Legends of Love and Luck is a collaborative epic novel composed by Balckwell and Hoober, for publication on the Soup Web Zone. It is inspired by Classical Chinese Novels such as Journey to the West, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and Bandits of the Water-Margin. Odd-numbered chapters will be composed by Balckwell, and even-numbered chapters by Hoober. We hope you enjoy the result.Continue reading “Legends of Love and Luck – Chapter One”
I look around at the citizens of the world and I don’t understand what they are doing. I don’t understand their motivations. This makes me think that, perhaps, the citizens of the world do not understand what I am doing, and don’t understand my motivations. I know we are already two parts into this manifesto, but maybe we need to start again.
Kyle when he was human killed ten-thousand bugs. Many by accident, to be sure, but many on purpose as well. Not out of cruelty, but because he just wanted them out of his house. Stomping, crushing, swatting, poisoning, flushing down the toilet. Kyle often saw others take a bug who had wandered in back outside. He had done the same thing every now and then, but generally if there was a bug inside, it was going to die.Continue reading “Kyle When He Was Human”
It was a cold February afternoon, and the man in the red coat upstairs was hammering nails on his balcony. I could hear him hammering away, and the hammering had such a consistent rhythm to it that it almost became beautiful. Continue reading “Dance of the Dream Man / See You In My Nightmare”
Due to the recent closure of the world we would like to intervene with the oft held traditions seen over the Bunny Day long weekend. There will be no more “hide the egg,” “hard boiled egg bonanza,” or even your local “egg grill.” This year Bunny Day shall be known as “Funny Day.” All citizens (netizens) must provide us with one “funny” to be electronically submitted to your local government website that you frequent which will then be presented to the city council. We look forward to the Funny Day celebrations. That is all.
I stared at this post by my local government on my local government’s website that I check daily to make sure that I am connected to my community and was in terror. I had to produce a funny. I had never produced a funny before and could not even begin to think of where to start. What kind of funny could even compete with such philosophical gems as “Garlic Something,” or “A Letter From A Friend?” But, I had to do what I could or I would be shot from a cannon into the sun, a common punishment for refusal to comply to my local government’s orders.
So I began to ponder. A funny with enough effort in it to avoid cannon-death. For someone like me, this was no trivial task. I would have to take on the world to grasp at what it meant to produce a funny and I had to do it by the weeks end. I decided to do research and went straight to my local government’s website for the second time that day. I sorted through the posts, reading of omelettes and battles between gods. Of poetry and inner conflict, prose and confusion. It seems that a funny can really be anything. It can be created from intentional misuse of words or phrases in strange orders. It can be real and from the heart or truly a goof of seemingly nothing at all. We are all part of the “funny.”
I seemed to have had a revelation. A grasping at funny lead me down a strange path, skewing my perception and changing what I really thought of as funny to begin with. Everything is funny. It’s all hilarious. We are all in this web together, covered in soup, slurping endless noodles, filling ourselves with all of it at once. You need to see the funny to handle that. Otherwise there is nothing stopping that endless noodle from filling you so full that you explode. Without the funny we are lost.
I have solved it. Here is my funny. Local government, I hope you enjoy:
The grand warrior Agamemnon stands atop an ancient ruin. Sand swirls in the wind around him. In his right hand, he carries a broadsword; in his left, a broad shield. Out into the dunes, he screams, “Gibbongod! My arch-nemesis, where are you!?” His voice carries across the desert. No one else is around, until, someone else is around.
I am an object in motion
Crashing through all reason and objectivity
As my mind leads me down a bitter path
Sometimes I veer, but I feel I need to now
I’m tired of the beaten path
I hate it
And I’m angry with myself for going back to it time and time again
I want to destroy it and my weaker self
Or maybe myself, I’m not sure…
Next time better be fucking different
I want next time to be different
The construction of a margarita is a simple thing, or so I once thought. In these new times of struggle and strife my mind has been changed. I am a monkey. Actually, I wish I were as smart as a monkey but my recent experience with margaritas has made me believe I am lesser than that. Monkeys can learn. It seems I cannot. The title of this post isn’t “Good Memories of A Bad Margarita” but it is its pluralized counterpart. A margarita failure occurred twice by my hands, days apart, and in different ways. And you better believe that the second travesty was even worse than the first.
