonderful places are the earthly temples of Eris? They are a veritable diorama of our entire planet, metaphorically showing us what the world can be, if we want it to be. Yes, the rides sometimes derail, and yes, nasty people sometimes abduct kiddies, but you can’t focus on the bad, or that’s all you will see. Think about the fun-house, and the corn dogs, the popcorn, the roller-coaster, and the Fat Lady, my lord, don’t ever forget the Fat Lady. When she cries, Muddy, she cries for you . . . but when she sings, she sings for the world.

Why don’t you sing, Muddy? Are you afraid your pipes have rusted up over the years? Well, I’m a plumber, Muddy, and I can help rattle those pipes if you will only allow yourself to loosen the foundations. When I sing I can feel it all the way down to my disco-dancing toes, and it seems to bring an electric charge to every atom in this prison I call my body, you don’t think you could use that kind of boost? While I’m on the topic, why don’t you dance Muddy? I’ve even seen dogs and cats tango together under a grapefruit moon, do you think you’re better than them?

Why don’t you join us, Muddy, we love you. We want you to look back at the end and say that you lived every day to it’s fullest. Will you really care when you are on your way out whether you were always calm, cool and collected, or will you just care that you lived? Muddy, remember what my friend Sally once said: “What good is sitting all alone in your room? Come hear the music play . . . life is a cabaret, old chum. Come to the cabaret.”

your loving chum,
-BVH