great screaming

O, I am perched back atop my mountain, and I am ready to begin my screaming! Aaaaaaahhhhh!!!

You thought I was gone! You thought you could destroy me! I’ve had my sixth cup of soju – I am invincible! Ah, here comes the seventh… I am invisible! Just try seeing me now!!

O, you dirty Earth, you sad Earth, you despicable pile of dirt and worms. You make me sick. You make me ill. I’m so sick and ill! All that’s good lies in the depths of the ocean – well, so be it. Keep it down there. Hide it away from me – I don’t care. It means nothing to me. I don’t need any of it.

I’ve got a balcony! I can sit on my balcony and that’s no problem for anyone. Do you have a problem with it? Beat it, buster! Get away from my balcony! And stop dumping garbage in our garbage bin! Find somewhere else! The whole god damn Earth is a garbage bin! Throw it anywhere! Just leave it in your house! Your house is full of stinking fish – I know, I’ve seen it in my mind. I’ve imagined it. You can’t hide it from me.

Oh, you dislike the way you must line up, you dislike the way you must form a queue, you dislike that there are rules that govern the way we interact with each other, oh, oh, oh no, oh I don’t care! All I want to say is (,and I want to say this to everyone on Earth): Get out of my way! I don’t ask for much. I spend most of my time very far away from anyone, but when I do come out of my grotto, when I do venture into the Earth, I just ask that you don’t walk directly into me for no reason! Aaaghh the Earth is so big! It’s so big and you walked Right into me! O you make me sick, you are a monster – you will perish one day and the worms and dogs will eat your bones!

Your SHIRT says calvin klein JEANS. Why does your SHIRT say “JEANS” on it!? You have had your SOUL eaten by the evil devil Satan! He has consumed you… you see a shirt that says JEANS on it and you think… ah calvin, he has not led me astray before, you say that, but really, you’ve never even worn calvin klein jeans… you just have the shirt! And you expect me to LIVE in the same CONTINENT as you!? Get real, dude! Get real! Better yet, take fake!

Ah they’re trying to turn the lights off on me, they’re trying to leave me in the dark, they’re trying to make it such that I can not even see the keyboard that I clack upon, oh these miserable villains think that I, a man who has become unto a God, can not survive without the precious electric light that they shine upon themselves, that they use in a futile attempt to illuminate their demons, oh they think that they can kill me with darkness… well, I just turned the light back on! I could live without it… but I don’t want to! I’ve turned it back on!

The Five Biomes You Meet In Heaven

The wind was gusting for it was a gusty day, and Gus was, to put it frankly, disgusted.

The wind was gusting for it was a gusty day, and Gus was, to put it frankly, disgusted. He had set out on his walk in the hopes of discovering where the road led to, and yet he had been on the road for many an hour and the road had failed to lead anywhere. The road in question was the road he lived on; it was the road on which his house had been built. Gus had built the house, and on the top of the house he had placed a large weathervane, in order to know which way the wind was blowing.

Gus’ hair was blowing this way and that. The wind was blustering, it was gustering, and Gus was mustering all his strength to continue forward. In the sky, the wind was calmer, as Gus could tell by observing the movement of the clouds, which passed across the horizon in an orderly manner. Gus often wondered of the clouds, but his wonderings had been fixed lately on an incomprehensible idea involving flying plankton. He had tried to explain it once, to George, at the local convenience store, but George had not quite understood, and Gus had found that the more he explained, the less he had understood himself, and so he gave up, and from then on had decided to keep such ideas inside of his own mind.

Gus was flustered, and the mustard he had spilled on his new shirt make it look as if the shirt had rustered. He had been in a rush to get out that morning; he had known not how far his road would lead him. He had woken up with a start from a dream involving a cold toad, and had heard the road calling in its usual mode.

When Gus reached the end of the road, he found where it had been leading. It scared him, but only a little, and not in the way he had expected. He was on top of a mountain, and looking down, he could see the town of New Rock, Arkansansas. ‘New Rock!’ he exclaimed, in a whisper. It was the town where he had grown up.

Gus rolled down the mountain, crawled through the forest, and strolled his way into town. It was all exactly as he had remembered it, except until this moment, he had not remembered it all. On a crosswalk he recognized Lily Watson, now seventy years old and leaning on a crooked cane. Lily, when young, had worn frilly dresses, and made silly jokes. Now, the dress she wore looked as if she had lay down on a carpet, and upon standing up again had accidentally taken it with her.

