My Moustache

One of the great features of my life is that I have structured it such that I can grow a moustache with impunity. No one dares defy my right to grow a moustache, and I have been met with great support from all sides since the day of its coronation. That being said, I did not grow a moustache in order to reap admiration; no, I grew my moustache because I felt that it would help me to define a marked change in my attitude and behaviour towards the strange mishap that is life on earth. This it has done, and so much so that I believe the great scholars who in the future take it upon themselves to write my biographies will have no choice but to divide them into two sections: pre-moustache and moustache. Of course, this implies the fact – which, while it might easily be left unsaid, might just as easily be said – that this moustache is here to stay. Make no mistake about it, friends! There is no end for this moustache but my grave!

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I have a sneaking suspicion that someone has been electrolyzing my water. Whenever I take a sip from the remarkably tall glass that sits permanently by my side, I am struck with a peculiar sensation. As the water pools around my tongue, and pervades into the farthest reaches of my mouth basin, a singular emotion overcomes me: electricity. Electricity flows in and through my soul, and I become as a vector for a mystical, psychomatic current.

Like many of you, I like my water to be made of a few essential elements. I like a mix hydrogen and oxygen, primarily – preferably a 2:1 hydrogen-oxygen ratio, if possible. Of course, one must have the metals; I could not bear for a second to be without my precious metals! Zinc, magnesium, iron, tungsten, silver, nickel, copper, rhodesium – any or all of these will do. Once, I had a glass of water that was simply hydrogen, oxygen, and a single mole of barium. Now that was a trip!

I use the water I drink in various ways. For the most part, I choose to absorb the water into my body through the tissue of my large intestine. This is a controversial method, I know – let me just say in my defense that I have done extensive research and experimentation in this particular field, and have found that this method works best for me. I am fully open to the possibility that other methods might work better for other organisms! I believe in freedom, in this particular respect. I will stand up, shout, yell, scream, and even squeal in defense of this particular right, if it comes down to it. Thankfully, most sensible governments have had the good sense to avoid creating cumbersome legislation regarding this particular point. Unfortunately, given the state of our Earth, one worries that it is simply a matter of time.

My friend and colleague, Santiago of Cabrille, chooses mostly to breathe in water vapour that he keeps in a specialized room in the dungeon of his miraculous castle. This is an interesting quirk of his – of course, one can never say too much about the Spanish. I have spent time in this chamber of his, and I must say that I found the sensation of breathing in water vapour at such a rate to be highly disagreeable. Highly disagreeable! However, as I have just been saying, I would give up my right arm in order to protect his right to do this very thing. But I would give up my left to defend my right to say: A curious way to ingest water, if I do say so myself!

Another friend of mine, who I must avoid naming due to certain difficulties with his local government – never before have I seen such a foul collection of miscreants! although this is besides the point – this friend of mine stands in the rain and soaks up water through his skin. I said to him once, that it may be more convenient to go swimming in a lake or pond and soak up the water that way, without having to wait for rain. What a chewing out I got for that idle comment! He said – in a very reasonable fashion, all told – that soaking up water in a pond is the equivalent to ingesting water orally via a fire hose. Now imagine that!

Everybody needs water. This much I have been told, and it being true in my case, have chosen to believe. Water is a fundamental component of the living world. It is in our cells! Our cells! Well, you can’t get much better than that!

Oh ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha , oh we love water here, where I am! Oh ho ho, yes we do, yes sirree! We’re crazy about it, ha ha, absolutely mad I tell you. Oh ho ho, ha ha, true water fiends, you could call us, ha ha, in our household! In this household! Ha ha, yes, absolutely yes, water is something we hold dear.

The Five Delicacies on Your Journey Through Hell

During our shared trip through the space-time travel on Hell planet there are a few sparks of joy that can bring us away from the eternal blistering of our toes from the hot coals of the soil. Despite such burning, these sparks ignite a reverie that can take us away from pain and send us, albeit momentarily, into a dream-like state where we can find a comfy, sometimes delicious respite.

This first delicacy is Mario. The able-bodied, stalwart man of fortitude can make us feel a true range of emotions. Through his “Wahoo!” to his “Maaama!” we can find ourselves taken to new planes. Many of Mario’s cohorts and chums are also quite charismatic and high jinks often ensue.

Another delicacy you are possibly enjoying at this very moment is the written word. As we all know from our old pal John, in the beginning was the Word, and it was good. For such a trustworthy fellow to make such a declaration, I wouldn’t be able to believe it wasn’t true, even if you held otherwise up to my face! And even if you were to do that it would probably be in the form of written word and as we all know, it is good.

The third delicacy you will encounter is the ruler of this web zone, the Spaghetti Soup. Now none of us know where the Soup came from but it has ensnared us all in it’s web, graciously carrying us above the hot soil of coals and nipping mites in its wet embrace. For as long as you trust in the Soup Web you will forever be satiated with the Everlong Noodle, and the Eternal Broth which is ever-changing to what will sate our appetites the most. And while we hang in these hammocks of web we will always be within an arms length of another compatriot among the Web.

