New Feature: Lives of the Saints (People You Meet in Heaven)
It is not my intention to mock these people, I’m sure they meant well. (Off stage sniggering aside.) I just think a little re-examination is called for, you know, in light of recent developments in psychology:
St. Teresa
By an everyday occurrence
Visited, like a common cold,
Through the remote filter of
Her god illusion, placed she there
An angel, a “man” after all,
A man with darts of love to thrust
Deeply in the Little Flower,
Again! and oh! now, please! again!
In ecstasy she did receive them,
Even told her sisters fair.
And no one questioned St. Teresa,
No one told her, to herself
To keep the details of her wet dream.
Now it’s part of Western Culture,
Like the Treaty of Versailles,
Or Shakespeare’s plays.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Normanology, Part Five
Norman liked roller-coasters. Did I say liked? He loved roller-coasters, beyond loved, he was obsessed. Roller-coasters were a fixation, an addiction, he was compelled to repeat the experience. In winter he’d work two jobs so that he could take the entire “season” off, traveling around the country to ride the biggest, fastest roller-coasters in America, especially the old style wooden roller-coasters.
He wrote reviews, essays and historical pieces for the ‘coaster magazines, he’d been to college, he could write, and yes, there is a vital subculture of roller-coaster fanatics. He didn’t care for modern amusement parks, Disneyland was interesting but not his style. He loved the atmosphere of old school amusement parks, the carnies, the gaudy signage, the weight-guessers, the junk food, the excited laughter of children, and all of the rides, the whole disreputable outsider-ness of it.
He would spend the majority of the day repeatedly riding the roller-coaster, making notes in between, resting in the shade planning the road trip to the next park, the next ‘coaster. I couldn’t understand it myself, and Norman couldn’t understand my aversion to it. To me amusement parks are as though someone had my arm twisted up behind my back and was forcing hilarity on me. For me it was like watching gamblers in Vegas, I could see only sadness; for Norman it was heaven.
It was as though he came alive in the milieu of amusement parks, quite literally, since his typical visage, between his natural aspect and the constant self-sedation, was as one near death, or recently brought back from death. I cannot imagine that there is another like him, nor ever has been, not in the details, and probably not in the sharp contrasts presented by his many facets, some admirable in the extreme and almost saintly, some that society considers unseemly, pathological, illegal, or even disgusting.
He wrote reviews, essays and historical pieces for the ‘coaster magazines, he’d been to college, he could write, and yes, there is a vital subculture of roller-coaster fanatics. He didn’t care for modern amusement parks, Disneyland was interesting but not his style. He loved the atmosphere of old school amusement parks, the carnies, the gaudy signage, the weight-guessers, the junk food, the excited laughter of children, and all of the rides, the whole disreputable outsider-ness of it.
He would spend the majority of the day repeatedly riding the roller-coaster, making notes in between, resting in the shade planning the road trip to the next park, the next ‘coaster. I couldn’t understand it myself, and Norman couldn’t understand my aversion to it. To me amusement parks are as though someone had my arm twisted up behind my back and was forcing hilarity on me. For me it was like watching gamblers in Vegas, I could see only sadness; for Norman it was heaven.
It was as though he came alive in the milieu of amusement parks, quite literally, since his typical visage, between his natural aspect and the constant self-sedation, was as one near death, or recently brought back from death. I cannot imagine that there is another like him, nor ever has been, not in the details, and probably not in the sharp contrasts presented by his many facets, some admirable in the extreme and almost saintly, some that society considers unseemly, pathological, illegal, or even disgusting.
Dangerous Factions
I wish I’d written this:
When up a dangerous faction starts,
With wrath and vengeance in their hearts;
By solemn League and Cov'nant bound,
To ruin, slaughter, and confound;
To turn religion to a fable,
And make the government a Babel;
Pervert the law, disgrace the gown,
Corrupt the senate, rob the crown;
To sacrifice [our country’s] glory,
And make her infamous in story:
When such a tempest shook the land,
How could unguarded Virtue stand?
From “Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift,” Jonathan Swift, 1700 something.
Could anyone better describe the desperate plight of today’s politics?
Everything old is new again, and there is nothing new in the wreckers and greed-mongers who these days fill their sleek pelted pockets with booty paid for with the blood of other peoples children.
Some ages in their peril were blessed with such as Dr. Swift, the Dean; others and ours sadly included are left with weak heroes, meager defenses and a general failure of courage to oppose the strong.
Me? No sir, I’ll step not forward, that cup passes from me effortlessly, I have neither the courage nor the skill to fight the power that ruins us.
I have only a limited intellect that serves me well to examine things in shallow fashion and discourse glibly on the same, but I am denied the great wit and lucidity required to fight society’s ills.
I have only the emotion to feel the danger and horror; I lack the wisdom to understand it and the words to describe it.
Step up, anyone?
