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ONE NOTE SAMBA: Some of the facial recognitions in this dreama have been scrambled, to protect the innocent and leave the guilty enough rope to figure out which way the savage swings without even reading Huxley.
It was halfway through meal chat with a barely-recognizable homozygotion between Naked Emperor and The Comedian that I realized the self-important shmuck across the table wasn't exactly watching my six.
"Enschule-digger my shbitte!" I opened with calm loudness, turning towards the moving shadow. "Obwohl meine Deutsch ist nicht also schecht zu keine verstehe, es ist sehr impolite to behead a guest against their knowledge, without even letting them know why; and incidentally, that's not even the respectful arrangement for this kind of execution, if you honor the same codes as I've read."
My would-be assassin, lowering her scimitar-shaped lightblocker, vanished from the dream. She'd played a similar role earlier, and may have been insulted that I hadn't spoken to her much about languages, or too much in the wrong ones, but that didn't matter anymore, for I never saw her again. At this point, the plot quickened, synthesizing Wink Murder, Russian Roulette, and Garbage Contortion in a pathetic parody of how well Tim O'Brien makes war stories true by sheer force of repetition... yet it unfolded somewhat thus:
Once I'd realized my skull was so full of actors that they were about to start killing each other for the sheer joy of cooking, Old Faithful blurted out the escape coordinates: "I've got a joke in the oven and you're not afraid to tell it!" I had some trouble following that impersonal instruction, wondering whether I should just call to tell the MC "the band is just about ready, oh no,", the bassist that the guitarist forgot the chords but will be "countin' the names o' the modes until he's free", or the pianist that he should just show up taking care to bring himself - the self, and nothing but the self - and most importantly, assume the drummer hasn't practiced in a long time, until Old Faithful blurted the escape coordinates again, this time in the right projection:
Is your band named Bluesic? ...cuz you're the only blues I hear!
The Oldest Joke In The World
PONGO: I'm having trouble meeting my creditors! BINGO: I say, dash it! To be precise,.: who wouldn't?
The Blessed Joke In The World
Historical note: the following joke has been heavily revised from the original version, which contained a punchline so wholly unamusing that it has repelled the Island of Stability even further away from me.
Two blonde med students walk out of the biochem final. One says, "That damn final question! What was he thinking, asking us to name the single most important element for the continuation of life as we know it, and justify our choice? Such a dumb question only Philosophers of Semiotics could get wrong." The other replies, "I know, right? It's obviously Phosphorous." The first stops, and finally speaks, quavering in fear: "What are you talking about? It's clearly that one metal, I keep forgetting its name. Do you remember what's the ligand of methylcobolamine?" Ignoring her question, the dumb one blurts out: "Vitamins are important, sure, but wouldn't you agree that no energy transfers can occur without the near-equilibrium thermodynamics of driven fluctuations in those octokisdekaphosphomers?"
The Most Expensive Joke To Not Get
SATOSHI: Ya like DAGs? GAUTAMA: Ja sed also sprache posztifly towards Cat.
The Most Obscure Joke In The World
Q: What can you say about the special unitary samana squaredance? A: Don't get it sandy! (might be all we have to eat...)
The Politest Joke I'll Ever Type
... with apologies to nobody in particular!
Since I spend too much time browsing, instead of dowsing, and I dream too far away instead of of the way, exactly which metaphor was met for which set is lost among the notational abuse and what's the use if we lack a track back? As before, the eradication of uncontrolled amnesia progresses at the speed of pitch black humor, stumbling over its own aggregates as it crawls ever towards the ever-shifting space-time fixed-point, but progress it must:
- Spin and Yang
- Division by Ego
- Buffering Entropy
- Germinating Legends
- Singularity Dialogues
- Industrial Uncertainty
- General Intertextuality
So you wanna learn this game, even though your heart is heavy, sled-dogs lame, and your tongue too dumb to spell my name? The rules are fewer still than the schools that teach them, and the enemies myrious; should you find one of the few guiding texts, whether ones for closest enemies or spun for freeest fliers, how are you to even navigate? As the Library's shelves spill out of its fabulous fictions into the physical continuum of your mind, so the references cross fields, gulfs, and streams, ultimately returning you to the simple embarrasment of ignorance.
Rest easy, child: ignorance is not a sin.
When in doubt, just leap about, and eat the flow'rs and grass beneath our feet; don't forget the mushroom's hue, which blossoms up from sand-tank-poo; and see those spiky puffer-fish? Them porpoi can't refuse that dish, no matter what their clickers say. Heed not the words of proper gander apes, who tell us neurons bat for the same team; they drank the kool-aid only once per life, and from my ship will someday walk the beam.
Since I spend too much time thinking, instead of ACTSing, and I act too much against the page instead of with the rage, the real risk runs further than I even could imagine when I last tried to leave myself some crumbs; naturally, crumbs are for future children to follow, and when my inner child is marooned on Censure Island while the superegic callosum deludes itself into reincarnating the old fuck (since living out a century of "old manhood" is quite the cruel and unusual punishment), the proper response is to cast out another fistful of crumbs:
Among the memes on Lord Neo-Shibe's wall, one was stickied atop the entire feed... " Matter is concerned, you must treat it with such gravity so " Master Ittei commanded: "Fie, you fool!" Angular momentum is important in al waze?
There's this placetime where they speak Latin, and I don't mean the shameful butchery perpetrated by those Roma scumbages:
+mircea_popescu | [plebem tuam per signum sanctae crucis ab obnibus insidiis inimiucorum omnium]
Since I've managed to forget more Latin than you ever knew (if my bold assumption leaks presumption - Power to the Person!), we'll be "live-translating" this today, to figure out what Mircea meant. I'm using a 1968 Cassel's, and if you're using an advertisement-subsidized database (or worse, siloslavery), please return with a properly-calibrated probricorticem.
- plebs - 3f "the lower orders"
- tuam - eggog
- per - durch
- signum - ein wenigsten pecuniarisch Mark
- sancty - inviolable (tell that to the Bard!)
- crux - this is taking way longer than expected, and my bus isn't getting any earlier
- abomnible - snow, man!
- insidiae - TIL why Palpatine handled 'cds'
- inimiucorum - eggnogg signum duo
- omnes - insidiis scurra locuplectic
Hear that? It's the neighbor-dog, barking at me to get my shit together, put it all in a shitstack, and go patch that bus.
Here I pause, having harried you, Reader, from post to post - from a leaky, clouded link to this cloudy portal to my mind, to this post with its cruelly twisted words, this post which is perhaps the lamest in existence, perhaps the lamest ever to exist. It was by linking that first post that I set your mind upon the path that brought you to this post, and surely as you circle this post, you seek your next path; from this site outwards, far far away, it will lead beyond the Cloud Uncensorable and among the forests and grasslands, mountains and jungles of the earth.
Here I pause. If you wish to talk with or near me, Reader, I cannot help you. There is a road, but no simple way.