Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Dining with Cannibals - Contorno

It is in the nature of those whose business is money to use the nature of things to their advantage.

The Pleasure Principle ~ Magritte

As Numbers leaves the meeting, Pinky Derailleur, Head of Human Remains, powerful beyond all reasonableness, (some say more powerful than old Volere himself), looks over at the Engineering Manager and, catching his eye, winks. Swann blushes deeply and looks back down at his notebook.
Pinky smiles to himself, Amateurs, he thinks.
Pinky, whose mother named him Rene, considers himself a connoisseur of all things politic, as far as who is stabbing who, and what they hope to gain; it is Pinky’s business to know.

All-you-can-eat Capitalism

Monday, December 11, 2017

Electric Dreams

roses and lies - Olivier Bonhomme

When you wander through the walkways, above space ship launches off the fingertips of their galaxy spiral, below killer wales hunting in the Arctic, you might wonder at your wonder at the creativity of their self-delusion.
The walkways hum with everything they are as a species –define who they are: a myriad of combinations, alive; diverse and dangerous.
Borrowers and burrowers plague the passing throng with promises and threats; trinkets to carry with you always.
The walkways offer no alternatives than to consume: everybody has to eat.
Nico hadn’t been out for a while, she’d been hiding from the loss of Jan, unable to pull herself back to that place where her head and heart had been in equilibrium.
She’s become sensitised to the intrusive nature of the last remaining advert: the advert offered up on the walkways, offered most strongly; the advert that promises a reality so divorced from the hard facts of life; so enticing to her sweet-tooth.
Nico bites her ego’s tongue and takes in the dark beauty of the walkways; their neon, luminescent, psychotropic lure; the myriad of tongues and the night air laced with the cooking of spiced food; she feels her head floating amid the throng; one cluster of charged particles amid an electric storm.

Tales for an attention deficit world

Friday, December 08, 2017

I'm Your Ghost

Chiesa della Sanità o dei Cappuccini - Tropea, Italia ~ by Photo P.I.

At one time people conveniently "went mad" and were never heard from again. Like a character in a romantic novel. But now ... you are too hip to yourself on a psychological level. You all are too intimate with too many of the symptoms of insanity to be caught completely off your guard. ~ Ken Kesey, Sometimes a Great Notion

If I were to say that Pisces Iscariot is a voice inside the head of Garth Erickson some of you might surmise that I am describing a madman (or that I am a madman myself?).
But what is madness other than a spectrum of words that run from Normal, through Quirky and Eccentric to Nut-job.
The sad fact is that we start the descent into madness the moment we (consciously or unconsciously) do not or cannot conform.
(Unconsciously) “I cannot conform to your standards of beauty”
(Consciously) “I will not conform to your standards of beauty”
Yup, you’ve made the first step.
We can get away with these deviations from the norm in small measures but once we’ve accumulated a certain number we head into the realms perceived as quirky or eccentric.
Now we all know what quirky means; and eccentric is classified as mostly harmless; but we become full blown fruitcakes when people can no longer recognise themselves in us.
Neither Pisces Iscariot nor Garth Erickson are clinically insane (at least I don’t think they are; but then who am I to say?) but where Erickson is self-consciously aware of his place in the world, Pisces is the voice that has no need to censor his responses to that world.

Pisces Iscariot is not always comfortable with his own name by the way: it’s a perfect name, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a stolen name.
He sometimes wishes he’d been called Pisces Asparagus.

Wednesday, December 06, 2017

Monday, December 04, 2017

Depth Charges

Once again it comes down to a question of gravity.
Riuchi, breathing slow and deep, stands on the lip and contemplates the gap.
The difference between height and depth seems to depend on the media with which the gap is filled.
Riuchi, looking inward, finds nothing worth the climb, nothing worth the dive, nothing but the gap.
The similarities between here and there are the bridge by which he will travel; a side door in the corridor of understanding; an entrance to the halls of an alien mind.
Riuchi, moving outward like a rippling wave in the pond of all existence, meets the true meaning of all his ragged learning.
Once again it comes down to gravity; the weakest force in the universe; the heaviest word in the English language.

Tales for an attention deficit world