Ah, yes, within the Soup Web we find the fourth delicacy, our bedfellows. The ones who, despite their own scalding toes, will still regale us in conversation inherent for such a zone as the Soup Web. These fellows rejoice in sharing their words and artistic expression to delight themselves and those around them. And as it is to them, it is to us, by bringing joy to these fellows, we ourselves gain equal amounts of joy back. Through this cycle, we can pull each other through this journey on Hell planet and maybe one day our toes will heal.

Now the final delicacy is referred to as such despite how it is seemingly readily available to everyone at all times. This delicacy is yourself. This delicacy is something that one must gain an acquired taste for, just as with a spirit or a foreign flavour not accustomed to one’s palette. There are some that inherently revel in this delicacy however, those are not ones of the Soup Web, for the only way to end up ensnared is to fall into the pit of despair in realizing one’s own nature. Through this realization we fight and strive to taste the delicacy that is loving one’s self despite our own failings.

This journey we all partake on has barely just begun. As we learn to embrace these five delicacies, we learn to fight against the coals and whatever else Hell planet has to offer. So grab a book, grab a noodle, and revel in the joyous rapture of “Wahoos!” alongside your compatriots in this never ending bowl of Spaghetti Soup.

Coming Across a Carb Sacrifice

Several weeks ago, while the imp and I were on our regular walk, we came across a suspicious collection of materials piled on the sidewalk. As we grew nearer, the pile became clearer; ‘Ah,’ we said, ‘Another carb sacrifice.’

I don’t know if carb sacrifices are common where you are. Around here, you see them every now and again. In recent years, the trend is more towards indoor carb offerings, but there are still the traditionalists who stick firmly to the belief that the only place for a proper carb sacrifice is on the sidewalk outside your home.

This particular carb sacrifice that we came across was a real smorgasbord: cereal, bread, dry pasta, grains. It covered it all. They must be in a lot of trouble; either that, or they have very lofty aspirations. We wondered, the imp and I, at what god or gods this particular carb offering was directed towards. You used to be able to tell for sure – Po’ssef was really the only carb god in town. Nowadays, with the spread of the internet, a lot of heresies of varying degreees have gained popularity. For example, followers of the Biggums cult deny the place of bread in a carb offering – they consider it a bit too Catholic, I suppose.

If you’re looking to learn about the origins and etiquette of carb sacrifices, I would reccomend “Carbohydratical Offerings: A Survey of the West Coast Varieties” by Biggum Wiggum (no relation to the Biggums cult.) The main thing to keep in mind if you’d like to start offering at home is to clear your house of any rats, ants, or any pest of that sort. It can cause a real headache. Sacrifices performed outside are better for this reason, but then you face the possibility of an outright Crow Congregation, which you will want to avoid for reasons you might suspect. It used to be common knowledge how to avoid such a disaster, but unfortunately the techniques have been for the most part lost to time, and can only be found in certain hard-to-come-upon resource materials.

I am no more than a passing amateur when it comes to such scholarship. All I know, I have overheard while behind various fences, or in various bushes. I was behind these fences and in these bushes for very different reasons, but that’s the beauty of secret hiding places, you never come away empty-handed.

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!

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.

A Dash of Premonition for Your Spaghetti

I awoke with Clear Eyes on this muggy, cloudy day with a premonition of future greatness for us all. In two days, I turn 25, and this marks the 1/4 mark of the grand marathon that is my century-long life. What have I done? What am I going to do? Let us leave those questions for now. For now, let’s ask, what am I doing?

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Secrets from the Soup Web #2

There are three dreams, split among all of us. It’s important to remember that none of us know the full nature of any of these dreams, but instead know only a fragment that is allowed to us by the true dream-maker, Satan himself. The real life devil Satan has composed three intricate dreams that will speak to us of our mutual humanity. When we have all joined together to share the three dreams, this will be the end of us.

In one of these dreams, we all have one horse. We ride this horse across an endless, unbounded frontier with no natural landmarks. Every mile we traverse on our horse, a sign pops out of the ground. it tells us how many miles we have traveled. Eventually, the world becomes so dense with signs that it is almost impossible to move. My 1 mile sign and your 656 mile sign are in the same position. This means that we are destined to fall in love, if we can ever find each other again. However, we can not reach each other through the endless maze of signs.

In the second dream, there is only one human. His name is Phil. He believes in magic and he believes in God. We are all watching him, from above. We are not humans. We are Angels. Phil is sitting in the middle of a vast field, thinking. He can hear the sounds of nature; however, we can not. We are hoping for Phil to come to a certain conclusion regarding our existence. We know he believes in God. Does he believe in Angels? Does he know how many of us there are? When he finds it out, he will join us.

In the third dream, we are all alive in our modern earth. We can see each other and be seen. We can talk to each other and be heard. However, one of us is lying. One of us is a fake. It is the devil himself, Satan. We must find out who he is, using only free democratic elections.