The movie theatre still stood, but it was now a cannabis store. The church still stood, but it was now Presbyterian, whereas when he was young it had been Episcopalian. The trees still stood, but now they leaned over a little, and as he ventured into town, he realized that a few of them were laying down. And his old house, where he had grown up – that still stood too, although they had put a door on the garage, and painted the whole house brown, whereas it used to be green. Gus stood for a long time in front of this house. He sang a brief song, and turned around to head home.

Gog and Magog Go To Market

Any man who has ever built a sandcastle understands the ancient fear that is exemplified in the figures (or figure) of Gog and Magog. What we create is impermanent – be that buildings, towns, cities, civilizations, cultures. Gog and Magog lurk behind every wall – sometimes they are impossible to miss, other times they are invisible. Continue reading “Gog and Magog Go To Market”

The Official Soundtrack to Losing My Damned Mind

Well, it’s that time of the year again, or maybe it’s not even a year – maybe it’s just some day floating in the middle of nowhere. I’m in one of My Moods again, which means that any capacity for serious novel-writing business has left me, and instead I can do naught but succumb to the pseudo-realities of beautifully composed Russian literature. Yep, I’m reading Nikolai Gogol’s Dead Souls, the grand-daddy of it all, and when I’m done I might just pick up Anna Karenina again. I barely even remember what happened in that one. Let’s assume some sort of infidelity.

Myself, I am not looking to perpetrate any sort of infidelity; I’m quite happy with The Imp, and really it’s mostly her fault that My Moods are not as catastrophic as they once were. Ah, back in the day, I used to soak into the fabric of my mattress, sleeping away the majority of the day, before awaking in the evening to relax into an armchair and lose myself in solitary conversations, accompanied by the manic guitars and screams of the Japanese glam rock band, Yellow Monkey.

Yes, one has only to take one glance at my track history to gleam the nature of my thoughts. Yellow Monkey, Fleetwood Mac… say no more! These are the bands that lurk deep in my library, waiting patiently for the days when I forget how to be a human – these are their days to shine.

How do they do it!? I barely know I am entering a Mood, when suddenly Fleetwood Mac’s album, “Mirage” is playing on my speakers and Stevie Nicks’ is seductively crooning “That’s Alright”. Is that song even meant to be seductive? Who knows! Then, “Oh Diane” comes on, and I can’t help hearing it the way I heard it the first time, half-drunk on a bottle of rum, screaming “Oh Dyin’, talking ’bout Dyin!”

I made a short film, once, during one of My Moods, named “A Maniac Does a Crossword.” I can’t put it on Youtube, because the speaker directly behind the camera is playing this Fleetwood Mac album. It is a fifteen-minute single-shot film in which I sit at a kitchen table, pen in my hand, with Coca-Cola, rum, tea, and water all within reach, muttering to myself. Three times, I look directly into the camera. The third time, I speak the film’s only audible line: “You know what?” At eleven minutes, there is a thirty-second dance interlude. This film is still probably my most significant artistic achievement.

Of course, while the mania is fun and often results in some abstract form of creative output, the majority of one of My Moods is often spent feeling tired, disoriented, and subtly melancholic. I am by nature a cynical individual, and while my darker thoughts do not bother me during the nice times, during My Moods they can lead me astray.

I remember the drive home after breaking up with my first girlfriend for the second time, screaming along to Fleetwood Mac’s song, “Landslide.” Yes, I was in one of My Moods then, too, and suffice it to say that that tale ends in a graveyard. It is a great boon to the Earth that The Imp is now here to keep my feet planted firmly on the ground.

At these times, I can not help but wonder what it is that everyone else on Earth is up to. I can drop off of the face of the Earth for days, and it alters not a speck of dust on the ground. You are all continuing to hurry about, chopping trees and chucking logs. Well, carry on! Clearly, I am not vital to your missions.

Ah, is a man such as I even alive? I can’t even bring myself to eat the Goldfish crackers on the table beside me.

Well, in an hour or so I shall be off to the fruit store to move cherries from boxes to bags. It’s a tedious job, but it must be done! It is August after all, and the people demand their beautiful Okanagan cherries. I am just happy to help. Perhaps I shall be able to think up some pleasant thoughts to accompany me.