When up a dangerous faction starts,
With wrath and vengeance in their hearts;
By solemn League and Cov'nant bound,
To ruin, slaughter, and confound;
To turn religion to a fable,
And make the government a Babel;
Pervert the law, disgrace the gown,
Corrupt the senate, rob the crown;
To sacrifice [our country’s] glory,
And make her infamous in story:
When such a tempest shook the land,
How could unguarded Virtue stand?
From “Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift,” Jonathan Swift, 1700 something.
Could anyone better describe the desperate plight of today’s politics?
Everything old is new again, and there is nothing new in the wreckers and greed-mongers who these days fill their sleek pelted pockets with booty paid for with the blood of other peoples children.
Some ages in their peril were blessed with such as Dr. Swift, the Dean; others and ours sadly included are left with weak heroes, meager defenses and a general failure of courage to oppose the strong.
Me? No sir, I’ll step not forward, that cup passes from me effortlessly, I have neither the courage nor the skill to fight the power that ruins us.
I have only a limited intellect that serves me well to examine things in shallow fashion and discourse glibly on the same, but I am denied the great wit and lucidity required to fight society’s ills.
I have only the emotion to feel the danger and horror; I lack the wisdom to understand it and the words to describe it.
Step up, anyone?
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Internet Conspiracy Theories
I always seems that the net is too slow to bother here in Thailand on Saturday and Sunday. Today is a Monday holiday and it's way slow today too. Could it be that on the weekend every connected computer in Thailand is working on CABAL, Hipstreet, Half-Life, Darkness And Light (sic), and all the other games that young Thais pass their time with? The machine behind me has had one key repeatedly smashed down with terminal force, three or four times per second, for the last ten minutes.
Or, is it because it is peak usage hours in Europe and America?
Anyway, a much bigger problem here is the censorship of the net. The gov is up to about 35,000 sites blocked, a dialog box comes up telling you that this site is blocked because we're trying to protect Thailand from pornography, oh, and incidentally, anything we consider detrimental in any way to Thai culture or politics or that offends anyone important. Lots of Thai hotel reservation sites and travel sites are blocked, go figure that one.
Or, is it because it is peak usage hours in Europe and America?
Anyway, a much bigger problem here is the censorship of the net. The gov is up to about 35,000 sites blocked, a dialog box comes up telling you that this site is blocked because we're trying to protect Thailand from pornography, oh, and incidentally, anything we consider detrimental in any way to Thai culture or politics or that offends anyone important. Lots of Thai hotel reservation sites and travel sites are blocked, go figure that one.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Classic Motorcycles
This little junker could be mighty quick. It's cobbled together around a 125 cc two-stroke motor with a nice expansion chamber, six speed manual gearbox. The tires and brakes look decent. It's a local "Chopper," no unnecessary parts.
On our campus I've seen one really tricked out chopper. It's been stripped to the frame, the frame is mostly showing now, all chromed, minimal white body parts, small, flat seat, aircraft hoses and wires, red-wall tires, it's a gass, and it goes real good too. It's show-ready. A two-stroke, 125 cc, like all the fast cats. It's beautiful. I'll try to get a picture.
Mr. Fred's Poetry Corner: Alone, in the Dark
Alone, in the dark,
“In the Heat of the Night,”
The movies, also “Moby Dick,”
“Marnie,” and some Spartans,
300 I think, “Under Ten Flags,”
William Castle, “13 Ghosts,”
“Dr. Sardonicus” was a scream.
Hammer Dracula;
Hammer Frankenstein;
Hammer anything at all.
“Love Me Tender,” “Jailhouse Rock,”
And monsters, any chance I got,
With “The Giant Behemoth,” alone,
With bugs and scorpions and birds, all huge,
And alligators, bodies though of men,
Hideous this and terrible that.
Pacific Titles, made up “Heat of the Night”
I suppose. I saw new cars,
Too far, they thought, to worry.
Alone, in the dark, a comfort to me.
Be careful, oh man,
Take care with your comforts,
Choose wisely,
Or suffer, alone.
Idea to completion, six minutes, March 28, 2008
“In the Heat of the Night,”
The movies, also “Moby Dick,”
“Marnie,” and some Spartans,
300 I think, “Under Ten Flags,”
William Castle, “13 Ghosts,”
“Dr. Sardonicus” was a scream.
Hammer Dracula;
Hammer Frankenstein;
Hammer anything at all.
“Love Me Tender,” “Jailhouse Rock,”
And monsters, any chance I got,
With “The Giant Behemoth,” alone,
With bugs and scorpions and birds, all huge,
And alligators, bodies though of men,
Hideous this and terrible that.
Pacific Titles, made up “Heat of the Night”
I suppose. I saw new cars,
Too far, they thought, to worry.
Alone, in the dark, a comfort to me.
Be careful, oh man,
Take care with your comforts,
Choose wisely,
Or suffer, alone.
Idea to completion, six minutes, March 28, 2008
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