But what really is a margarita? The concept of a margarita has been taught to me over the years from a couple different sources. For some reason, the first thing that comes to me every time I think “margarita” is Kill Bill Vol. 2, with Michael Madsen and his intentionally sloppy made ‘rita. That margarita truly had character. The second is from my own family, with my dad blending up margaritas for the whole crew on the few occasions that it happened. That margarita had the Good Time with it. The third source I think of is from a bar that had margaritas on for happy hour, but no blender for blending. They only served them on the rocks. Decidedly the least entertaining way to have a margarita.With this information out there I think you can get a much better idea of who I am as a person as well as how I would like to experience a margarita.
A Good Time for me is one spent with a friend, with your mistress, or with your live-in imp. These Good Times can be enhanced by many things, one of which is grabbing a nice beverage. For a long time I made wisecracks at one of the spaghetti soup scholars for often having three different drinks with him on many occasions. Water, coffee, juice, tea, milkshake; he was living his life in a world of endless choices, always to sample whatever flavour he desired on his current whim. Now I understand that this is truly the ultimate life experience. I recently came across a fantastic wisecrack created for a multi-drink person, I shall never use it in ridicule. Referring to someone as Goro from Mortal Kombat truly just means that they are living a life of luxury, with all the choices in the world open to them at any given time. You have not lived until you have had a sip of coffee, then orange juice, followed by a chocolate milkshake. This is the Spaghetti Soup philosophy.
So the question on everybody’s mind now is how did I ruin those margaritas. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. I would like to place a portion of the blame on the Magic Bullet which, looking on it now, doesn’t seem all that magic at all. I understand this may be a shocking revelation for you to hear. The Magic Bullet is not magic. I have removed the wool from your eyes and we can step into this new view on the world together. The Magic Bullet is simply a worse blender, pretending to be more convenient because it has its own cups.
One of the main ingredients of a margarita is ice. However, our MB left our ice mostly intact, unblended, turning our ‘rita from a slushie into a smoothie. The second mistake was the overzealous nature I took, channeling Michael Madsen and his demeanor, recklessly adding in ingredients as if i truly knew what I was doing when I surly did not. The first attempt involved strawberry juice concentrate (they were out of lime at the store), a fruit juice cocktail, straight lemon juice, tequila, and ice (although it stay unblended at the bottom of the cup). The end result was a sloppy mixture tasting of flavoured tequila as we didn’t use enough strawberry mix to begin with.
The second attempt tried to remedy the previous mistake. We had lime concentrate and instead of rationing it out as if we would never see another can of juice concentrate again, we simply took action. Half for me and half for my mistress. Again, we were doomed from the very start. The outcome was so sickeningly powerful I had to chase it with water to counteract the sugar. But, like the troopers we are, they were both finished to completion, albeit taking most of the evening to do so. The Good Time was still had, a bad drink doesn’t ruin the Good Time when you are with such good company but simply turns it into its own little farce and fun journey. The magic was still there although decidedly not supplied from the Magic Bullet itself.
So maybe I am a monkey after all. Or heck, maybe I’m a little more on my way down the scale to ‘human’, but I will have to leave that for the world to judge and decide on. As I sit here typing in one window with a Google image search of Goro to the side in another, giving me inspiration, I think of all the other good times that I’ve had with drinks. A can of creamed corn at a Japanese train station, a bottomless coke supplemented with smuggled rum at an all-night karaoke box, and two bad margaritas with my mistress during the apocalypse. And now these memories will be added to my bank of “margarita”, right next to Michael Madsen and family-fun night.
Recently, to my deepest regret, I am afflicted with a grave condition. This is a condition of sight, one which distracts me greatly from my daily life. As I go about my trifles, it seems nearly everything I do triggers a memory from some years ago, before I moved to Japan.Continue reading “visions/daydreams”